by Greg Keyes
But the other knights weren’t paying much attention to him. The men swarming out of the woods were filling them full of arrows or stabbing at them with pikes, and that seemed to have distracted them.
He recognized them then. They were what remained of the troops Anne had given him to invest Dunmrogh.
He checked the fellow he had hit and found him without breath, then watched Anne’s soldiers finish off the knights. He rubbed his shoulder, which hurt as if Lord Aita were racking it in his halls of punishment. He wondered if it was dislocated.
Z’Acatto peered up from the front of the carriage.
“What are you doing back there?” he asked.
“A lot more than I needed to, it appears,” he replied.
“Nothing new there.”
A few moments later, one of the men came over and doffed his helm, revealing a seamed face with a long white scar across the forehead and a nose that looked like it had been broken a few times. Cazio recognized him as a fellow named Jan something or other.
“That was timely,” Cazio said. “Many thanks.”
“It was at that,” Jan said, his tone cool. “We reckoned you dead, Sir Cazio.”
“I’m not a knight,” he pointed out.
“No? I reckon you’re not, are you? But we were put in your charge.”
“Yes, and look how well I did for you,” Cazio said. “I led you straight into a trap.”
Jan nodded. Some more of the men were walking up.
“Yeah, you did, didn’t you?” another of them agreed, an older, nearly bald fellow with thick features. “Near half of us are dead or missing. Playing sausage with Her Majesty don’t make you a commander, does it?”
Cazio’s hand twitched on Acredo’s hilt. “I’ll agree I’m no commander, but you’ll take that back about Queen Anne, and you’ll do it now.”
The man spit. “Pig guts, I will,” he snarled. “If you want—”
“Easy, Hemm,” Jan said. “No good dragging the queen into this.”
“She put us here as much as he did,” Hemm said.
Cazio lifted his weapon toward the guard. “Take it back.”
The men had surrounded him.
“You’ll take us all, then, with your fancy little sword?” Hemm asked.
“I’ll certainly kill you,” Cazio promised.
“And I’ll help him kill the rest of you,” z’Acatto’s voice said sharply from outside the circle. “Are you pigs or soldiers?”
Hemm looked puzzled. “Pigs or soldiers?” he repeated. Then his face lit up oddly, and he spun toward the old man. “Emrature? Cassro dachi Purcii?”
“Ah, zmierda,” z’Acatto swore.
“It is you,” Hemm said.
“Sodding saints, it is!” another gray-haired soldier agreed. “Older and uglier than ever.”
“You’re still just as stupid, Piro,” z’Acatto bit back. He pointed his sword at Hemm. “You want to fight the son of Mamercio, go right ahead, but it’ll be a fair fight, just you and him.”
Hemm glanced back at Cazio. “That’s Mamercio’s pup?” He rubbed his bearded jaw. “Yeah, I see it now.”
He turned fully back to the swordmaster. “No harm meant,” he said. “I just, well, the rumor is—”
“Is wrong,” Cazio said firmly.
Hemm held his palms up and out. “Then it’s wrong. I stepped in it.”
That sounded enough like an apology, so Cazio lowered his sword.
“There’s a good lad,” Hemm said, clapping his hand on Cazio’s shoulder. “Me and your father and that old man there, we saw some times. I was sorry to hear about your papa.” He pointed at z’Acatto. “He was the finest leader a band of probucutorii ever had. He used to call us his purcii, his pigs.”
“It wasn’t a term of affection,” z’Acatto said. “It’s what you smelled like.”
“Sure,” Hemm agreed. “And the worst—Whatever happened to that old sow Ospero?”
“He went into business in z’Espino,” z’Acatto said. “I saw him a few months ago.”
“Business, eh? I can imagine what kind. That’s what I should have done. Now see where I am. But it’s good to have you here, Cassro. Me and the boys here are about at our wit’s end.”
“You couldn’t have started far from there,” z’Acatto said.
“He was your leader?” Cazio asked Hemm.
“Just me and old Piro there fought in the twenty-year war,” Hemm said. “The rest of these are too young.”
“Right, but I’ve heard of him,” Jan said.
“Who hasn’t?” someone else piped up. “The battle at Cummachio Bridge? Everyone knows that story.”
“I don’t,” Cazio said, sending a sharp look z’Acatto’s way.
The men just laughed and seemed to think he was kidding.
“What exactly are you men doing out here?” z’Acatto asked.
“Ask him,” Piro said, gesturing at Cazio. “The queen gave us to him to play with, and he fair broke us. The horsemen that didn’t die at Dunmrogh rode off and left us, so it’s just us infantry left. We’ve been hounded for days. Gave ’em the slip for a bit, but they’ve found us again. They’re forming up down the road to finish us off. I thought we were dog meat, but with you here I see a chance.”
“There’s nothing I can do for you that you can’t do yourselves,” z’Acatto said.
“Gone all humble on us, have you, Cassro?” Hemm asked. “Come on. We need you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“We’ve got good men here,” Piro said, “but no leader. Now the queen put the young Pachiomadio there in charge of us, didn’t she? And he got us in a bad spot. The way we see it, he should get us out of it.”
“Right,” Jan said. “Help us get back to Eslen.”
“It’s where we’re going, anyway,” Cazio said.
“I only agreed to help you find Austra,” the old man said. “You’re on your own getting back to Anne. But either way, we’ll have an easier time slipping out of here alone.”
“I see how it is,” Piro said. “Can’t say I don’t understand, even though I hardly believe it coming from you, Cassro. You were never one to protect your own stang when there were them around needed you.”
“That was then,” z’Acatto said.
“Leave him be,” Hemm said. “He was man enough back then for four lifetimes. I owe him my life six times over, so when I die tomorrow, I’ll still owe him five.”
“After all, z’Acatto,” Cazio said, “you’ve got wine to drink. What’s more important?”
“Dog’s piss on the lot of you,” z’Acatto snapped. “And Cazio, you cover your fester hole when you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right,” Cazio said. “I’ve no idea what these fellows are talking about, and whose fault is that? But it doesn’t matter. I wish Anne had never put these men in my charge. I wish I had refused her. I’m a swordsman, a good one, but I’m not a soldier and certainly not a leader. But if they’re going to fight tomorrow, I have to fight with them.”
“Now,” Piro said, “that’s Mamercio’s son.”
“What about Austra?”
“What about me?” a voice said from behind. He turned to find her leaning against the carriage. “I wouldn’t have him do anything else. And I’ll be here with him, z’Acatto, and you will, too, because as much as you don’t want it in you, as much as you try to drink it away, you have a noble soul.”
Z’Acatto heaved a sigh and looked around.
“Now, that was a pretty speech, lady,” Piro said.
Then all eyes turned to z’Acatto. For a moment he had the look of a caged animal, but then Cazio saw something firm up in him.
“All right, purcii,” he said. “We’re wasting time. Somebody tell me what we’re facing.”
“There’s ninety of us. Our scout’s last count of them was seventy horse, sixty heavy foot, twenty archers.”
Z’Acatto looked around at the men. “I make you at about half and half h
eavy and light. Does that get it?”
“Yes.”
“We need a narrow field,” he said. “Forest or cliff on our flanks. Anything like that around here?”
“I’ll find it,” a young rusty-haired fellow said.
“Do it, then,” z’Acatto said. “Now, someone talk to me about supplies.”
Cazio stayed with z’Acatto, trying to absorb what the old man was doing, to be what help he could, but in the end he felt rather useless. Z’Acatto and the soldiers spoke a language he didn’t understand, and it wasn’t the patois of the king’s tongue, Vitellian, and Almannish but something deeper, rooted in common experience. He said as much to Austra that night when he went to check on her.
“You’ve marched with soldiers before,” she pointed out.
“We marched alongside them,” he said. “But I never fought as a soldier. In fact, tomorrow I’ve no idea what I’ll do. I’m not a pikeman, I can’t shoot a bow, and a rapier isn’t much use in a battle formation.”
“Did you have any idea? About z’Acatto?”
“There were hints, I guess. Ospero called him ‘Emrature’ once, and I knew my father and he fought in the wars, but he wouldn’t talk about it. I never imagined that soldiers somewhere were still telling stories about him.”
“Well, it sounds like they trust him to lead them,” Austra said. “And they know more about what we’re up against than we do.”
“They have no choice, though. You remember the army we fought at Langraeth? They were all infantry, like these men. Anne’s horse destroyed them. It’s hard to fight cavalry.”
Austra leaned up and kissed him. “We’ve been in a lot tighter spots than this.”
“True,” Cazio said. “But those were situations where being a swordsman counted for something.”
“You’ll always count, Cazio,” Austra said. “The saints love you as much as I do.”
He smiled. “Errenda gave me you, so I know she loves me. I’m pretty sure Fiussa has a soft spot for me.”
“Courting two female saints? That could lead to trouble.”
He felt a guilty little start and then another at the novel feeling of guilt.
“I don’t think I’ll be courting any other women, saints or no,” he said, suddenly feeling very out of sorts.
“I was just joking, Cazio.”
“I’m not,” he heard himself say. “In fact, I hope that you’ll agree to marry me.”
She frowned. “Look, don’t joke,” she said.
“I’m not. I can’t offer you much more than you see, but I’ll give you that.”
She just stared at him. “You really do think we’re about to be killed, don’t you?”
“That’s not it,” he said. “I love you, Austra. I’ve just figured out how much, and I feel foolish for not knowing it earlier, for not marrying you the day we set foot in Eslen. I hope you’ll forgive me for that.”
“I really do,” she said, her eyes watering. She kissed him, and it lasted a long time.
“Just another reason we have to go to Eslen,” he said, stroking her hair. “I have to ask Anne’s permission to steal you away.”
“She’s already given it,” Austra said. “She told me before she sent me away. She said she’s going to create you a duke or something and give me leave to marry you.”
“Duke?” Cazio said.
“Or some title. Lord Dunmrogh, maybe.”
“I have a title already,” he said. “It’s not much of one, but I was born with it.”
“You can have more than one, you know.”
“Hmm. Duke Cazio. Duoco Cazio. That doesn’t sound half-bad.”
Something rustled outside, and then there was a tap on the carriage door. He opened it, and found Jan standing there.
“Aeken found a place,” the soldier informed them. The Emrature wants us there before sunup, so gangen we now.”
The march took them about a league east to an old levee on the Saint Sephod River, and once there they went to work quickly, cutting stakes and digging trenches. The latter was easy, because the field the embankment looked down on had been plowed that spring and the soil was loose, without roots or other hindrances to the spade.
Z’Acatto paced about with more sustained energy than Cazio had ever seen in him. He wasn’t even sure if the old man was drunk.
Taking a break from digging, Cazio went up on the levee to see how things were forming up.
On his right the field gave way to low, swampy forest, but on the left it was relatively unbounded. The carriage and the two remaining wagons of their supply train were drawn up as barriers there, but Cazio didn’t imagine they would offer much protection. The dirt in front of the levee now had three wide toothy grins of stakes and trenches.
Z’Acatto joined him.
“Had enough of digging?” he asked.
“I’ll go back to it in a moment,” Cazio said. He gestured at the field. “Why have you backed us against a river? We can’t retreat.”
“That’s a funny thing for you to say,” z’Acatto replied. “I’ve never heard you talk about retreating before.”
“It’s not just me here.”
The old man nodded. “Right. That’s what I hate about it. You see?”
“I’m starting to,” Cazio said. “But I wish you had told me more.”
“I’ve just been trying to forget all that,” the old man said. “I never meant for you to have anything to do with this sort of business.”
“It’s not your fault. My own choices led me here.”
“I’m not disputing that,” z’Acatto replied.
“So why no retreat?”
Z’Acatto shrugged. “They have greater numbers, and we don’t have enough pikes to make an effective battle square. We need our backs and flanks safe.”
“The left flank looks pretty open.”
“It’ll slow a cavalry charge,” z’Acatto said. “It’s the best we can do, given the time we have. Anyway, retreat isn’t an option. We have to win. If we don’t, we’re done.”
“What if they bring more men than we think?”
“Our scouts are pretty good. They might pick up another man or two, but for some reason the bulk of Hespero’s forces seem to be going east.”
“East? What’s east?”
“I’ve no idea, nor do I care. We’ve problems enough here.”
“Can we win?”
Z’Acatto lifted his hands but didn’t answer in words.
“What’s my part in all of this?”
“I’m putting half the archers on the field and half strung through the forest, there. They won’t send horse at the forest, but they will probably detach infantry. You’ll protect the archers.”
Cazio nodded, relieved. He’d imagined himself in the press, holding a pike, and didn’t care for the image.
Z’Acatto’s gaze shifted.
“There they are,” he said.
The horsemen formed a block in the center, and the footmen were lined up behind them with archers on their wings. Cazio had seen the formation before; it was essentially a cavalry hammer, ready to smash them. When the smashing was done, the foot would come in and clean up.
What he had never seen before, however, was the formation in which z’Acatto had put his men.
They stood tightly packed in columns five deep, with the ten columns arranged in a sort of hollow wedge open to the river. Z’Acatto called it a “hedgehog,” and with their pikes bristling out, it resembled one. The men had the pikes braced at their feet and set at various angles from low to high so that anyone charging in had to deal with at least five wicked levels of sharpness.
The bowmen who weren’t with Cazio in the woods had formed in ranks, too, out in front of the hedgehog.
No one had come out to offer terms, and it didn’t look like they would. They just kept coming closer, the horses and the metal-clad men on them looking bigger and bigger.
The archers began firing into the horsemen both from the field and from the
trees. The enemy archers returned fire, targeting those visible on the field, but after a moment, as predicted, a line of about thirty spearmen with large, heavy shields broke away from the enemy foot and started plodding toward them.
Concentrating on their progress, Cazio missed the start of the charge, but he heard the shouts and turned to see it begin.
Ignoring the approaching spearmen, the archers around him concentrated their fire on the cavalry, as did those on the field, and the effect was astonishing. Five or six of the lead horses and their riders went down, followed immediately by another ten or so tripping over the fallen. The hedgehog archers poured shafts into the confusion, creating further havoc. The charge slowed to a crawl under the deadly rain, but the forty or so horsemen who remained mounted quickly re-formed and charged at the archers. They were slowed by the stakes, however, and several dismounted and began uprooting them, giving the archers plenty of time to retreat behind the battle wedge and take their places on the levee, where they could send more darts down on the enemy line.
While half the bowmen in the woods were still helping to riddle the cavalry, the other half had begun firing at the approaching infantrymen, who were now only about thirty kingsyards away, moving their shield wall along with good discipline.
There had been sporadic fire from the enemy archers, but Cazio didn’t see any more of them.
“Move back,” Cazio said, echoing z’Acatto’s orders. “They won’t be able to keep that shield wall in the woods.”
As ordered, the bowmen started backing into the swamp, continuing to fire at the infantry, whose shields were now pretty well feathered. Seven of them had already dropped out of formation, either dead or too gravely wounded to keep on, but that left the numbers pretty even, and although the archers had swords with them, they didn’t have shields or spears.
The cavalry was charging again, and this time there was nothing between them and the hedgehog. The massed horsemen looked unstoppable.
Mirroring the horse, the infantry advancing on Cazio’s archers sent up a hoarse cry and charged.
Cazio drew Acredo.
