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Anno Domini 826, March 4-15
With bodies scattered everywhere, it struck me as strange that the pirates had not returned. So I took a small group and went to see what had happened. When we reached the beach again, we saw two dromons of the Byzantine fleet hurling fire at the pirate ships. Many of those vessels were completely charred, others still burning, while we heard the agonized screams of the slaves who were likely still chained to the oars.
The remaining ships had already begun to flee. Counting the ships that had arrived and those now burning, there were only about twelve—half of the pirate force had escaped. There was no one left on the beach.
After making sure no one was hiding in the area, we simply turned back, since it seemed the dromons had also returned to port.
The whole thing left a bitter taste in my mouth. Of course, I understood that fighting outside the walls was not the smartest option—but I could not simply allow the pirates to do whatever they pleased in the region.
And now I was staring at the cost of my decisions. Who knows how many dead… dozens of wounded… a brutal blow to my mercenary company, which had been steadily becoming a competent force. We had held well: between the armor and the Varangian training, we had turned peasants, laborers, and former slaves into a capable fighting force that gave the pirates a hard fight. Even with the difference in experience, the equipment made up for many shortcomings.
But numbers were on their side. And that would not have been so devastating if that damned kentarchos had not kept two hundred of my men behind the walls. With those men, I could have held the main line, and the numerical difference would not have been so overwhelming—especially since that was where the bulk of my heavy infantry was. Instead, I had been forced to fight against a force that vastly outnumbered us.
As night fell, torches were lit and we began piling the dead. We stripped damaged equipment, recorded names to notify families, and wrapped the bodies in cloth for burial. The priest from the local chapel came to perform the rites and had the decency not to charge for it, though he normally expected generous donations for such services.
He consecrated the church grounds so we could bury them all, while we worked to prevent wounds from festering and to keep more people from joining the burials.
When it was fully dark, I had the list of the dead.
One hundred and thirty-seven dead.
Eighty-five sailors, killed by arrows and by lacking proper equipment.Fifty-two mercenaries who fell holding the shield line—most of them from the group trapped at the intersection, nearly half of all the losses.
In addition, more than a hundred wounded.
I had lost nearly half of my company in a single battle.
A disastrous outcome.
And while I would like to point at someone else and assign blame, the fault was mine. The decision was mine—though I had been sabotaged—but if the pirates had reached my lands, that would have ruined me entirely.
And if I had still had the armor the Varangians took… at least a hundred more men would have been properly equipped. Casualties would have been far fewer. The wounded as well.
So, without further delay, I went back to sleep in my tent. I did not want to see my father's or my mother's face after what had happened.
I had trouble sleeping. My mind kept returning to everything I could have done better, but I was still too accustomed to directing simulated battles. I had never considered that the noise of real combat would prevent orders from being heard. All because we were not prepared.
What truly ruined us was having my men scattered everywhere due to my leniency. That alone cost us a large portion of our losses. If I had kept everyone under direct control, marching as a single body, the result would have been very different.
The next day I had to do the part I always hated most about military service: delivering the worst news—someone's death.
A large portion of the dead had no family. They were former slaves who had lost everything to the Bulgarians and followed me simply to have a purpose, something beyond blind vengeance. But others were fathers and sons, and now I had to inform their families that the providers of their households were gone.
It was brutal work. Crying and screams were constant, and I had no desire to hear them, so I assigned their comrades to deliver the news. The most troublesome task would be informing the families of the sailors from Constantinople, since I would have to find their relatives in the city, as most had no connection to Ainos.
And since I refused to leave those families destitute, I had no choice but to improvise a pension system so they would not be ruined. It also built trust: I would take responsibility for what happened once everything was over, and in the future I could even recruit among the sons of my mercenaries, showing that this was a profession that offered more security than most—where if you die, you are not simply discarded.
I granted them exemptions from paying rent for the next decade, along with a portion of the deceased's salary—four silver coins to their heirs, enough to maintain a similar standard of living. And if any later sought work in my smithy, I would do everything possible to secure them an apprentice position as soon as possible.
Several days passed, and things slowly returned to normal—though everything felt heavier. I saw families visiting the church frequently to stand before the graves of their fathers and sons, and I could not help feeling guilt when they looked at me with the hollow eyes of those who had lost someone irreplaceable.
Then a group of riders arrived at our settlement.
We were in the middle of training. I had reinstated strict discipline and introduced a rotation system, giving men days free from training and duty, so that at all times more than eighty percent of the company was ready to respond to any threat—instead of the previous arrangement, where once training ended they could do as they pleased as long as they returned the next day.
Recognizing them as the strategos' personal retinue, I rose from my chair and watched the cataphracts approach.
"Kapetanios Basil…" said the strategos, lifting the mail from his face and looking at me with a smile.
"Strategos," I replied, after taking a deep breath.
"What happened? From what I've been told, the defense of Ainos was a great victory… more than half of the pirate fleet burned, and hundreds of enemies dead in the streets of Ainos thanks to your valorous actions," said Strategos Leon.
"I lost many men in the fighting. I have a large number of wounded. Half of my company is out of action," I said seriously.
"Yes, I know. It should not have happened. Normally the theme of Samos or Thessalonike keeps watch over pirates reaching this region, but the Sarakenoi attacks are worsening—it seems they are preparing for larger operations," the strategos replied.
"I see… so the coasts will be under greater pressure than ever, while we still have the Bulgarians to the north. One thing, my strategos: one of your kentarchoi sabotaged my attempt to defend the city, giving orders to my mercenaries not to support me in battle, leaving me to fight on my own," I said calmly, meeting his eyes.
The strategos' eyes widened.
"Wait… what?" he said, incredulous.
"Yes. The idiot kentarchos of the garrison ordered my men to protect him while I defended the town. He deprived me of two hundred of my best troops when I needed every man outside. I believe punishment is necessary, or I will be forced to seriously reconsider my contract with the theme of Macedonia," I said evenly.
"Come with me," the strategos said, pointing to one of my horses that was feeding nearby.
Without delay, I saddled it and joined the strategos' retinue. We rode toward Ainos and quickly reached the kastron, where the theme soldiers were lounging as usual—nothing ever happened there, after all.
We entered the kastron without opposition and remained mounted in the wide inner courtyard, waiting for the kentarchos to come down.
After a long while, the kentarchos finally hurried down. When he saw me, his eyes widened and he grew visibly nervous.
"I have information that you took command of men from the mercenary company that serves me personally and is settled in these lands. Is that correct?" the strategos asked in a severe tone.
"Well, my strategos, what happened was—" the kentarchos began, but the strategos cut him off.
"Yes or no, you idiot? I am not here to hear your excuses," the strategos snapped.
"Yes, my strategos… but—" the kentarchos tried again, only to be interrupted once more.
"And who gave you authorization to command them?" the strategos asked, circling him slowly from horseback.
"No one, my strategos," the kentarchos replied.
"Exactly. If the mercenary wants to do something that isn't illegal, you let him. And that's it. If he wants to die, you let him. Because now I have a problem: a company that supplied me with men and secured an important area of the theme is reconsidering its contract," the strategos said coldly.
The kentarchos fell silent, lowering his head and clenching his jaw.
"Kapetanios, if you were Leon Skleros, what would you do to resolve this matter?" the strategos asked, turning to me.
"If I were the strategos, I would acknowledge that the mercenary made a tactical mistake by engaging the pirates outside the walls. But I would punish the kentarchos for issuing orders that sabotaged the defense. Given that, I would send the kentarchos to the Bulgarian frontier, so he can apply his exceptional tactical genius against the Bulgarians," I replied calmly.
The strategos looked at the kentarchos.
"Yes… such genius would be wasted on this peaceful frontier. Congratulations—you're coming with me to the Bulgarian border. Perhaps reconnaissance duties will better suit your talents," the strategos said, gesturing for him to fetch a horse.
The kentarchos glared at me with open hatred, mounted his horse, and rode out of the kastron with the strategos' retinue.
The strategos dismounted and began removing his gloves as he headed toward the kastron tower.
"Come, Basil," he said, more calmly.
I followed him up the uneven stairs to what appeared to be the room where the kentarchos issued orders.
"Do you think you made a mistake fighting the pirates?" the strategos asked.
"With the lack of men and equipment, yes. And I was poorly prepared—it was my first battle giving orders to more than five hundred men," I answered honestly.
"It's good that you recognize your mistakes. It took me three times having my head shoved into the mud before I admitted one. You're intelligent—but you don't yet understand battles. You grasp concepts like proper camps, terrain selection, and other fundamentals. As I told you before, I will give you a Strategikon. It's the best text you can read to understand war. I'll give you my own copy—it contains my personal annotations on certain enemies. You must learn how to fight the Sarakenoi, because if you remain here, they will be your greatest enemies," the strategos said.
"Thank you. I'll be waiting for the book," I replied sincerely.
"Good. Are you sure you don't want to join the army? As you can see, I need an officer here now that the kentarchos is gone—and he must be replaced quickly," the strategos said with a smile.
"No. I have no interest in being stab again," I said, shaking my head.
"Oh, come on. I need someone I can trust here. You saw how we entered through the gates without a single question about who I was. Someone with half a head could steal a few suits of armor and take control of the kastron in hours," the strategos said.
"You'll have to look elsewhere," I replied.
"Very well. I'll have to send some of my best kentarchoi here, just when I need them in the north," the strategos muttered. "Ah, yes—by the way. The slave merchant from Adrianople asked me to deliver a chest of coins to you for the slaves sold. Since you never came, he asked me to do it."
"Oh—right. I'd forgotten about the slave sale," I said, rubbing my temples.
"They sold a bit low, you know—too much supply at the time. Eight nomismata per head. Still, that's four thousand nomismata. A respectable sum," the strategos said, nodding.
"It will be useful. I need to recruit new men for my company," I replied.
"Yes. Now take me to the battlefield. I want to see it—and I want you to explain everything that happened, so I can record it in my Strategikon."
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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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