Finally, as the men in the camp went about a subdued breakfast and the watch was changed, the first effective shot was released. The enemy seemed to have given up hope with the bolt throwers, loading them and pointing them at the river in preparation, but the catapults had been gradually achieving better and better success. They had swiftly learned the optimum level of torsion, and then about angling and distance through trial and error.
By the time the sun’s golden arc had cleared the hill they had stopped accidentally killing their own men, and now the latest shot was surprisingly effective. The rock, the size of a man’s torso, hurtled out of the sky towards the green hillside before the camp. The artillerist who’d yesterday shot the capering native grabbed his small bolt thrower and ran back up the slope just before the rock landed where he’d just been, half-burying itself in the grass.
‘Half a turn,’ murmured Bellacon under his breath.
‘What?’ Cantex said, peering off into the distance.
‘Half a turn or so and he’s got the range of the camp defences. We’re about to become vulnerable to artillery shots. What do we do then?’
‘Decamp and move back?’ Cantex suggested. ‘That would be the safest thing.’
‘That would mean we can no longer cover the river, and the enemy are at liberty to cross.’
‘So?’ Cantex shrugged. ‘You said you wanted to meet them in open ground.’
‘True,’ Bellacon replied. ‘But I don’t think they’ll commit fully against us. They must know that meeting us in open ground is suicide. We’re in the rather deplorable tactical position of being able to neither retreat nor advance without losing.’
‘Perhaps they will chase us?’ Cantex prompted. ‘Perhaps they are too remote and don’t know imperial capabilities.’
‘Or perhaps they’re expecting more men. That would be my guess. Either way, I’m loathe to give ground, especially when we have a good fortified position. We need to be moving north with blades out, not south with our arses showing to the enemy and our tails between our legs.’
‘What’s your suggestion, then?’
‘Send the bulk of the men a few hundred paces south, to the far side of the camp where the enemy can’t see to target. Keep only light, fast infantry forward and gather them in small units so they can respond instantly to enemy shots. Give them open leave to move as they need to avoid any missile.’
‘You are advocating running around while they shoot at us? Like some kind of kid’s game?’ Cantex said with a faint sense of disapproval.
‘Convocus asked us to keep them busy. He has a plan, and he was always the clever one, you know that. If we bug out and they cross the river, we might scupper all Convocus’ plans. Better still, if we can get the artillery here, we can set them up and start giving tit for tat. We might be coming to the game late, but with experienced and skilled artillerists, we could set ours up further back and yet still achieve more effective shots.’
Cantex frowned. ‘You might be on to something with that last part. If only we knew where they all were.’
‘Run,’ bellowed Bellacon, already sprinting off to the left, along the rampart. His friend followed suit, heading the other way. After a count of five, a huge rock thudded into the embankment mere feet from where the pair had stood. There was an odd honk, like a goose choking. A musician less than arm-length from the impact stared wide eyed at the boulder. He had almost swallowed his own horn in fright.
‘Well, we have to do something,’ shouted Cantex. ‘Give the orders to the men in the camp as you suggested. I’m going to have a word with some of the horsemen and send them off south to look for the wagons and the artillery. Maybe we can bring them up faster?’
Bellacon nodded and hurried into the camp, while Cantex skirted around the edge, heading for the cavalry contingent, where the horsemen, as well as the scouts and teamsters, were all based, hovering protectively around the corral where the beasts of all quality and nature were kept grazing.
His suspicions rose a notch as he rounded a corner in a line of tents and spotted the corral. Where he had expected perhaps a thousand horses and donkeys mooching and chewing at the lush greenery, there were maybe fifty, looking bored and forlorn. Spotting a man in a teamster’s tunic and leather smock stretching before beginning to buff the leather harness on the table before him, he called the man’s attention.
‘Sir?’ barked the teamster, rising in sudden surprise and almost sending his table flying.
‘Where is everyone?’
‘Sir?’
‘The cavalry?’ prompted Cantex, gesturing at the largely empty paddock. ‘A thousand or so horses and men? Horses? Big things with four legs and noses like my auntie Alina. Can’t miss ’em.’
The teamster frowned as though explaining the simplest of things to a moron. ‘They went with Tribune Convocus, sir. Before dawn.’
Of course they did. Thank you for filling in all the details, old friend…
He pointed at the teamster. ‘You can ride a horse, yes?’
‘Well yes, sir.’
‘Get on the best horse in that paddock and ride south along the trail we used. Just a few hours back there is the front of the wagon train from the south. I need you to locate the artillery and tell them to double their horse power and move as fast as they are able. We need them here as soon as they can.’
‘Yes, sir.’
As the teamster rushed off, Cantex turned back towards the camp, hearing the next strike of the enemy artillery and wondering whether it had struck turf or flesh.
Come on, Convocus. What are you up to?
* * *
The sun had been up for two hours and was now climbing high into the sky, combating the threat of the gathering leaden clouds that were drifting closer with each scud of cold wind like the breath of belligerent native gods.
Bellacon stood on the highest point of the camp, with Cantex and Lissa at his sides, watching with increasing tension. Though the enemy seemed to have entirely written off their bolt throwers as effective machines of war, continued use had vastly improved their skills with the catapults, and shots had been landing in the camp sporadically for two hours and more.
Fortunately, they were still slow to load and aim, and the shots were coming in fits and bursts and rarely more than one at a time. Despite that, one shot had hit a medical aid station, killing a surgeon, two orderlies and half a dozen men who had been waiting there with minor injuries. Another boulder had taken a group near the north gate of the camp. The ten-man unit had moved out of the predicted path of one such machine, only to find themselves the target of another that loosed but a moment later. Little had been found other than separated limbs and a wide smear across the grass where the giant boulder had bounced before rolling to a halt in the middle of the camp.
Now something new seemed to be happening. Where previously the shots had been so independent, one of the natives with more nous than his fellows seemed to have realised what they were doing wrong.
Cantex and Bellacon shared worried frowns at an almost simultaneous trio of thuds across the river. Sure enough, three great boulders were arcing up through the sky. The tribunes turned and glanced across the camp to see the doom of a dozen men. Two units, positioned somewhere in the path of the various missiles, dithered, uncertain where to move. A third was better prepared. As the first two ducked this way and that, unsure of the path of the missiles, the third responded to the bark of a man in their line. ‘Hold your nerve and wait ’til the last minute. When you know exactly where it’s coming, then run!’
Cantex tried to commit that soldier’s face to memory as true officer material. Sure enough the three shots hit the camp within a single heartbeat. The first ploughed into one of the dithering columns, only two men escaping as they happened through sheer chance to choose the right way to leap. The second column shifted at the last moment, only three of their number moving too slowly to dodge the bouncing death coming their way. The unit who had responded to the order stood u
ntil the last possible moment and then, seeing the rock coming their way, pelted to their left. To a man, they fled the scene alive.
‘The enemy have to have seen how effective that was,’ Cantex said quietly. ‘Time’s almost up. We can’t afford to give Convocus much longer. We’re starting to lose men properly now. They loose every quarter hour, and this time they killed a dozen men. At that rate they’ll take fifty men an hour, and that’s only if they don’t get any better. What do you reckon, Bellacon, retreat to safety?’
‘I still don’t like that. We might drop Convocus deep in the shit if we do, and we would also lose what is, other than the artillery threat, a really strong position.’
‘All will unfold soon,’ Lissa said, rather mysteriously, ‘like a flower to the sun.’
‘Well it’s becoming increasingly unsafe staying here,’ Cantex grumbled, rolling his eyes at the way Bellacon subconsciously moved close to the woman, protectively, every time there was the thud of an enemy weapon releasing.
‘Agreed,’ the other tribune said with a nod.
Cantex frowned at his friend. ‘What are you saying?’
‘We’re left with just one direction. If we can’t stay here, because we’re only going to lose an increasing number of men, and we can’t retreat because of both Convocus and tactical advantage, then forward is our only option.’
‘I think you forgot about the sides,’ Cantex said, worried.
‘This is not a good time for one of your jokes, Cantex.’
‘That was not a joke. Forward is a river and a pack of howling barbarians. What are you suggesting? Suicide?’
‘It took them hours to get the range for the camp,’ Bellacon reminded him. ‘Four hours, I reckon. If we change position, it will take them some time to adjust again. We can’t afford to move back, but if we move down to the river bank we will be too close for their catapults to adjust quickly. In fact, they might not manage to get them angled so close at all. We should certainly buy ourselves some time, and by extension buy Convocus time too.’
‘And what about their bolt throwers? Their archers?’
‘We deal with that as it happens. They don’t have a lot of archers, and we have our own. We head down to the water’s edge, nullify the immediate danger from their catapults. We create a good, solid shield wall. Behind that we put our missile auxiliaries. If their archers get close enough to touch us, we can retaliate, so we should see off that threat soon enough. That only leaves their bolt throwers.’
‘Only?’ Cantex prompted.
‘Given how slow they were to familiarise themselves with the catapults, we can assume something similar with the bolt throwers. It should be at least an hour before we face any real danger. That’s an hour we’ve bought Convocus.’
Cantex frowned at his friend. ‘I know you keep telling me how clever the bugger is, but I once saw Convocus drink a mug of table-cleansing water in a tavern because he wasn’t paying attention. Do we really want the future of the entire army riding on the gamble of a man who coughed up soapy bubbles for three days?’
‘Form the damn units, Cantex.’
Chapter 20
Convocus peered back at the force behind him.
‘Reform your units. Hold together. We’re almost there.’
The fifteen hundred horsemen hurtling across the grass behind him quickly shifted, reorganising even at speed into their units. Some were better than others. Those veteran cavalry who formed the bulk of his men were quick and efficient but the others, who’d been picked hurriedly if with care, were less professional about it. Some were better riders than others, but their horse skills were not why they had been chosen. The horses were mere transport for them.
Across the river Convocus could see the lightning-struck tree that he’d selected as the first landmark. Miraculous that it was as obvious now in the daylight as it had been in the dark, silhouetted against white moonlight. The blackened skeletal trunk stood proud on a small rise and was visible even this far back across the hill and away from the river. He might not be able to see the imperial force or the natives they faced, but he knew from that charred, reaching bole that they were close.
To this point they had ridden for speed, not battle, and that in itself was a gamble of course. Fielding tired cavalry on tired horses was a poor tactical choice, but he was sadly limited in his available options right now. He would have to trust they could still pull off his plan even exhausted and worn as they were.
He judged them to be some quarter of a mile from the river here, which would put them more or less at the very rear of the enemy encampment. Just right to spring his surprise. Or to lead over a thousand men to their deaths, of course.
Gods, but he hated gambling.
‘Remember your positioning. Watch for pickets and use your spears.’
The large force of horsemen thundered on, and Convocus, leading from the front as was only fitting, hefted his own short spear. Ahead lay a section of woodland, but an avenue some forty feet wide cut through it, leading towards the enemy encampment. That had to be the one. Gods, but he hoped it was. If not, then he had misjudged their arrival and everything could go very wrong, very quickly.
Standing on the far side with his friends, some hours ago now, he had peered myopically into the darkness and marked just such a gap in the trees – one of several such from which the enemy had originally emerged. If luck was with him – well, luck and his judgement, anyway – then that very gap was the other end of the one for which they were now racing.
His searching eyes dropped to the turf and he felt a thrill of relief course through him. There, amid the wash of grass wavering in the breeze and the endless mud of a winter recently departed, was the mark of an army’s passage. A day old, now, but the press of boot prints, of hoof prints, and the faint ruts of cartwheels. It had to be the same path.
With the half a dozen men of his personal guard close by, Convocus pounded on towards to the avenue. His first warning came before he had even reached the trees.
Three figures stepped out from the side into the wide avenue. One bore a spear, one a bow, and the other appeared to be unarmed. The trio bellowed their alarm at the sudden sight of approaching cavalry. The spearman, either versed in imperial anti-horse combat techniques or treating this like a boar hunt, moved into the centre, crouched, and jammed the butt of his spear into the ground, angling it forward and leaning into it. Of course, it wasn’t as long a shaft as the imperial spears used for the manoeuvre, but it would still remove one horse.
What he hoped to do against one and a half thousand, on the other hand, escaped Convocus.
Behind the native spearman, the archer nocked an arrow and steadied himself, pulling back the bowstring. They were brave, the tribune had to admit, but still they were doomed. And although the third man had begun to sprint off to the east along the avenue, bellowing a warning, he wouldn’t get far.
The arrow was released and missed the man to Convocus’ left by an arm-span, the horseman expertly weaving to stay out of the way. The spear man clearly believed he was protecting his archer friend and buying time for the third man to carry a warning. He was wrong on both counts.
‘Take them.’
With the guardsmen close by, the tribune veered to the left, around the spear man. The archer nocked and launched a second arrow. Hasty, and poorly executed, yet at such a short range now that he was almost guaranteed a hit. His arrow thudded into the thigh of another of the leading horsemen, just below the chain shirt. The rider bellowed his pain, but his thrown javelin took the native spearman full in the chest in reply.
Even as the spearman fell to the ground transfixed and crying out in pain, half a dozen horsemen rode past him, one of them delivering an almost negligent backslash with his sword, hacking into the archer’s neck even as he struggled for a third arrow.
Convocus, his eyes on the running picket, ground his teeth. It was not generally in his nature to push for personal position, unless driven to it by the jibes of his
friends as they had so long ago on the battlefield of Velutio, but right now he was determined to be the man to bring down the runner.
The others were close behind, but the tribune led by a horse-length.
The picket was bellowing warnings in his native tongue, but the simple fact was that the thunder of six thousand hooves would announce the cavalry’s arrival as well as his voice. He couldn’t shout loud enough to draw any earlier attention, surely?
Convocus hefted the spear and took careful aim. The man was paying him only the scant attention of a pursued footman, failing to weave or dodge. Still, when the tribune threw, the spear went sailing almost on-target but fell to the turf a foot to the man’s right. Convocus snarled his irritation. He was no expert spear thrower, but he’d pictured it as a simple task in his head.
Aware that he was almost on the man now, he drew his blade and swung.
The native was still crying out his warnings as the blade took him in the back, slashing across his spine so hard with the horse’s momentum that the blow almost ripped the sword from the tribune’s hand. But before Convocus could congratulate himself, more figures burst from the trees to both sides ahead, some positioning themselves to face this incoming threat, others picking up the warning from their outermost picket and running for the enemy camp, crying out their news.
The tribune heard thundering hooves closing on him and pulled in his sword just as several of his guard hurtled past him, kicking their sweating beasts into an impressive speed despite their exhaustion. A flurry of launched spears took the nearest men, and then with swords drawn the cavalrymen charged the remaining natives.
Convocus peered over his shoulder. The main force was close behind. With a steadying breath, he urged his horse on, pounding across the turf and starting to catch up with the men who’d passed him and were scything their way through the enemy pickets.
When he’d been a young, fresh-faced soldier, Convocus had spent some time standing in the hall of warriors at Vengen, waiting to be seen by his superior. He vividly remembered one of the wall paintings there, for at the time it had struck him as incongruous and indicative that he was stationed in the north and not the imperial heartland. It had been a scene from northern myth, featuring a fearsome god on his eight-legged horse, riding down a band of naked warriors and leaving bloodied corpses in his wake. The scene before his eyes right now was so reminiscent of that scene he shivered with the frisson of otherworldliness it brought. Where in the painting it had been gods hunting natives, now it was imperial cavalry.
Invasion (Tales of the Empire Book 5) Page 23
