The Pixilated Peeress

by L. Sprague De Camp

  But she'll never discern

  One who's not too prosaic!"

  -

  "That's my problem!" she snapped.

  "Good night, my dear!" He rose, picked up his cloak, threw it around him, and strode for the door. Did he or did he not hear behind him a faint whisper of: "Oh, Thorolf!"? Whether it was real or only imagined, he kept resolutely on out the door and into the snow.

  -

  XI – A Sufficiency Of Slaughter

  The Plain of Formi, a checkerboard of green and brown fields, stretched away to the range of hills that rose against the blue spring sky. The brown was that of lately plowed earth; the green that of newly sprouted crops. Across the plain the army of Ganeozzi, Duke of Aemilia, advanced in three phalanges of a battalion each.

  Each phalanx was a hollow square of pikemen, twenty men on a side and, when up to full strength, three hundred soldiers plus officers. The officers marched inside the square along with drummers, buglers, and adjutants. At each corner of the square marched a formation of crossbowmen. From a safe distance, peasants shouted curses at the damage to their crops.

  Each phalanx tramped beneath a forest of pikes, held vertically with little flags on some of the pikes for the subordinate units. The sergeants of each of the four companies in the battalion marched outside the square with halberds over their shoulders. As sergeant of Alpha Company, Thorolf Zigramson tramped in steel cuirass and burganet on the extreme right of the formation, growling:

  "Close up there!'" 'Pick up your feet!'" 'You're getting out of line!" "Watch the stones lest you trip!" "Sigman, your pike wobbles! Straighten up!"

  A quarter-league ahead, the Brandescan Army lay on the rising ground of the saddle between two hills. At that distance it was merely a dark, formless mass, variegated by the banners rising at intervals and sending out little gleams of sun on armor. As the Aemilians neared, Thorolf could begin to make out the forms of individuals. Shouts of command and cheers came faintly across the diminishing distance, mingled with drum beats and bugle calls.

  "Battalion, halt!" roared the major from the middle of the square. The underofficers and noncommissioned officers repeated: "Battalion, halt!" Bugle calls and drum beats reinforced the command.

  The phalanx stumbled to a halt, with lurching and shoving. Pikes rattled as they struck one another with a clatter like that of storks' bills.

  "Dress ranks!" cried the major. This command, too, was repeated. The sergeants bustled about, shouting and shoving to align their men. The colonel trotted by on his horse, followed by several mounted adjutants. He exchanged shouts with the majors commanding the three battalions.

  Vulkop, the sergeant of Beta Company, also with halberd on shoulder, wandered around the corner of the phalanx to Thorolf. During a lull, Vulkop said softly: "I like it not, Thorolf." He jerked a thumb toward the Brandescan Army. " 'Tis said the foe have a mort of thunder tubes yonder, of a new and deadlier kind."

  "One of those stone balls may strike down a few," said Thorolf, "but we shall be upon them long ere they can reload."

  "I hear they shoot, not stones, but balls of iron," persisted Vulkop. "That makes these 'guns,' as they call them, nimbler and farther-reaching. I've warned the officers, but I might as well have bespoken the deaf."

  "I, too, have told them we shall need a new plan of battle, to no avail," replied Thorolf. "The push of the pike, quotha, will ever rule the field. And where the devil's our cavalry?"

  "Late as usual," snarled Vulkop, trotting back around the corner of the formation.

  After an eternity of waiting, while officers conferred and noncoms nagged their men, the major commanded:

  "Attention! Front rank, lower pikes!"

  The pikes of the first rank came down to horizontal.

  "Second rank, slant pikes!"

  The pikemen behind those in front lowered their pikes to an angle of thirty degrees, holding so that they passed between the heads of the soldiers in front of them.

  "Arbalesters, cock your weapons!"

  The crossbowmen at the corners each placed the muzzle of his device on the ground and put a foot into the stirrup in the nose. They squatted, seized the bowstring in both hands, and bent the bow as they straightened up with a grunt and a heave.

  "Prepare to charge!"

  Thorolf pushed his way between the men to the inner side of the square. His r61e was to continue to command and discipline the men from the inner side. If the enemy threatened to break into the square, he would stiffen the resistance with swings of his halberd.

  Shouts arose from the phalanx. Out from the ends of the Brandescan line streamed squadrons of cavalry. As they neared, Thorolf saw from their baggy garments and turbans that they were Saracens, brandishing scimitars, javelins, and bows. He had heard that Brandesco, weak in cavalry, had hired these foreign horsemen to make up the lack. Yelling, the Saracens galloped toward the Aemilian phalanxes.

  "Hedgehog!" screamed the major. "Hedgehog! Hedgehog!" came the shouts of his subordinates.

  The outermost ranks and files of the phalangites faced outward, knelt, and jammed the butts of their pikes into the soft earth. Behind them, the second ranks slanted their pikes as the second rank of the front had done before, thus presenting a spiky obstacle all the way round the formation.

  The arbalesters at the corners discharged their crossbows with a rattle of thuds. Although they could hardly miss at that range, they did no visible harm.

  Along the Brandescan line, puffs of smoke bloomed to cauliflower shape. Half a heartbeat later came the crash of cannon fire. Cannon balls sailed overhead or plowed up the soft earth on either side. The men of the battalion set up a jeering outcry:

  "Couldn't hit the side of a mountain!"

  "Attention!" came the command. Again the pikes were raised to vertical, while the kneeling soldiers rose. Delay followed as officers conferred and sergeants cursed their men to get them lined up. The colonel and his adjutants galloped past, throwing up clods of mud. At last came the command:

  "Prepare to charge!"

  Along the Brandescan line in the nearer distance, Thorolf glimpsed men rushing about, swabbing out gun barrels and hefting iron balls and bags of powder.

  "Charge!" yelled the major. "Charge! Charge!" cried the others.

  The phalanx started forward at a trot. As the Brandescan line came closer, the Saracens hovering out of crossbow range swept in again, whooping and yelling.

  "Halt! Hedgehog!"

  The men obeyed, more raggedly than the first time. Then the Brandescan cannon opened up again. Two balls plowed into Thorolf's phalanx, with a crash that mingled the crackle of shattering spears with the din of breaking men in armor. Pikes toppled; screams arose.

  "Close up! Close up!" bellowed the sergeants.

  "Attention! Prepare to charge! Charge!" came the commands.

  Again the formation started forward, leaving the wounded and slain sprawled on the brown earth. Again came the Saracen charge, the hedgehog, and the cannon volley. Several cannon balls plowed into the formation; more pikes toppled. In addition, a crackle of handgun fire ran down the Brandescan line. Commands were drowned out by a rising chorus of screams and yells from the wounded. Sergeant Vulkop shouted in Thorolf's ear:

  "Another volley like that and we shall be down to half our strength! The men are wavering!"

  "Where's the major?"

  "There he is, what's left!" Vulkop pointed to a headless body in half-armor, lying with several others within the square. All the officers had fallen or disappeared.

  The Saracens whirled past as the crossbowmen got their weapons cocked and let fly. Thorolf stumbled over a mess of spilled entrails. He told his two surviving fellow sergeants:

  "There's something feigned about those Saracens. They shoot their arrows or cast their darts not; and our arbalesters' bolts go through them and their horses without harm."

  "Sorcery!" said Sergeant Herminus.

  "Aye; the Saracens are but an illusion cast by their wizards, to halt u
s in range of their tubes. If we can get the men moving again, one good charge, ignoring the illusions—"

  "Too late!" said Vulkop. "Look yonder!" He pointed to the middle one of the three phalanxes. It was breaking up; men were leaving their shattered ranks and streaming back across the plain. Most of them dropped their pikes to move faster.

  "And yonder!" said Herminus, pointing toward the Brandescan line, from the ends of which rode more cavalry. These were no phantom Saracens but armored lancers bearing the eagle flag of Brandesco on their lance tips.

  Thorolf, tripping over a severed leg, hurried around the square, bellowing: "Get back in line! Get in line! Hold your posts, if you would not be stuck like pigs! It's your only chance!" Where a couple of men dropped their pikes and started off as the men of the other phalanxes were doing, he pushed through to the outside and drove the men back into ranks with blows of the shaft of his halberd.

  By shouting himself hoarse and by blows and kicks, with the help of the other sergeants he got the surviving men back into a ragged hedgehog formation. A squadron of Brandescan lancers rode up, then sheered off from the hedge of pikes and galloped away across the plain after easier targets, the backs of the fleeing phalangites. Then the Aemilian cavalry, long overdue, appeared; but at the sight of the two broken phalanxes they turned about and rode off, leaving the Brandescan riders to spear the fleeing foot until the plain was carpeted with bodies.

  Thorolf's surviving phalanx tramped its way in a stolid square back across the plain, presenting a ready hedgehog of pikes every time a group of Brandescans came nigh. The walking wounded limped along inside the square. The more seriously stricken had perforce to be left to the mercy of the Brandescans.

  Without planning to do so, Thorolf had fallen into command of his group by energy, brawn, and presence of mind. The other sergeants seemed willing to follow his lead.

  Night had fallen when the group, down to fewer then two hundred, reached the village of Formi.

  -

  Under a sinking half-moon, Formi seemed curiously deserted; no villagers were in sight. Instead, a few men of the Aemilian army, many staggering drunk, moved about the streets, in which lay several bodies in peasant garb.

  As Thorolf's battalion moved into the main street in column of fours, the rabble of soldiers moved aside. Some called out:

  "Where in hell did you knaves come from? The battle was lost, was it not?"

  "Who are you?" asked Thorolf.

  "Never mind who I am. I got away with a whole skin, which most of my comrades did not."

  "Where are the villagers?"

  "In hell or in hiding. When we slew a few who crossed us, the rest thought a little travel good for their health." The man giggled. "Help yourself to the locals' wine; some is not bad. Otmar of the Third caught a pig the locals were not quick enough in getting away; the lads are roasting it."

  "Where's the Duke?"

  The soldier shrugged. "None hath seen him since the rout. Belike he galloped back to Fiensi with his gentlemen, to shut the gates against our comrades demanding their pay."

  "What befell the wagon train, with our rations?"

  "Gone on ahead, with the cavalry."

  "Then is there aught to eat here?"

  "A few loaves and the like in the houses, if the lads haven't eaten them all."

  "Stupid oafs," muttered Sergeant Herminus. "Veterans know what to do with a village. Don't chase the villagers out; command them to stay and to feed and shelter you and allow you a go at their women, on the promise not to burn their town. There's nought like hunger to touch off a mass desertion."

  Thorolf and the other sergeants agreed to divide the battalion, each to take his group to a different part of town to seek quarters, and then to reunite at sunrise.

  -

  Thorolf s men at last found a group of houses containing only a couple of fugitive soldiers. The other troopers they tossed out and made do with the few provisions left in the peasants' larders. When a fight threatened over a cabbage, Thorolf grabbed the combatants and banged their heads together until they agreed to an equitable division.

  The houses of the more prosperous peasants were two-storey structures, the upper storey being the living quarters and the lower a barn for carts, implements, and livestock. The owners of these three houses had driven away their oxen, goats, and asses when they fled.

  Thorolf had taken off his boots and, with two others, had lain down on the main bed when female shrieks came to his ears. Pulling on his boots and seizing his sword, he went out and scrambled down the outside stair to the street. The moon had set, but the feeble light from rooms in which lamps or candles burned enabled him to see his way.

  The sounds were coming from the house to the right of that which he and a score of other soldiers occupied. The main room on the second level shed candlelight.

  Thorolf mounted the stair of this building, which he had assigned to another score of his soldiers. The door was open, and sound and motion came from within.

  Thorolf stepped into the peasant's bed-sittingroom. The soldiers were crowded in the middle and did not notice Thorolf's arrival. He grasped a couple by the slack of their jackets and hauled them away from the ring. One snarled: "How now, thou whoreson—" but fell silent when he recognized Thorolf.

  In the middle of the crowd, Thorolf now saw, a woman lay on her back on the floor, with her skirt and petticoat pulled up to her chin and four men holding her down, one on each limb. Her outcries were now muffled by a gag. A fifth man, kneeling upright between her spread legs, had just pulled down his breeches, showing a lusty erection.

  Thorolf pushed into the circle, grasped the man by his hair, hauled him erect, and dealt him a buffet that sent him falling backward over another soldier, one of the pair holding the woman's ankles.

  "Let her go!" Thorolf roared.

  "And who in hell be ye?" began the man holding the other ankle. Thorolf's boot caught him in the ribs and tumbled him over.

  The men holding the woman's wrists let go and uncertainly got to their feet. The woman pulled out the gag, put down her skirt, and rose likewise.

  "You bastards heard your orders!" said Thorolf. "No beating, robbing, or raping. Do you want the countryside hunting us down? Know you what peasants do to stragglers from a beaten army when they catch them? Skin them alive! The next offender shall be hanged—"

  A fierce blow with a blade caught Thorolf on the side of the face. The blow staggered him, but he recovered his balance and whirled. The would-be rapist had pulled up his breeches, taken up a sword, and come at Thorolf from behind.

  "That for thee, misbegotten swine!" shouted the man.

  To escape another slash, Thorolf sprang back, bowling over another trooper. Before the swordsman could close to finish him, Thorolf got his sword out. The blades clanged. Everyone yelled:

  "Clear a space! Clear a space!" "That was a foul blow!" "Stop them, somebody!" "Why stop a good fight?" "Tenpence on the sergeant!" "I'll take Frinzl if ye'll give me odds!"

  Back and forth, round and round went Sergeant Thorolf and Pikeman Frinzl, hacking and thrusting. At last Thorolf got a thrust home on Frinzl's arm. As the wounded arm sagged, Thorolf sent a full-armed lunge into Frinzl's chest. Frinzl, like nearly all the other surviving men of the First Battalion, had arrived in Formi wearing either a cuirass or a mailshirt over an acton; but Frinzl's defenses were piled in a corner of the room with others. Frinzl staggered back, coughed blood, and sagged to the floor.

  "Anyone else?" said Thorolf to the suddenly quiet crowd, holding his sword with a drop of blood forming on the point. He knew that all they needed was a vigorous leader to rouse them against him, and he would be pulled down and slain in a trice, like a stag by hounds or wolves. They would be furious at his spoiling their gang rape; but no leader spoke up.

  "Then throw this carrion into the street, and the lot of you get out!" he continued, speaking with difficulty because of the gaping wound on his face.

  The men shuffled out the door an
d down the stairs, two bearing the late Trooper Frinzl. Thorolf heard a mutter: "Damned bluenosed Zurshnitters hate to see anyone else having fun ..."

  Thorolf turned to the woman, who shrank back. Now that he had a chance to view her more closely, she was young, quite comely, and just a trifle plump.

  "How came they to catch you?" he asked in Tyrrhenian.

  "I pray you, sir, I had lain down for a nap when the soldiers came. My parents fled with my brothers and sisters in such haste that they forgot to awaken me."

  "How could your parents forget one of their own children?"

  "I am the eldest of eight; so I ween they lost count. And now what, sir? Am I to be raped by you alone instead of by the whole battalion?"