Chapter Seven: The Men and Their Wolves
Part Five: The Failed Assassination
The Istros River in winter looked like a huge grey snake slithering through the hills, ice laden upon its writhing spine. On a hill overlooking the river, the town of Oescus burned. It was emptied of all life. Only the flames and crumbling structures they ate moved there. Escamulos, his helmet removed, watched from a hilltop a few miles away. This would be the final battle against the Triballi, or so he hoped.
Cerenthios, his cousin and one of his generals, approached him on horseback. He dismounted, as a sign of respect, and removed his own helmet.
“Ouolkirix,” Cerenthios said gruffly through a thick grey mustache, “Our scouts have confirmed the movements of the Triballi forces. They are approaching from the other side of the river.”
“According to plan,” Escamulos said absently.
“Yes, Ouolkirix, except our scouts…” Cerenthios trailed off for a moment. “The Triballi have forged an alliance with the Dacians of Sucidava across the Istros. Their numbers have doubled.”
This was alarming news, but Escamulos did not let it show. “Have we sent ambassadors to convince them to stay out of this?”
“We’ve sent my brother Gaesatos. He rides on horseback as we speak. Any moment now you will see him cross the river,” Cerenthios sounded worried. “But I don’t think the Dacians will turn back.”
“Probably not,” Escamulos agreed. “What do you suggest we do in that case, Cerenthios?”
“Run,” Cerenthios said. “We don’t have the men to fight such a horde. Your army is tired, exhausted. And they are already discontent because you refused them their right to return home for the winter.”
“There would be no homes to return to if they left now. We waged this war in retaliation, in case anyone has forgotten, to the Triballi and Dardanians attacks on our frontiers.”
“Regardless, we can’t face such an army.”
“We have the high ground,” Escamulos thought aloud. “The enemy doesn’t know where we are; they will be drawn to Oescus. If we station our archers on the slopes of that hill yonder, we can thin them out considerably as they cross the river and march up the hill to Oescus. Then, we order the archers to fall back… If done right, they won’t know where they went, and we can hit them from the flank. Or perhaps they could draw them into the low ground again…”
“It’s foolish either way,” Cerenthios insisted. “You’ll kill us all!”
He said that last bit too loudly. People stared from behind them. For the first time in the conversation, Escamulos turned to face his cousin.
“Are you questioning my authority, Cerenthios?” Escamulos’ voice sounded dead. He wasn’t one for theatrics.
Cerenthios, however, was.
“You’ll send all of these men to their graves,” he waved his arm dramatically; speaking loudly so all could hear him. “Have you lost your mind? Have you gone mad, my king? We free men should not be held under the yolk of a mad king!”
Then Cerenthios drew his sword.
“Seriously?” Escamulos placed his hand on this own blade. “Are you really doing this?”
“I shan’t be ruled by a mad king born from the lust of an Eastern barbarian and a whore!”
Cerenthios made his move, and lunged in to stab Escamulos. It was a brash and clumsy move, one that only took a mere sidestep to dodge. Cerenthios’ sword, heavy and long, hit the frozen forest floor with a thud. Before he could heave the thing back up, Escamulos threw a fast jab at Cerenthios’ face. Then another. Then another. The last one knocked out a couple teeth.
Escamulos’ would-be murderer recoiled, taking a few steps back to regain his footing. Casually, Escamulos drew his own sword, a falcata, and got into position. His form was flawless, graceful, and deadly. Cerenthios swung his sword again with a massive slash, but Escamulos needed to only lean back to avoid the blade as it whooshed by. That was when he struck.
Left open from his wild swing, Cerenthios was vulnerable, and Escamulos exploited every vulnerability. He went low and cut through Cerenthios’ tendons behind the knee, and then cut through his side where black liver-blood oozed out. And then Escamulos brought his blade quickly across Cerenthios’ throat. Cerenthios fell to the ground, gasping for breath as blood jetted out from his neck. In a matter of moments, he bled out. The whole affair lasted only perhaps a minute.
Escamulos wiped the blood off of his blade on Cerenthios’ cloak, and looked at the men who had gathered to watch the spectacle.
“Let it be known,” Escamulos said, “that the Ouolkirix is himself more deadly than any army assembled against him. You have a better chance living if you fight with me than against me.”
A couple of men hoorayed at that.
“The Triballi are arriving from across the river.” Escamulos said to one of his generals not lying dead on the forest floor, “I want archers on that hill to give them a welcoming present. As they approach, lead them into that gulch, where we will ride them down. The plan is simple; everyone should understand it.”
The Ouolki army was truly a one of a kind force in antiquity. Unlike many Celtic groups that spread their culture, the Ouolki did not cling to their culture quite as tightly as the others. Whereas groups like the Senones of Italia, the Scordisci of Pannonia, and many others quickly brought a corresponding change in material culture, the Ouolki did not. But they did not simply assimilate either. Instead, a unique culture arose from the mixing of Hellenistic and Celtic cultures that utilized the strengths of both. Nowhere else is this more evident in Ouolki warfare.
The Ouolki continued to fight with a huge emphasis on cavalry, but they abandoned the chariot after only a couple of generations. Indeed, by the reign of Escamulos chariots were almost completely out of use in the Ouolki army. Cavalry soon adopted smaller shields, resembling those used by the Greeks, and quite often wore helmets with visors instead of nose guards to optimize visibility.
Infantry began to adopt something resembling a phalanx, but the spears were certainly shorter than those of the Makedonians, allowing for more maneuverability. They favored the larger, oval shaped shields of Celtic culture to the smaller, circular shields that we identify with Greek phalanxes. They were not as heavily armored as their Greek and Makedonian counterparts, but over time, as riches poured into Ouolkike and Bojike, chainmail became more and more common. Traditional Celtic conical helmets fell out of favor to be replaced by the new Gallic helmets, sometimes called Jockey Helmets, imported from the West. Most infantrymen were armed with short swords as well as spears, for close combat.
Apart from this, the Ouolki kept contingents of shock troops, mostly made up of young men who swore an oath to the Warrior Cult and the gods of war. Lightly armored, if armored at all, and usually armed with traditional Celtic long swords, they are perhaps the most famous aspect of Ouolki warfare. They were the beginnings of what would later become a religious martial order that answered to the King as the head of the Warrior Cult. This may have been an intentional power shift away from the Druids to allow the Ouolkirix more control over his domain in the style of Hellenistic kings. These groups were inherently conservative in nature, and had a political as well as martial function.
Along with an increased emphasis on archers, slingers, and javelin throwers, these changes in the Ouolki military-complex created perhaps one of the most powerful and adaptable forces in ancient history. The strong leadership of Ouolki kings, who, it seems, had uncanny luck when it came to rearing great strategists and tacticians, doubled their effectiveness.
