by Laurence Yep
Lord Bhima regarded him suspiciously. “And what would your Federation gain by all this benevolence?”
“In the long run,” Mr. Spock replied calmly, “we all gain from the insights brought by each new member.”
Lord Bhima slipped his sword from his sheath. “Don’t peddle your hucksters’ tales to me. I’m not some gullible boy like Prince Vikram.”
Mr. Spock stared unblinking at the sword edge hovering over his neck. “A cause that must rely upon swords to prove its point is a rather weak one.”
Lord Bhima nodded his head with grudging respect. “Well, I’ll give you this much. You believe what you’re saying.”
Puga snorted contemptuously. “Lord Bhima and I are different sides of the same coin. I have nothing to lose and he has everything to gain—just by keeping things the way they are.”
“Do you really think I care about wealth? I own very little except my weapons.” Lord Bhima tapped the side of his head. “I’m talking about foreign ideas and what they can do to a code that’s been perfecting itself all these years. What about all the questions you offworlders have already raised? Already it’s as if our young people were born with daggers in their minds. [226] And the more they think, the more they seem to cut their very souls.”
Mr. Spock managed to moisten his throat slightly by swallowing. “It is possible to graft twigs from old trees onto new ones.”
“We do it all the time in the orchards.” Puga gave an authoritative nod of his head.
“Precisely,” Mr. Spock agreed. “Trees may bear fruit for only so long; and then, if they are allowed to linger, they wither and the fruit turns bad. But if you can graft their branches onto new trees, you can renew the orchard.”
“Listen to the offworlder,” Puga urged Lord Bhima. “He knows more about this sort of thing than we do.”
Encouraged by Lord Bhima’s thoughtful expression, Mr. Spock went on. “My own people have traditions and a culture far older than Angira’s.” It was not the most diplomatic thing to say under the circumstances, but Mr. Spock felt compelled to tell the truth. “And yet it was good for them to join the Federation. They ... I mean, we ... were a wise and ancient society long before the others; and yet we have learned as much from these younger cultures as we have taught them.”
But Lord Bhima had noticed Mr. Spock’s slip of the tongue. “And you, offworlder. How does it feel to be one of the new grafts?”
“It is not easy,” Mr. Spock said slowly, as if recalling past misunderstandings and slights and even humiliations. “But I have never been afraid of difficulties.” He swung his head to look at Lord Bhima. “And I suspect that neither are you.”
Lord Bhima laughed lightly as he held his hand out. A sinha scurried up with a water skin and unstoppered [227] it before he presented it to Lord Bhima. “No. I’ve been accused of many sins in my time, but laziness was never one of them.” He held out the water skin. “But I don’t think our orchards on Angira have become played out yet.” He paused and added with a chilling absent-mindedness, “They simply need a little trimming.”
Mr. Spock did not answer right away, but instead struggled to raise his head as he opened his mouth. And Lord Bhima expertly sent a stream of water into it. Mr. Spock drank thirstily before he lay back.
“And how many people will die during the pruning?” Mr. Spock asked.
Lord Bhima threw back his head and squirted a stream of water into his mouth. “Do you think it’s wise to bait me this way?”
Mr. Spock wiped his fingertips across his lips. “You would not have gone to so much trouble to capture me just to kill me in a fit of anger.”
“True enough, but the old man here isn’t immune.” Lord Bhima rammed the stopper back into the water skin.
But Mr. Spock thought he had Lord Bhima’s measure now; and it was with a certain sense of regret that he knew Lord Bhima would continue to serve Rahu. “You aren’t one to let someone else do your fighting. I rather suspect that you wouldn’t take your vengeance indirectly either.”
Lord Bhima handed the water skin to Puga. “No, I’m a warrior, not a politician.” He threw back his head and laughed. “That’s always been my virtue as well as my vice.”
[228] Mr. Spock rested his head back upon the litter. “And yet you will allow innocent people to die?”
“I repeat,” Lord Bhima said softly, “I have never been afraid of difficulties—even if it’s with my own conscience. You’ll find that I’m not deadwood yet.”
Chapter Ten
Ten days later, Vikram’s army had marched out of the pass, scattering a small force of Rahu’s scouts who had scampered off almost gleefully as if they could not believe Lord Rahu’s good fortune. Apparently the Kotah Elders had not been the only ones expecting a long, protracted campaign to take Kotah. As Urmi had predicted, the Committees of other villages had not been so foolish as her own. With eyes and ears all over the countryside, they knew that Rahu’s army was spread over a broad area “foraging”—though, as the prince had said, “Some purists might call it looting.”
It had been a simple thing to cut Rahu’s supply lines to the palace. They were waiting now at a site the prince had chosen with his commanders. With the household troops of a few minor lords and some village militias, the prince’s army numbered some six thousand and his commanders had positioned it with its left flank upon a hill, its right flank on a river, and set a barricade [230] of sharpened stakes in front of it. And at the center were the harquebusiers and pikemen.
But despite all their careful preparations, their army seemed woefully small as Rahu’s own army poured onto the field late one afternoon. The prince closed one eye as he squinted through a brass telescope. “Urmi, if we survive this battle, you’ll have to compliment your friends. They estimated Rahu’s army at thirty thousand and I think they were right.”
Urmi watched the army take up positions in neatly ordered ranks. “There doesn’t seem to be any end of it.”
“But the heart of Rahu’s army is the sinha.” The prince pointed his free hand toward a large, glittering, white-caped rectangle at the rear of the army. “Destroy the sinha and you destroy his army. And there are only three thousand sinha against a thousand of our harquebusiers. So we can reduce the odds to just three-to-one.”
Sulu studied the situation. “But he seems to want to keep them as a reserve. He can throw his other troops at you until he’s just worn you down by sheer numbers.”
“The strength of the sinha is their pride.” The prince swept his telescope back and forth. “And a strength can be turned to a weakness.” The prince focused the telescope on the horizon where the carts and wagons of Rahu’s train were rolling along. “Aren’t they going to make camp?”
Urmi placed the edge of her hand at the top of her helmet to shade her eyes against the late afternoon sun. “I think they want to attack while the sun is in your eyes.”
“That’s rather uncooperative of them.” The prince [231] lowered the telescope as if he were annoyed. “We planned to have the morning sun shine into theirs.”
Urmi took the telescope and raised it to her right eye. “They look tired to me. I’ve had all kinds of reports that they’ve been making forced marches to collect together and then get here. And they look hungry. I’ll bet anything that Rahu hasn’t given them much time to eat—if at all.”
“Rahu probably wants to catch me before I change my mind and scurry back into Kotah.” He gestured toward a blue banner with a golden sun crest that was suddenly unfurled. “There’s his symbol now. It’s odd how you can hate an object almost as much as you can hate the owner himself.”
“But I don’t see Mr. Spock or my grandfather.” Urmi collapsed the sections of the telescope together in disappointment. Though a rescue column had promptly been dispatched to Urmi’s village, they reported that raiders had already been there, burning half the houses and escaping with Puga and Mr. Spock in the confusion.
“Rahu would have them near him, I think. But in ord
er to find them, we’ll have to dispose of Rahu’s army first.” The prince signed to Colonel Gelu. “I think it’s time for our little entertainment.”
The prince had been cagey about his plans, refusing to divulge them even to Sulu and Urmi, so they were as surprised as everyone else when a gaya was led out before the lines so both armies could see it. Covering its back was a large piece of cloth, cut like a sinha pelt and embroidered with the golden sun crest of Rahu’s clan. Leading it was a soldier who leapt easily onto its back. The startled beast swung around, but the man held a tight hold of its horns.
[232] Loud laughter rolled up and down the prince’s lines. “I’ve cheated a little bit,” he confessed to Urmi and Sulu. “The man’s a professional clown.”
The prince took back the telescope and surveyed the opposite lines. “A noble with an empty stomach is a rather cross creature, and I think our little entertainment has just made them even crosser.” He signed to his own banner man who undid the ribbons and unfurled the prince’s banner. The large red rectangle of silk flapped in the air for a moment to reveal the prince’s mountain crest sewn in gilt thread. And then the wind, which had been blowing stiffly, just as quickly died so that the banner drooped. The prince sighed heavily. “Nature must be a drama critic.”
Out in the meadow, the clown had slid from the gaya and hit it on the rump. It trotted off some twenty meters, shaking its head as if it could not believe it was free from his maddening presence. Then it halted and began to graze. The clown shouted and waved his arms but the gaya stubbornly remained where it was. With an elaborate shrug, the clown turned and pretended to strut in exaggerated triumph back to his own cheering, applauding lines.
Suddenly the front ranks of Rahu’s army parted and the sinha began to form up before the rest of the army. When they had thrown off their capes, the late afternoon sun gleamed off their ornate, costly armor. Sulu strapped on his helmet. “There’s enough gold and silver out there to pay your army for a year.”
“Perhaps several years.” The prince tapped a finger against his own plain iron cuirass. It made a hollow bonging sound. “But there is a difference between a pageant and a battle.”
[233] The prince’s own troops had fallen silent now so Sulu could clearly hear the orders that left the front rank of harquebusiers kneeling while the other two ranks rose. Little bells rang here and there among the lines. Many of the soldiers, caught up in the prince’s own dark humor, had hung shadow-catching ribbons from their guns.
Rahu’s banner dipped once and the cornets began to play quick, commanding notes. And then the drums began to beat. The gaya raised its head from the tall grass, but either it was too stubborn or too frightened to leave. Sulu found himself hoping that the gaya would come to its senses and run away before it was too late. And then he realized how incongruous it was when so many people were likely to die on this very same field.
Rahu’s army gave a great roar, like a giant beast getting ready to spring. The prince’s own troops looked at one another uncomfortably. The officers and non-coms could be heard up and down the line as they tried to calm their men. “My pistol,” the prince said to an orderly and exchanged the telescope for a wheel-lock pistol.
The sinha should have advanced to the steady rhythm of their drums, but in their anger and frustration they simply poured onto the field. They moved with all the eagerness of a pack of hunting hounds, scenting an easy, weak prey. By the time they reached the halfway point, their lines had become ragged. And as they broke into a run, any semblance of a formation dissolved completely.
“Steady,” a sergeant murmured to the harquebusiers in front of Sulu. “Hold your fire.”
The sinha were still a short distance from the stakes [234] that had been driven into the ground fifty meters from the prince’s line. But the sinha raised their voices in triumphant cries as if they were already celebrating their victory; and, despite their heavy armor, they ran with a confident stride.
And though the prince’s soldiers stirred, not one of them ran. Sulu had to admire their discipline. When the first sinha reached the markers, Sulu thought the prince would give the order to fire; but when there was only silence to his left, Sulu looked at the prince to see if he was all right. But the prince was standing there, licking his dry lips and staring intently with eyes narrowed against the sunlight.
The prince was still waiting when the main part of the sinha—they were more of a mob than organized units now—had passed the markers.
“Sir?” Colonel Gelu called. The first sinha were at the barricades now and the bulk of Rahu’s warriors were only forty meters away.
The prince’s answer was to raise a wheel-lock pistol over his head and lower it, sighting at the leading sinha. He pulled the trigger and the serrated wheel began to turn, striking sparks from a chunk of iron pyrite into the powder pan. When the pistol went off, it seemed as if the prince had missed hitting any of Rahu’s men. But the prince’s officers lost no time in giving the order. “First rank, fire.”
Because of his own interest in antique guns, Sulu had actually drilled with a wheel lock and even practiced firing one; but that had been with a platoon. So nothing had prepared him for the volume of noise from a volley of hundreds of guns. It was a huge crash like gigantic gates toppling from their hinges—a sound that was [235] almost a physical sensation that passed through his body.
A cloud of black smoke rose from the guns, but Sulu could see how the heavy lead balls knocked their victims backward as if they were simply puppets jerked back by invisible strings. The survivors slowed and even halted as if stunned.
But the prince’s harquebusiers were like some great threshing machine that could not be stopped once it was set in motion.
“First rank, reload.”
“Second rank, fire.”
This time Sulu was too deafened by the first volley to be bothered by it, but the black smoke obscured even the field before them so that all Sulu could see was the first rank using small keys to rewind the springs of their wheel locks and the second rank starting to kneel down before they reloaded. And when the third rank fired, the smoke hid even the barricade of stakes.
Behind him, Sulu’s deafened ears could just make out the rattle of pikemen getting ready to cover the retreat of the harquebusiers. Columns of pikemen had been spaced at intervals to the rear. The drill had been for the harquebusiers to file through the spaces and have the pikemen form lines and advance while the harquebusiers reloaded in relative safety.
The prince hurriedly handed the empty pistol to his orderly to be reloaded and he drew his sword. But no sinha came charging out of the black smoke. And the ranks of harquebusiers kept up a slow but steady fire into the smoke until the prince had the cornets sound the ceasefire.
It took a long time for hearing to return to Sulu’s ears [236] and so he heard the agonized groans only dimly at first, like a flock of crippled birds far away. But the smoke itself did not dissipate until the wind stiffened the prince’s banner, raising it from its staff.
Neither Sulu nor anyone else was prepared for the sight of hundreds of bodies piled between the fifty-meter markers and the barricades. Even as he watched, the piles twitched eerily, like strange-limbed monsters coming to life.
“What’s happening?” Urmi shouted to Sulu and the prince. “Aren’t they dead?” Though she was standing next to him, Sulu could barely make out her words.
“The movement’s probably made by wounded men at the bottom of the piles,” Sulu yelled back. “They must be struggling to throw off the corpses on top of them.”
The prince touched his fingers to head and heart and said something that Sulu missed, but he was clearly shocked by what he saw. Even the officers and harquebusiers looked awed by the efficient and murderous way they had shattered the first attack. Then smoke continued to thin until it drifted up in ghostly pillars and they could see the surviving sinha reorganizing before Rahu’s startled army.
Without thinking, the prince swung his sword
up toward Rahu’s banner. “End it now, Rahu. Withdraw.” The bells at the end of the sword jingled—sounding ominously cheerful over the moans of the wounded. A nearby harquebusier, who had just finished reloading his gun, heard the sound and on some sudden impulse he raised the weapon and shook it carefully so that the bells at the ends of the ribbons rang as well. Another harquebusier raised his gun and [237] imitated the sound. And the ringing passed along the ranks to either flank. There was something both mocking and defiant in the bells—as if a sinister jester were taunting Rahu.
His banner dipped abruptly and the cornets began to blow once more. The prince sheathed his sword guiltily—as if it were to blame. “Here they come again.” He took the reloaded pistol from his orderly.
The sinha gave a hoarse shout and charged back across the field. Somehow they managed to run faster, harder, their feet pounding against the ground. They were silent now, holding their breaths for the grim race ahead. It was as if they were determined to dart between the lead balls from the wheel locks.
Again, the prince waited until the bulk of the sinha had passed the markers before he fired his pistol. The first rank fired almost immediately and the black smoke rose once more; but Sulu could see the front sinha. Some of them clutched at their heads or chests, but others charged on—clambering over their dead.
“Second rank, fire.”
The guns of the second rank of harquebusiers roared and the sinha became mere silhouettes. And even so, a few of Rahu’s young warriors managed to reach the barricade. Swords drawn, eager to get at their tormentors, they twisted between the densely hammered stakes.
“Second rank, kneel.”
“Third rank, fire.”
The words came almost as final as a judge’s order of execution. Bodies were almost cut in two at such point-blank range. Some of the sinha lay draped over the stakes like odd bundles of rags.
