Lucky Day

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Photo by Linus Sandvide on Unsplash

It started on his first night as a city guard. He had only volunteered because guards got two silver pieces a day, ten times what he had earned in the bath houses. Hauling buckets of steaming water, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with naked customers, it was exhausting work. That’s not to say being a guard came without risks. It wasn’t just breaking up tavern brawls and chasing down thieves. When you joined, they made you swear that you would die defending the city. But the last major war was more than three decades ago, the city had been at peace since Felix was born. When he signed up he had asked himself - what are the odds? That first night, he found out.

He was on duty with another recruit. He’d been assigned the night shift on the eastern bridge. They stood side by side on a narrow wooden bridge that stretched across the river's inlet into the city. For the last hour Felix had wanted to break the silence that the pair had maintained since dusk. He was about to speak when he heard a brief whisper of rushing air. He turned to ask his companion if he had heard the noise. That was when he saw the wooden shaft protruding from the man's neck. Blood rushed out of the wound. The man’s body went limp. Felix instinctively lurched forward to catch the falling body. He took that step at the same moment as an almighty clang tore through his head. He stumbled backwards. Suddenly his view changed. He was suspended briefly in the cool night air, looking up at the starry sky. As he fell, he couldn’t help but marvel at how beautiful it was. Then he was swallowed by darkness.

He woke the next morning to find himself lightly swaying from side to side. He struggled to open his eyes. He sat up and removed his helmet. He eased his eyes open, and the rush of light made his head throb. He tried to regain his senses and looked at his helmet, there was a dent the size of his fist. He glanced around and realised he was in a small boat tied beneath the bridge. A wave of nausea suddenly swept over him and forced him to empty the thin watery contents of his stomach over the side of the boat. He lay slumped, looking into the calm river below, breathing deep sighs of exhaustion.

He didn’t get long to enjoy the moment of peace. The bridge overhead creaked and he looked up. A face appeared over the edge and yelled at him, “You there, stop slacking. We’re marching by midday! Assemble by the Northern gate.”

It took him an age. Feeling delicate he made his way to the Northern gate. When he arrived, he saw the hive of activity. Commanders barking orders. Soldiers assembling into units. He fell in beside them, not knowing where he belonged. Despite the ringing in his ears, he was able to overhear the other soldiers discuss the events of the night that he had missed. A tribe of Barbarians from the mountains had attacked the city. Using the cover of darkness, they had wormed their way within bow range of the city and unleashed a torrent of arrows. One of those had been responsible for Felix’s overnight boat excursion. The barbarians hadn’t breached the walls, but the attack had angered the Emperor. He had given orders for the army to march the next day. They had been told to bring back the head of every one of the attackers.

As ordered the army set forth. They were forced to keep an extreme pace. Generals rode horses up and down the column. Felix struggled to maintain the rapid pace; his head pulsed with every step he took. He had no idea how he had ended up part of such a large operation. Less than 12 hours ago he had been a lowly city guard on a bridge. Now he was part of a massive unit of men, marching to war.

As the sun began to reach its peak rumour spread throughout the soldiers. Even on the move rumour spreads like fire through kindling. Scouts had reported that the barbarians had set up a makeshift camp beside the river, less than a day’s march from the city walls. The army maintained their pace and were within sight of the camp well before sunset. There was more than enough daylight to assemble a charge.

Felix had no idea how he was expected to survive this. He looked around and everyone seemed to know their role, most of them looked like experienced soldiers. Swords sharp, teeth bared. He let himself be jostled into position as those around him formed a battle line. As they settled, he found himself in the second line, standing behind a row of spearmen. A horn sounded to his left and unseen drums began to beat a marching rhythm. They approached the camp at a steady pace. Felix heard shouts and screams from ahead. He watched as a disorganised line formed opposite. He lacked almost any tactical knowledge, yet even he had to admit this was a pathetic attempt at resistance. Had they not expected them to follow?

With each step he could feel his heart beating faster. Another horn sounded and they halted. As if in response the barbarians charged. Why would they charge, surely, they knew they would die? His hands were sweating. He turned his sword over in his hand and tried to dry his sweaty palms on his uniform. He fumbled and lost his grip on his sword. It tumbled and fell to the ground in a clatter. Those around him laughed. He knelt to pick it up. As he stood, he heard the yell, “Spears thrust!” He glanced up and saw the blunt end of a spear coming back towards his face. He had just enoguh time to mutter, “Oh Shit.” before he was swallowed by darkness again.

This time when he awoke, he slowly raised his hand to his face. He gently rubbed where the butt of the spear had caught him between the eyes, rubing a siable lump that had formed. He eased his eyes open and a blurry version of the world swam into view. He carefully sat up and noticed that his body was coated in a thin layer of sand and blood. He couldn’t tell if the blood was his or someone else's. He groaned and surveyed the scene.

Bodies strewn as far as he could see. The stench of death and decay already filled the air. His vision still wasn’t right because some giant crooked creature was scuttling towards him. It lumbered along stopping to investigate each body. It grew closer and closer, and Felix felt dizzy as it approached. He wanted to scream but a his throat was closed, dry as the desert he was surrounded by. The creature gradually came into focus and he breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t a creature; it was a person.

They were draped in black robes, crawling along on hands and knees. They were stopping to pat each body down. Scavengers. Inevitable after a battle. Here to pick the bodies clean of gold and silver. He tried to speak but could only let out a pathetic croak. The person let out a gasp and looked up. It was an old man. The wrinkled skin on his face moved, but Felix struggled to make out the words. It took a minute but sounds eventually broke through the ringing in his ears. He heard birds caw as they picked at the dead. The steady rush of river water. He asked the man what had happened, and the scavenger explained. From the bits and pieces the scavenger knew it had been a brutal massacre.

The barbarian group had charged and had been slaughtered by the armies front line of spears, one of which had been responsible for Felix's current agony. The barbarians had attempted a disorganised retreat. The army had surged forward, some of them scattering to raid the camp. That was when the trap was sprung. Barbarians had flowed from the hills that lined the riverbanks. Archers on horseback emerged and circled the army’s rear. The army had begun to panic, already disorganised because of the barbarians false retreat. In the chaos soldiers had been slaughtered by the hundred, and it was them who had been forced into a genuine retreat.

The scavenger offered Felix no sympathy, instead he scuttled off to pick clean the bodies of the dead. Felix was alone amongst the blood and gore. Eventually he stood, feeling fragile. His foot stumbled on something metallic. He picked up a helmet - his helmet. He rubbed the dent where the arrow had struck less than a day ago. And the spot on the faceplate where the spear had slammed. That felt like a lifetime ago.

He looked around and couldn’t see another soul, even the scavenger had disappeared into the distance. He put on his helmet and began the long walk home. As he walked, he wondered if his luck would ever change. Although, he couldn’t decide if that would make things better or worse?

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