by Kate Elliott
“How many soldiers?” Blessing asked.
Anna tried to count as Sapientia’s Wendish cavalry rode past, in lines of four, but she lost track after forty.
“That depends on what authority you read,” said Heribert, slipping into that way of speaking he had when all his fine education grabbed him by the throat. At times like these, Anna found him difficult to understand. “Some say several thousand infantry—that’s foot soldiers—and a few hundred cavalry. Some say a thousand men, organized in ten centuries, or what we call cohorts, each group consisting of one hundred men.”
Sitting on the platform, the army seemed to take forever to go by. “Is that a thousand men?” asked Anna. She thought about this for a moment, remembering the sums Raimar and Suzanne had taught her when it came time to count up thread and wool and cloth so that you wouldn’t get cheated. “If it was two legions, then it would be two thousand men, wouldn’t it?” The number dizzied her. She had to shut her eyes and just listen to the fall of hooves on the track and the persistent drip of moisture from the damp leaves.
“I’d guess not more than eight hundred under Sapientia’s command,” replied Heribert. “We aren’t truly an army the way the old Dariyans had armies. We just use the Dariyan words.”
“Why?” asked Blessing. These days she was full of “why.”
The last of Sapientia’s horsemen rode away down the track. After a gap, a new banner came forward, following the path of the first. “Here is Lady Bertha and her legion of Austran and Olsatian marchlanders,” said Heribert.
“Why?” repeated Blessing.
“Why do we use the old words? To remind us of the strength of the old empire.”
“I will be emperor,” said Blessing, “so I’ll call my armies legions, too.”
Lady Bertha’s legion was perhaps half the number of those who had ridden out with Sapientia. After she had passed, Sanglant rode forward, saluting his daughter, and headed down the track with Captain Fulk and his men, Lord Hrodik’s Gentish irregulars, and Lord Druthmar and the contingent from Villam lands. Prince Bayan and his Ungrians, the biggest and most experienced group of fighters in the army, came next, followed in their turn by Lord Zwentibold, Lord Wichman, and their legion of skirmishers and cavalry from Saony. Last came the baggage train under the command of Duke Boleslas, the Polenie duke with his bright silver tabard and feathered helm, the peacock of the army, as Sanglant had called him one night after the prince had been drinking too much.
The wagon in which Blessing was to ride trundled to a stop before the platform, and Blessing allowed Lord Thiemo to help her into the back as Heribert folded up her chair. Although she could ride a pony, she wasn’t old enough to do so under the circumstances, so they had tied her pony behind the wagon. As she settled down among sacks of grain, Captain Thiadbold of the Lions knelt before her.
“Your Highness, your father Prince Sanglant has charged me and my cohort of Lions to see that you remain safe until we come within the walls of Osterburg. I pray you, Your Highness, if there is any trouble, do as I command, and we’ll see that no harm comes to you.”
“I don’t like riding at the rear,” said Blessing.
He grinned, then hid the smile quickly, not sure of her temper. “Nay, but there are many fine and valuable things necessary to victory here in the baggage train. It is no insult to be left to guard them, Your Highness. Nor is it any insult to you to ride with the baggage train. Do you see?” He pointed toward the painted wagon belonging to Prince Bayan’s mother. “You are not the only warrior who rides with the baggage train.”
The sight of the wagon convinced Blessing not to argue.
Duke Boleslas rode up with a dozen frilled and colorful attendants to either side of his brightly caparisoned horse. He bowed before Blessing. “Your Highness,” he said, before riding away again, circling toward the tail end of the train as the wagon lurched forward and they began moving.
Because the ground was still damp from the night’s brief rain, there wasn’t too much dust, but Anna could still tell that eight legions of fighting men had passed this way before them. Dirt soon coated her lips and tickled her nostrils. Any overhanging branches were snapped back or torn off by the press of bodies.
A feeling of dread grew in Anna’s heart as they rolled onward and the sun rose higher. Would they be able to hear the clash of arms, ahead of them, when the vanguard met the Quman? Was it true that every Quman soldier carried a shrunken head at his belt, as a trophy? She touched her own neck, wondering if they chopped the heads off children, too, or if in Quman eyes she was old enough to be married or taken as a slave.
But at least, here in the rear guard, they were a long, long way from the front, where the battle would be fought.
By midday they came up along a ridge and caught a glimpse of the Veser River in the distance. Weapons and armor glinted in the trees below where the rest of the army wound away before them, closing in on the river plain.
Blessing stood up on the cart and grasped the shoulders of the good-natured wagoner who was driving. “Look!” she cried in her piercing voice. “I see the Quman army.”
Anna stared, thinking for an instant that she saw a dark stain, like a plague of locusts, swarming over the river plain; then the road dropped into a cleft that steadily widened into flatter ground as it opened into broken woodland, oak and hornbeam and the occasional pine or beech. The tree cover gave them occasional protection from the glaring sun, but she was sweating, even though she didn’t have to walk. The Lions, striding steadily alongside, had their helms thrown back and wiped their faces frequently.
Was that a growl of thunder in the distance? She couldn’t decide whether a storm would make things better, or worse.
The wagon jostled along the trail in an even rhythm, jarred by an occasional bump. None of this bothered Blessing, who finally got bored, curled up among the lumpy sacks, and fell asleep after making Anna promise to “wake her up for the battle.” Anna envied the child her ability to sleep so easily. The load of grain made a sturdy pillow, and Anna was able to fashion a little awning out of tent cloth so that Blessing’s head remained in shadow as the wagon rolled along through changes of light and shade.
A group of at least one hundred Lions marched ahead of them and, in front of them, perhaps one hundred Polenie horsemen with their colorful striped tabards. Lord Wichman and his brother, with the Saony legion, rode too far ahead to see from here.
There was just room on the track for two wagons to move forward side by side. For a while, Anna watched the painted wagon belonging to Bayan’s mother, but the beaded covering over the window never parted to reveal a watching face. Six male slaves marched behind the wagon. Two walked at the front, leading the oxen which pulled it. In this heat, they had all stripped down to loinclothes. They were probably the most comfortable people there: no armor, no weapons. If they were nervous, they didn’t look it. She tried to imagine what feelings they had, but even though once in a while one would glance at her, feeling her gaze on him, not one ever cracked a smile or turned his lips down in a frown. They just walked, obedient to their mistress’ will.
The rest of the train followed in their dust, supply wagons, a few carts holding injured soldiers, carts holding the pavilions and camp furniture of nobles who could not go to war without their comforts and other visible signs of their rank and importance, the closed wagons bearing the princess’ treasure, and several carts belonging to the church folk, which contained their precious vessels and golden altar cloths for the nightly service.
Lions marched alongside all the way down the train, together with other infantrymen. Now and again she caught sight of horsemen farther out in the forest. At the rear, she knew, rode Duke Boleslas and the remainder of his troops. Heribert sat on the open tailgate, lost in thought.
Lord Thiemo, Matto, and the other six of Sanglant’s soldiers designated to escort Princess Blessing rode off to the right, working their way through the trees.
“Why are all the infantr
y back here, Brother Heribert?” she asked finally.
Heribert started, as if he’d forgotten Anna was there. “I’m no expert in strategy,” he said with a smile, “but even I know that the Quman are all horsemen. Best to engage them on the field with cavalry.”
“Why did Zacharias have to ride with Prince Bayan?”
“I thought you didn’t like him?”
“I don’t. I think it’s better he’s taken away. He’s worse than a heathen. He used to be a good God-fearing man, and now what is he?”
“A very troubled one, I fear, and as good as he can be, in his heart. Nor should you hate him, child. He’s done you no harm.” She frowned at him, not liking to be lectured. “I’ll say no more,” he went on. “Since Zacharias was a slave to Bulkezu for seven years, Prince Bayan wants him nearby in case he sees or hears anything of importance, so he can warn Bayan.”
“But not Prince Sanglant.”
“Prince Bayan is the commander of this army. That is, I mean.” Amazingly, he blushed. “Princess Sapientia is the commander of this army, and I beg you, Anna, do not ever mention that I said otherwise.”
Surprised to hear a cultured noble cleric beg her for anything, she began to answer when shouts and the blast of a horn sounded from the rear. Heribert hopped off the wagon, stumbled, and righted himself just as a rider galloped past, heading forward along the line.
Lord Thiemo cut in close, followed by the others. “It must be a Quman patrol,” he said to Anna, glancing at Blessing. “Nothing to worry about.”
Lewenhardt had an arrow held loosely in his bow, and he was scanning the woods nervously, but through all that open woodland Anna saw no sign of winged riders. From the rear, the clash of arms rose singing on the wind. A few arrows fell among the wagons, and as she stared, shocked, at a white-fletched arrow skittering over the ground, a hard thunk shuddered the wagon. An arrow quivered in the side, the entire point buried in the wood. Chustaffus, who had refused to be left behind at Walburg even though his injured shoulder had crippled his sword arm, shouted in alarm as an arrow skated a hand’s breath past his nose, and he rocked back, barely able to stay mounted.
“My Lord,” swore Lord Thiemo, staring into the woodland as a misty fog coursed through the trees.
Only it was not mist but a hundred, or more, pairs of wings.
The Lions cried out warnings. They broke into a trot, and the cursing driver of their wagon whipped the mules forward.
Behind, men shouted and screamed, and for one horrible moment as they jolted into a broad clearing, she heard a cry ringing out above the clamor.
“Duke Boleslas is down!”
Panic broke through the line of wagons. Riders scattered, and in the chaos the only thing Anna could think was that the Lions were holding formation as they shouted at the wagon drivers to head for a little knoll, topped by a copse of trees, that sat at the far end of the clearing. The rain of arrows thickened.
“Ai, Lord, Thiemo,” cried Heribert, “if this is a Quman patrol, then each of them must be shooting four bows at once.”
More of the wagons broke free into the clearing, but it was already too late. The foremost group of Polenie horsemen had charged left into the trees to head off the Quman attack. As the lines collided a noise like rumbling thunder filled the air as weapons clashed.
Blessing woke. “Where’s Daddy?” she cried.
Lewenhardt leaped onto the wagon, standing literally over the child, bracing himself with a foot on either side of her body. Thiemo, Matto, Surly, Everwin, Den, Johannes, and Chustaffus made a ring around the cart. Heribert hastily mounted Lewenhardt’s horse, falling behind as more wagons raced forward, desperate to escape the Quman.
Anna got to her knees, staring. Back in the woods, the Polenie standard bobbed awkwardly. The battle was all confusion, half lost under the shade of trees now that the sunlight burned her eyes. It seemed like everywhere she saw Quman wings, crowding into the ranks of Polenie horsemen. A horn blew another long blast before stuttering to silence as the first Quman horsemen broke through the Polenie line, as the handsome Polenie riders scattered from the battle, fleeing or dying.
Blessing tried to push to her feet, but Anna shoved her back down as another rain of arrows spattered around them. Everwin swore, yanking off an arrow that lodged in his chain mail. Matto was bleeding where an arrow had cut into the leather cheek strap of his helmet.
The worst thing about the Quman attack was its silence: no horns, no trilling cries, only the whistle of their wings where the wind sang in them. At last, inevitably, the Polenie standard sank into the fray and the last of Duke Boleslas’ cavalry—had there really been three or four hundreds of them?—were lost to sight, leaving only infantry, half of them running, or falling, or battling as well as they could against superior numbers.
“We’re going to die,” said Thiemo.
“Shut up,” snapped Surly. “I hate whiners.”
The wagon surged forward, neck and neck with the painted wagon in which Bayan’s mother rode. Her slaves trotted alongside, easily keeping up. Their calm expressions, almost of indifference, hadn’t changed.
“Ho! Princess!” An old Lion gestured wildly. “Move along!” The first line of the Lions had reached the knoll and already were frantically digging in, chopping down trees, anything to make a barrier against the horsemen.
Back in the forest, it had begun to rain. Thunder grumbled ominously, and wind whipped the treetops. The Quman were everywhere. Was this their entire army, that had cut around to attack them from behind? A large contingent galloped past, far off to the right side, heading toward the rear of the unsuspecting Saony legion. Others surged up to catch the last of the wagons. A carter was killed, cut down from behind as he whipped his horses. Another man threw himself from his cart and tried to take refuge under the bed, but he got trampled before he got to safety. Without dismounting, Quman warriors began to pull the contents from the carts. Chests were spilled open and bags dumped in the mud to see if they held anything of value.
Half of the Lions fell back to form a line between the forward half of the baggage train and the part that was already being overrun. A number of other infantrymen joined up with them, although in truth hundreds must have already died or fled into the forest, hoping to escape back the way they’d come.
“Get down, girl!” cried Lewenhardt as he dropped to his knees. A shower of arrows fell around them. Someone was hit; Everwin, maybe, or Den. Anna threw herself forward over Blessing. The child wriggled and protested, trying to get free so she could see.
“Lie still!” Terror made Anna’s voice no better than a croak.
Lewenhardt jerked to one side as an arrow passed his ear. It buried its point in the neck of the driver, whose head kicked forward. He twitched a few times, slumped as the reins slipped from his hand, and toppled from the wagon. At once, Chustaffus slid gracefully from his mount to the driver’s seat and got hold of the reins with his good arm. Behind the twelfth rank of wagons, all they could now hope to save, the rear guard of the Lions stepped back in good order, a single step at a time. The Quman, those who weren’t looting the rear wagons, hesitated, unwilling to assault the well-ordered company now that they didn’t have surprise on their side.
The knoll lay but a spear’s throw away. A rough palisade was already rising as Captain Thiadbold ordered the defense. As their wagon rolled in, it was commandeered at once to fill in a gap in the wall. Anna leaped off the wagon just as Thiemo pulled Blessing free. A moment later, Lions got their shoulders under the wagon’s bed and tipped it up on its side. Its contents spilled everywhere. A bag of grain ripped, and wheat poured onto the ground while men hurried over it, unheeding. As the other wagons trundled up, they were corralled to fill in gaps in this makeshift redoubt; even oxen and horses were tied up across such gaps. Only the painted wagon of Bayan’s mother was left untouched.
But it was already too late.
A Quman captain with magnificent eagle feather wings had whipped his unruly me
n into formation. The line split. The main force of the Quman and their leader attacked obliquely on the right flank of the retreating line of infantry, while a smaller force circled around the left, still launching arrows as they rode. Anna hauled Blessing up the knoll to crouch in the shelter of a beech tree, her arms wrapped tightly around the little girl.
So close. Arrows fluttered through the branches. Men shrieked in pain. The line of retreating Lions curled back, trying to protect their back, and to protect the last of the wagons now racing for the knoll. It was impossible that they wouldn’t all be killed before they reached the knoll. They were less than a bow’s shot away.
Lewenhardt took aim and loosed his arrow. The Quman leader’s horse tumbled, throwing him to the earth. A shout of triumph rose from the retreating line of Lions. The old Lion at their center shouted orders. In groups of three and four, men broke from the center, running to extend the flanks so that the line kept extending—at the cost of the center, so far unchallenged. Most of the wagons had now reached the knoll, been tipped over, and set up to fill in gaps, but they didn’t have enough to make it all the way around the knoll.
A few arrows launched from the knoll landed among the Quman attacking the left. A band of ten Lions charged off the knoll to prevent that line of their comrades from being outflanked. On the right the Quman horse rode up to the line but balked at the hedge of spears and shields retreating evenly before them.
“Gotfrid!” cried Thiadbold from the knoll. “Close up!”
As Lewenhardt and other archers shot rapidly, and accurately, the line still out in the clearing moved backward at double step. Leaving a dozen of their men dead on the field, the Lions closed up the gap. A ragged cheer rose from the Lions waiting for them on the knoll. It was a small, bitter victory, probably short-lived. The rear guard was gone, obliterated, except for them.
Far away, Anna heard the ring of battle breaking out as the Quman hit the Saony legion from behind.
