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Around three hundred men formed up along the slopes of the hill and remained there watching us, while I prepared everything necessary to receive the attack and inflict as much damage as possible. I ordered water brought to a boil, had large rocks moved—stones we had used as weights during training—so they could be hurled downhill, and at the same time we repositioned several logs that had been placed as cover, so that in the middle of the chaos we could shove them and send them rolling down the slope.
The Bulgarians were going to get a very bitter taste if they thought this would be an easy fight.
While everyone prepared, fires were lit and bolts distributed. The Bulgarians were organizing as well, but one of them began approaching while we all watched him climb the steep hill.
"Don't show the crossbows. Let them think we have bows or only spears," I told my men as they took their positions.
One of the Bulgarians approached.
Clearly, I could not be the one to initiate combat, so I had to listen to whatever he had to say, even if it worked against us.
"Romans!" the Bulgarian shouted, his Greek terrible and thick with accent.
"We can speak Bulgarian… your Greek is awful," I shouted back as I leaned out from behind the camp's defenses.
The messenger looked at me, but simply continued shouting in Greek.
"Romans… our zhupan offers that you surrender and hand over your weapons. You will be taken prisoner and later exchanged for Bulgarian captives when the time comes."
"We will not surrender, Bulgarian. Go back to your zhupan and do not return," I replied.
"The zhupan gives you until the sun reaches its highest point to surrender, or we will kill you all," the Bulgarian said before returning to his line.
"Kapetanios… there are too many of them…" one of my men said, watching the Bulgarians, who must have numbered close to seven hundred, though only about three hundred appeared ready to act—clear evidence this was the force of a single noble.
"We are not surrendering," I said as I walked toward the center of the camp, watching the nervous looks on my men's faces.
"But, my Kapetanios… we can't fight so many," another said.
"I know you're afraid. Only a madman wouldn't be. But do you really think the Bulgarians will keep their word? Think about what happens if we surrender. They'll take everything from us, bind our hands, and march us until we collapse, all the way to some slave market, and sell us. That story about exchanges only works when a large group of Bulgarians is captured—and as far as I know, that hasn't happened. So it's a lie," I said calmly.
"And if it isn't a lie?" the big man asked, staring at me.
"Of course it is. Do you think the Empire will spend valuable prisoners to rescue mercenaries? They would only do that for men of the tagmata. Think," I said, tapping my helmet with one finger. "Now think what your life would be like as slaves: whippings, punishments, working from sunrise to sunset. Unlike you, I can read and write Greek and Proto-Bulgarian. I could escape in less than a year. You might be slaves your entire lives. So—is it worth it?"
I looked at my men one by one.
There was silence.
"No… it isn't worth it. I spent twelve damned years as their slave. And every day I remember them with hatred and shame, enduring those pagans who treated me like a tool. Your freedom is worth more—believe me. Nothing is more valuable than freedom… even if you have to die to keep it," I finally said, my voice steady.
I saw many of them calm at my words, but deep down they all understood a little better that the Bulgarians could not be trusted in anything.
At midday, when their attempt to pressure us with numbers into surrender had failed, we watched as the three hundred men wearing lamellar armor, mail, and padded coats—a very mixed unit, though the vanguard was equipped with the best—began climbing slowly, struggling against the steep terrain that made the ascent so difficult.
We simply let them climb until they entered the effective range of the crossbows—about a hundred meters—where we could hit reliably, even though shields were still a problem.
For several minutes we watched as the compact formation of heavy infantry reached the trench before our camp, where they were forced to compress even more, since we had deliberately left them only a narrow passage through which they could not advance many at once.
As soon as they began to pass through, I raised my hand and almost everyone took up a crossbow, leaving only twenty men at the entrance. They were the best-equipped of the group; due to budget constraints, any blow against the rest could easily be lethal, while these twenty wore mail and some Bulgarian armor I had stolen back in Bulgaria.
When I dropped my hand, all the crossbows loosed their bolts. The Bulgarians raised their shields; many bolts lodged in or split the wooden boards, while screams of pain rang out. I saw several Bulgarians with bolts buried in their legs or shoulders, where the shields had failed.
Everyone began reloading quickly as the Bulgarians started running uphill, trying to reach us as fast as possible, shoving one another inside the trench. I saw more than one fall into the pit.
"Rocks—push the rocks!" I shouted.
A group of spearmen broke formation and shoved several of the large rocks we had moved earlier, sending them tumbling downhill.
Many Bulgarians broke formation trying to dodge them, but several were trapped as the massive stones crushed them beneath their weight. The screams of pain were music to my ears, especially when I saw men with their legs smashed beyond recognition.
With chaos in their ranks, another volley of bolts was fired—this time far more lethal, as their shield wall was broken. Several fell with chests pierced, legs transfixed, or faces shattered.
The Bulgarians tried to reorganize their formation while the rest crossed the trench, leaping over the wounded and dead bodies of their comrades, eyes fixed on my men blocking the entrance
Once again they advanced faster, raising their shields to block the incoming bolts.
"Fall back a little—let them bunch up at the entrance, then release the logs by cutting the rope," I shouted to my men.
The spearmen obeyed and gave ground as the Bulgarian shield wall advanced, already pushing through the entrance.
"Here it is, my Kapetanios," one of my men said as he brought bubbling water up to our position.
I grabbed a bucket and waited until the Bulgarians were right below us, then hurled the boiling water down—several of my men did the same.
A massive cacophony of screams and howls of pain erupted instantly, followed by men collapsing to the ground, trying to shield themselves as boiling water ran down their faces and bodies.
"Now!" I shouted.
Two of my men cut the rope, and a group of ten thick logs broke loose and began rolling downhill, sweeping away everyone still in formation and crushing those behind them, who were already screaming in agony from the boiling water.
The few who remained after the slaughter began to retreat, while the crossbowmen kept firing into their backs.
Their assault had failed—horribly.
"All right—quickly—bring the logs back, prepare more water, and bring more bolts!" I shouted.
A group of crossbowmen came down from our fortification and recovered all the logs that hadn't rolled too far downhill. We reset the trap; we were out of rocks, but we still had the logs for the worst case.
We watched as the rest of the Bulgarian force withdrew to their camp after the failure, and we began looting, leaving a group behind to watch every enemy movement.
I saw one of the Bulgarians crying hysterically, his body covered in severe burns, as his lamellar armor was stripped from him.
"Oh… does it hurt?" I said, squeezing one of his burns.
"AAAAAAAAAH!" the Bulgarian screamed, trying to make me let go.
"Don't kill them yet—they might be useful for prisoner exchanges, like they said… or we'll be the ones selling them at a slave market," I shouted to my men, before punching him in the face to make him stop screaming.
"Kapetanios, is it all right to use this?" one of my men asked. He wore only a padded coat and showed me a mail shirt pierced through the chest.
"Yes, wear it—it's better than what you have. Put it on or find something better," I said, stripping the Bulgarian of his armor completely and setting it aside for one of the spearmen. Then I distributed the swords among the men.
For several minutes we looted everything we could.
"The boots—don't forget the boots!" I shouted. "They're expensive, and we'll need a lot of them if we have to march."
The Bulgarians who were still breathing were tied up in one area of the camp. They weren't going to live long; most had severe burns and probably wouldn't last. I didn't have enough medicine, and I wasn't going to waste it on Bulgarians.
While we were looting bodies near the hillside, I noticed the enemy camp starting to move.
I watched as the four hundred men from the camp emerged and began climbing the hill.
"To your positions—the Bulgarians are coming for another round," I said.
I drove my dagger into one of the wounded Bulgarians—I didn't have time to take him back—slitting his throat and letting him choke on his own blood. Then I stabbed another still breathing through the eye before running back to the fortifications.
Captured equipment began passing quickly from hand to hand among my men, who wasted no time equipping anything better than what they had before. It didn't matter if it was dented or had holes; any piece of iron was better than a padded coat, and any iron helmet was better than a simple coif.
The Bulgarian group advanced, but they looked far more disorganized and poorly equipped than the previous force. It was obvious they were a levy, not a noble's personal troops.
They crossed the trench as well, but stopped to pull some of their men out of it and to place archers in front of their formation. A rain of arrows began to fall on us.
"Shields!" I shouted. "Cover yourselves with shields and the walls," I ordered, taking cover myself behind the camp stakes.
Arrows began to strike. Peeking out briefly, I noticed the Bulgarians were more concerned with recovering their fallen than attempting a direct assault.
The bastards stayed at the range of their bows, which was slightly longer than that of our crossbows, and we couldn't answer them.
I heard a scream from our side and saw one of my men with an arrow buried deep in his thigh.
"Oh God… oh God… I'm going to die!" he screamed, panicking.
I grabbed him and dragged him toward me—he'd fallen far from cover. I pulled one of the tourniquets from my arm and wrapped it around his leg to apply pressure and slow the bleeding. I tightened it hard and covered the wound with cloth to keep him from bleeding out.
After those quick first aid measures, I turned my attention back to the Bulgarians.
I saw them begin to withdraw after collecting all the bodies that hadn't been looted and freeing those who'd fallen into the trench. They left the dead—already stripped of everything—near our camp.
Seeing that I finally had time—
"Bring the boiling water!" I shouted.
They brought me a bucket immediately, and with a stick I dropped several cloths into it to sterilize them.
"Hold him—we have to remove the arrow from his thigh," I said, pulling a cloth from the boiling water and letting it cool just enough.
I cut away the fabric covering his leg with a knife.
"Clean pass, you bastard… luckily it didn't hit bone," I said as I examined the wound.
"What kind of luck is that?" he sobbed, writhing in pain.
"The kind where you don't die or lose your leg," I replied. I shoved a stick into his mouth so he could bite down.
I snapped the arrow shaft in half, pulled the head free, and applied pressure with the bandages, tightening the tourniquet and sealing the wound as best I could.
"All right… that's all I know how to do. Now you depend on God," I said, giving him a couple of pats as he bit down on the stick with all his strength.
I looked toward the Bulgarian camp and noticed they had begun dismantling it.
"I think we killed someone important," I said, watching the situation unfold.
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If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know.
Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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