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Anno Domini 827, March-19
The dead piled up in the breach like small mounds. The sarakenoi were dying quickly, on both sides. Four days had already passed since the wall was opened, and throughout that time I had sent wave after wave of prisoners to clear the rubble. It was not enough to bring the wall down; we also had to dismantle that mountain of broken stone which, as it stood, functioned as an improvised wall that the defenders could use without difficulty.
The work was done in small groups. I exploited family ties among the sarakenoi to prevent an entire wave of prisoners from simply fleeing toward the fortress. I sent the fathers forward and kept the children behind, making it clear that worse things would happen if they did not return. I could communicate with them well enough; I did not command their language like a diplomat, but short words, gestures, and clear threats were more than sufficient to make myself understood.
There were also defenders working under pressure, because the labor had to be protected. We advanced toward the walls with mobile palisades, moving the archers of the themata and my crossbowmen into close positions. From there, they cut down the sarakenoi who tried to harass the work—enemies who now barely had any missiles left with which to respond.
They used their arrows with extreme caution. They only fired in greater numbers when the toxotai of the themata loosed concentrated volleys against the walls, and many times all they did was send our own projectiles back at us.
After several days, the progress was obvious. The rubble wall had been reduced considerably. Meanwhile, the trebuchets never ceased their harassment. We began launching smaller projectiles, as the defenders tried to raise improvised walls behind the breach. Every attempt was punished immediately by the siege engines. We also began using stones of two or three kilograms, hurled in large numbers, which wreaked havoc among the enemy ranks and left nearby buildings riddled and in ruins.
"What are you doing here?" said the Byzantine admiral, who had traveled to the front and was now sheltering with me behind one of the barriers.
"What do you mean? Do you think the breach stays open on its own?" I replied without looking away.
I fired the crossbow and brought down a sarakenoi who was killing workers carrying stones wrapped in pieces of cloth.
"You should be in the rear, giving orders, not here where you could be among the first to die," the admiral insisted, pressing himself against the palisade.
"Not a chance. We have to keep up the pressure. Any maneuver the sarakenoi come up with must be neutralized immediately before it can damage our progress."
I braced my foot in the stirrup and reloaded the bolt.
"More pirate ships have arrived," he continued. "They saw the blockade and began to pull back. They might land somewhere. My men are tracking them, but if they make landfall they could attack our positions or fall on the civilians."
"How many… ah… son of a—" I began, but an arrow struck my shoulder and bounced off the armor. "How many ships?"
I fired again. The bolt hit one of the archers on the wall; I saw him fall and smash against the ground.
"Twelve. From what we've seen, about seventy sarakenoi per ship, though some of the rowers might be free men. It could be more. We estimate around a thousand men landing. As soon as we confirm the exact location, I'll inform you."
The admiral looked up toward the top of the wall. When the enemy archers released another volley, he turned and ran back toward the camp.
"Damn it… let's hope those are the only ones that slip through. You, warn the camp to stay alert—we don't want a sarakenoi attack hitting us while we're trying to storm the breach," I said, looking at one of my crossbowmen who was beside me, firing toward the wall, trying to reach the archers who were still harassing the work.
The mercenary nodded. He waited for another volley from the top of the walls and then started running toward the camp so they would be ready in case of a surprise attack.
For nearly two full hours, the chaos at the breach did not subside. The fighting intensified as the sarakenoi began to run thin. The prisoners died quickly, while the defenders did everything they could to contain us. The breach had reached an acceptable state: it stopped being a dangerous slope and became a low mound of rocks that could be crossed without difficulty.
"Sigurd… prepare the Varangians. We're going in. We're going to drive these idiots off the walls and force them to lock themselves inside their second fortress," I said as I turned, noticing that fewer and fewer defenders remained on the walls, whether from wounds or death.
As the skirmish continued and the rocks kept shifting, the Varangians appeared in formation. Most of them were the best-equipped men in my company, since all the finest gear had been assigned to them for obvious reasons: their size, their endurance, and the ferocity they showed in combat.
With a thousand Varangians formed up, the sarakenoi still defending the walls regrouped as well, trying to keep the breach closed. I seized that moment. I ordered the formation held while our crossbowmen and archers wore down their numbers, firing relentlessly into the enemy ranks concentrated at the passage.
Several minutes passed until they suffered enough casualties to be forced to abandon the breach and fall back to a position where it was harder to be reached by bolts and arrows, which continued to rain down on them without pause. We were using all our reserves of ammunition to break the defenders before reinforcements could begin filling the city.
When they finally withdrew, I gave the order to advance, and together with my men, we began to enter the city.
They had erected several barricades, but they were nothing more than piled pieces of wood meant to buy time. Taking advantage of the lack of immediate resistance, I sent the prisoners to clear the rubble and secure the area, while the crossbowmen and archers began pushing into the city to continue the fight at range—bringing ladders to scale inner walls and seize elevated positions, climbing onto rooftops to dominate the streets.
We held our position until all the rubble had been cleared. Only then did I pull back my Varangians and give the general order for the forces of the themata to begin the assault on the city.
We had to wait for the army to reorganize before entering. Six thousand men of the themata finally went in and began advancing through the streets, fighting step by step and confronting pockets of resistance that emerged chaotically. The defenders retreated in disarray toward the city's fortified tower, trying to shut themselves inside their last bastion.
The streets were covered with corpses from both sides. I advanced behind the thematic forces, taking advantage of the situation to preserve my men, who remained the most valuable asset for the phase that was yet to come.
The push continued until the defenders were slaughtered in front of the fortress gates. Those who managed to get inside slammed the doors shut, leaving hundreds of their own trapped outside. Only that final defense remained. The sarakenoi had lost too many men defending the breach; of the nearly three thousand that should have remained, they probably did not even reach half that number—perhaps far fewer. The days of skirmishing had been long, and now deaths were counted in the hundreds in the street fighting.
"Now… how do we besiege this?" I said while studying the fortress. The very buildings where the local population lived served as additional protection for the walls. To bring in siege engines, we would have to demolish those structures—or attempt an assault with ladders, which would be costly in lives.
I noticed that some buildings were tall enough to place crossbowmen and archers on their roofs, harassing the defenders and perhaps preparing some kind of limited assault. If pirate reinforcements began arriving in force, the situation would become dangerous. Moreover, we depended on local harvests; a prolonged siege could become unsustainable.
Before I could decide what to do, I saw the army forces beginning to bring up ladders and attempt to take the walls by force.
I searched with my eyes and found the miserable imperial general, shouting orders at the men.
Without wasting time, I ran toward him, watching soldiers begin to climb poorly made ladders—some too short, others too long—useless for a serious siege against a fortress of that kind.
"What are you doing, you idiot?" I shouted as I closed in. His escort of guards closed ranks around him when they saw me advancing with hundreds of Varangians and mercenaries at my back.
"We have to keep pressing now—more than ever. We can take the fortress today," the general replied, visibly tense as he looked at my men.
"You're throwing our soldiers into a slaughter. We need to preserve men to defend our conquest afterward, you glory-hungry bastard," I yelled, furious.
The general did not answer. He simply ignored me as he watched soldiers fall from the ladders, killed by stones or cut down while trying to fight at an absolute disadvantage against the sarakenoi.
"You're going to recall everyone, or you're not leaving here alive," I said, raising my hand. My men prepared instantly.
"That's treason against the emperor and—" he began, alarmed.
"I command the army. I hold the imperial seal. You advise—nothing more," I replied coldly.
The general clenched his teeth. Shortly after, orders were relayed to the tourmarches to halt the attack. The assault was failing, and we had already lost dozens of men in a very short time.
"Damn incompetent," I muttered as I watched bodies fall due to stupid orders.
I ordered that the general be removed from any military decision-making. I remained alone with the tourmarches. Though I could not do it fully officially, in practice I held control: I commanded more men, the best-equipped troops, and those who were truly loyal. At most, the general could influence two thousand men—and only because he had managed to convince one of the tourmarches to side with him.
I summoned the carpenters and, using Thales' theorem, we measured the height of the walls from the shadows they cast. The walls exceeded ten meters, so we immediately began building ladders of the proper length—this time made correctly.
Meanwhile, I began placing my crossbowmen on rooftops to start harassment. In barely three hours, we had all the necessary equipment ready. With ladders built to the correct height and crossbowmen deployed across the roofs—where they could fire with far greater accuracy than from the ground—we launched a real assault.
The defenders crowded the walls, trying to push the ladders away as our men began to climb. At that moment, the crossbowmen released their bolts. Defenders fell one after another, completely exposed to the crossfire.
Shortly afterward, the toxótai of the thema formed up and prepared their bows. At a single command, they all drew at once. Twelve hundred arrows cut through the air in a single volley, mowing down dozens of defenders. Many immediately abandoned the wall defense when they saw the first soldiers had climbed the ladders and were holding the position while their comrades followed, fleeing desperately toward their last defense: the fortified tower.
We did not waste time. I ordered the advance, and our forces surged forward at full speed, flooding the inner courtyard. The tower's stairways had been removed, leaving the door nearly four meters above ground level. We quickly set up a replacement ladder and, using a battering ram, smashed the wooden door while the last defenders, cornered, offered their final resistance in a desperate attempt to survive.
At that moment, I unleashed the Varangians, launching the charge as the doors broke apart. They entered with maximum violence, wielding their polehammers, as the desperate screams of the defenders echoed inside. I could understand part of what they were saying—pleas to their gods, cries for protection, appeals for mercy that no one was willing to grant.
We cleared the lower levels quickly and began climbing the stairways, pushing back the few defenders who remained. These were better equipped than the rest, using iron instead of the light padded armor common among the sarakenoi, but it made no difference against the polehammers, which shattered bones just as easily.
We climbed several levels until we reached the area where the emir of the island appeared to rule. He was seated on a throne, surrounded by his sons and women whom I assumed were wives or concubines; I did not fully understand the customs of that culture.
At last, the defenders surrendered when they realized there was no hope of victory left.
We took them prisoner. The emir of Crete was a vassal of the Abbasids, which made him a valuable captive. Perhaps he would be used as political currency, or perhaps the emperor would decide to make him suffer personally for all the headaches Abu Hafs had caused him.
After what felt like an eternity of savage fighting, I began descending the blood-soaked corridors of the tower, heading back toward the camp.
I noticed that soldiers had already begun looting the dead. It had not yet been decided whether the city would be allowed to be sacked; we did not know how many inhabitants were Greeks and how many were sarakenoi, and that decision could not be taken lightly.
We were about to leave the fortress when I saw some soldiers searching the pockets of one of the corpses.
"General… look what we found," one of them said, pointing at the body.
As I approached, two of them grabbed my arms and slammed me against a wall. I managed to turn just in time and felt a violent stab at my neck, followed by heavy pressure. They had tried to drive a dagger into me, but the mail shirt stopped the blow.
I felt another impact on my shoulder when a second soldier stabbed me, also halted by the armor. A third raised his arm to try to plunge the dagger into my face—but in that instant, all of them collapsed to the ground.
My hird fell upon them like unleashed beasts.
Sigurd grabbed one of the assassins by the head and smashed it repeatedly against the wall until his helmet burst and his skull was reduced to pulp. The other Varangians slit the throats of the rest or drove daggers into their eyes without hesitation.
I checked my wounds. Nothing seemed serious. The armor had done its job.
"Shit… that was close," I said as I pulled the mail shirt away from my neck to inspect the injury. It was nothing more than a superficial puncture—it hadn't even gone deep.
"These are the general's men… I recognize them… his guards… they changed their armor… the bastards," I added as I examined the faces of the two who were still recognizable.
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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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