Chapter seventy

The Siege of Ortia

 

They came again – the desperate hordes of spindly misshapen creatures appeared from over the horizon and engulfed the landscape. The noise – a cacophony of shrieks, shouts and stomping feet – was loud beyond bearing. They were herded by groups of humans dressed in white armour that shepherded them to where they could eat. Everywhere surrounding Ortia was shattered – many who could not flee were torn apart and fed upon. The kinaam were like as an endless herd of pigs that could eat anything – flesh, blood, bone, crops and timber. There must have been more than a million across the entire plain and more came pouring in.

As soon as there was any advance warning of the invasion Perclivius had pulled almost everyone back into the city. He knew that any rear-guard action was essentially pointless; it became entirely a matter of the survival of the ancient city walls. As they retreated, defining the edge of a box of desperately fleeing refugees, the soldiers burned everything; they knew that nothing would ever survive the onslaught. By the time the troops had retreated finally into the city the air was filled with the smell of blood, burning flesh and smoke. The armour-clad humans in every Tlaxacan group stood in the burning remains and danced a grim, black, dance of death, clanging their shields against their swords, each one standing on a pile of bodies. They cared not if the corpses were enemies or friends. 

Perclivius arranged for the old iron cauldrons to be filled with burning tar and twelve of them were set up around the walls. Every half an hour or so they were tipped over the side and hundreds of kinaam were fried alive.  Meanwhile, the archers held their fire for any human who strayed near; they did not waste their fire on the kinaam.  The old hands in the Ortian army could remember all this from nine hundred years ago and they resumed their stations without satisfaction, but with a degree of quiet pride in their resilience. 

Perclivius was happy with the result of the first assault, he felt that it had been handled as well as could be expected. Now it was time to go away and devise new ways to facilitate the mass slaughter of the enemy. The elves are rarely a bloody-thirsty species but for the Tlaxacans, they made an honourable and reasonable exception. They had never shown the elves any mercy, so the elves had little choice but to reciprocate with equal hatred.  The main subsidiary beneficiaries were the giant kites, who circled in ever larger numbers and waited patiently for each day’s fresh supplies of carrion. Even the desert vultures, habitually hunting for camel meat far to the south, were spotted in the whirling thermals.  

 

***

Aurelian sat patiently while Marthian washed his face with a large towelling cloth. He had cuts on his cheek and two black eyes. His beard was caked with congealed blood. She tended to him as he sat on her big proconsular chair and she sat opposite him on a small wooden bench. Her face was still and pale.

‘They beat you up’

Aurelian sighed.

‘Of course they did. It’s soldiers’ stuff’

‘Of course – that’s how grown up soldiers act’

‘Let it go, Marth’ said Aurelian, wearily, ‘I’m still alive’

 ‘Perclivius must have had a good reason for that – too popular to kill outright, I assume. Unlike me…’

Aurelian said nothing to this. He was happy to be in the light and healing.

‘I can’t believe that Julia acted’ he said, ‘I really can’t’

Marthian’s face warmed up a few degrees.

‘Well, we should both be grateful that she did’

‘But why did she?’ asked Aurelian, a blood and water mixture dripping from his chin on to the Proconsular floorboards.

‘The Lady panicked’

Aurelian looked up at her to see if she was being serious. He couldn’t tell.

‘That’s my guess, anyway’ said Marthian, ‘after our conversation Julia went back to the Lady and was told very firmly that she had to act’

‘What conversation?’

‘One I had with her yesterday, a very unsatisfactory one’

‘So, she came up here and rattled some feathers’

Marthian laughed, despite herself.

‘”rattled feathers” darling? I wouldn’t hold out for that speechwriter’s job’

Aurelian hated it when this happened, even under these circumstances.

‘Ruffled’ he mumbled and glared. Marthian forced herself to stop grinning. 

‘Anyway’ he said sternly, ‘she sorted it all out’

Marthian nodded. She had no intention of describing to Aurelian exactly what had happened.

‘We went from aristocracy to theocracy via gerontocracy in just two days. Expect an avalanche of political historians – as soon as the roads clear’ she said.

‘Dictator’ said Aurelian, ‘that was a surprise’

‘Not really; the City has a traditional right to appoint one, but I think that was more Julia panic’

Aurelian looked a bit shocked.

‘Are you a bit disappointed that she didn’t choose you, darling?’ asked Marthian dead pan.

Aurelian growled. 

‘Keep cleaning Marth, I think your brain needs a rest’

Marthian completed his clean up and gently probed all of the sore bits. She kissed his two bruised eyes, lingering on each one.

‘Poor thing’ she said.

He squirmed a little but didn’t pull away at all. She looked quizzically at the black smudges.

‘Steak’ she said, ‘is that what’s needed for black eyes?’

‘Forget the black eyes’ he said, smiling, ‘we need to work out what to do next’

Marthian reluctantly moved away from her ministrations.

‘Let’s start by swapping seats’ she said.

 

After an hour of bittersweet disputation, Citizens Marthian and Aurelian had completed their bilateral discussions. The newly re-appointed Proconsul of Ortia had gathered together those of her staff that she could find – some of them had been rescued from the Citizen Perclivius’s dungeon – for a more traditional meeting. It was at this point that Marthian realised just how much she missed Viola.  She resisted, however, worrying about her – she had enough concerns just inside the City walls.

Gaius had been induced to return as Aurelian’s aide-de-camp. He had required some persuading as it wasn’t clear what role Aurelian would have, particularly as there was no sign that Marthian would talk directly to Perclivius or vice-a-versa. Gaius was rather concerned about names and etiquette. 

‘Does it matter what I’m called?’ asked Aurelian, ‘I really want to fight’

‘Fight?’ exclaimed Marthian, repeating in committee what she had already said in camera ‘aren’t we all fighting now? We’re under siege’

Aurelian shook his head.

‘Fight, directly, I mean’ he explained, ‘at the city wall’

‘In other words, fight for Perclivius’

‘For Ortia – not for him’

‘As you want it’ she said, sadly, ‘I guess that you’re needed’

‘With your permission, Proconsul’ he said quietly

Marthian looked straight across at him with a withering stare.  

‘Go on then’ she snarled, ‘throw yourself back on his mercy’

‘I have to fight’ he insisted, ‘what else am I going to do?’

He stood in front of her with his arms folded, back straight, head thrust forward.

Marthian shrugged.

‘You soldiers are all such fools. But I should have known that you’d do this’

Aurelian sagged a little, tired and hurt as he still was. He nodded at Marthian vaguely

‘If you knew it, then you shouldn’t punish me for it’

‘Don’t expect that, soldier…’

Aurelian bowed low, with only the slightest hint of irony. He made to leave.  Marthian knew that this was the point to shut up but she couldn’t help herself.  

‘Just don’t let yourself be bundled into prison again and don’t let him give you a really demeaning job, and…’

She stopped herself with an effort. 

‘He won’t’ said Aurelian, ‘he’s too canny for that’

‘Yes – at least we can rely on him for that’

Aurelian marched out in a suitably military manner and the others in the room were left wondering exactly what it was that they had just witnessed.    

 

The Proconsul spent the rest of the day organising the healers, the victuallers, the cleaners and the menders; in fact all of those who would keep the army and the rest of the city functioning. She knew where all the stores of medicines were, where all the preserved foods were kept in deep vaults, and where the mechanics and labourers could be conscripted to scurry across the city making good and botching. She also got together a small staff to look after Julia during her twice daily peregrinations round the City. Then she set out to reassure the families, the old and scared that order had returned to the city – she confidently predicted business as usual. She realised, grimly, that this was the job that her father had trained her for, and that she was very good at it. It only took a few days before Perclivius was absolutely reliant upon her.

Meanwhile, Aurelian had gone to Perclivius to ask for a role, any role, which would use his talents. He feared that the Dictator would give him the most unlikely and difficult job possible, and so he did. After keeping him waiting for three hours, Perclivius finally found him a suitable task.  He reinstated him as commander-in-chief.