"Need more, but we don't have enough timber. Next time, remind me to cut down a forest first."
"If there is a next. Lot of legionaries out there. "
"Fewer by the time they get here."
On the rampart, someone raised a red flag, swung it twice. Leonora raised her hand for attention:
"Thirty second warning. Start throwing on the signal, watch your observer on the wall. First section red, second blue, third yellow. Lose your observer, use someone else's. When I blow withdraw, do it—if they get archers on the wall, court's a deathtrap."
She hesitated, watching the red observer on the wall. The flag went up, down.
"Start throwing."
* * *
From the top of the keep Henry could see part of the courtyard, most of the space outside the walls. Two siege towers—they had built a second to replace the one burned in the first attack. The ram moving towards the gate. Between the towers and at either side were the turtles, each two hundred men, shields over their heads. More turtles coming against the far side of the castle, where the slope was too steep for towers. Fifteen—three legions. Almost six times what he had inside the walls, easily another legion formed up out of range of the walls in front of the big siege engines.
The ram reached the gate, hidden from him by the castle wall, swung once, twice—he could hear the blows. On the wall above the gate two big rocks, a dozen men straining on levers to move them. One went, then the other. He heard them hit the ram roof, smash through it.
The towers were close to the wall, the turtles, their path a trail of bodies where stones had broken through the roof of shields or arrows found holes, mostly out of his sight. As the towers reached the wall, so did ladders, between them, on either side. The castle guards were fighting with the legionaries from the towers, helped by arrows from the keep and the courtyard below. He saw one man catch hold of the top of a ladder, shove—guard, ladder, its invisible load of legionaries swung away from the wall, down. Another guard was using a pole arm to push a ladder sideways.
On either side of the towers his men were still fighting, but between them the wall was held by the enemy, legionaries pouring out of the towers, up the ladders between, shields raised against arrows raining from the keep. A few steps across the roof put him in sight of the back wall of the castle—no siege towers, but ladders, legionaries fighting with guards, pushing them back by weight of numbers, a few starting down the stairs into the courtyard. He lifted the horn to his lips, blew, looked around once more, headed for the stairs down.
Leonora already had her whistle raised when she heard the signal. Three sharp blasts. Again. The surviving crews abandoned their engines, ran for the ramp that led up to the open door of the keep, joined by archers fleeing positions in the wall. Leonora picked up her spear, prepared to follow them.
Around the corner of the keep legionaries, the first heading for the ramp and the door —brave man. Leonora crossed the courtyard at a run, drove her spear through his side just below the ribs, kicked the falling body free, spun to face the men coming after him. Two, shields raised, advancing slowly together, the man on the right a little ahead. She glanced down and, as the shield twitched to follow, drove her spear blade into his throat. As the other turned to face her she swung the spear's butt to the side of his head.
A familiar voice: "On your left."
She stepped sideways into the shelter of Henry's shield, lowered her spear to waist height. Of the next two legionaries, one hesitated, one didn't. Henry's sword came down, the shield up to block it, Leonora's spear under the shield.
The two backed up the ramp into the keep. Behind them the door swung shut.
The feast hall had become a field hospital, wounded on the tables or pallets on the floor, in one corner a pile of bodies. Anne leaned over a guard, a goblet in one hand, the other steadying his head. Her daughter, in Elen's arms, watched fascinated as another man, one arm bandaged to his side, made his remaining hand a spider crawling across him, stopping to wave its feet at the baby.
"Beautiful little girl—mine are bigger now."
"Best baby in the world."
Anne heard something, looked up. The Lady Commander and the Captain.
"They have the walls?"
Henry nodded. She glanced around the hall.
"We've bought Harald and James two weeks; let's hope it's enough. Any more looks expensive. Besides, the cistern's only half full—water for two days, maybe three, if they don't storm first."
"Your Majesty gives me leave ...?"
Anne looked at Leonora, back to Henry.
"To surrender. Get the best terms you can, spend as long as you can getting them."
* * *
"Walls are ours, Majesty. Karls still hold the keep, but they're willing to talk."
"Offer them the usual terms—their wounded treated like ours. If the army goes home, anyone too hurt to walk stays here, the rest go with us; they can ransom them back when it's over. Before they surrender, make it clear to your boys that that none of the prisoners gets mistreated—man or Lady. The Order's the weakest third, most at risk. If we can break them out of the alliance, the next war will be easier. That's for your ears.
"For your boys, you might remind them the war isn't over yet. Harald's somewhere between us and home with an army. If things go wrong, some of them may be his prisoners next week—it wouldn't be the first time.
"If you don't think that's enough, tell them the first man who mistreats a prisoner hangs."
* * *
"I spoke to one of my people, Majesty. He never saw the King, doesn't think he was there. The guard was being commanded by one of the captains, the Order by their own people. It looks like the banner went one way, King the other. Out on the plains with Harald."
The Emperor turned back to the senior legion commander.
"We searched the place top to bottom, Majesty, every male prisoner. He could be hiding somewhere, I suppose, but I don't know where."
There was a brief pause. The Emperor spoke again:
"At least we have his wife and daughter. We'll take them home with us, see what he offers to get them back. If she stays with us a while she might get used to civilized living, persuade her husband to be a bit less unfriendly. Is she likely to be any trouble?"
The commander shook his head.
"Not her, Majesty. Biddable enough, friendly once she saw we were going to treat her proper. Have to keep a close eye on our boys, though. On the good side, I expect he'll be eager to get her back—I would be. What do we do next?"
"Eston."
* * *
Twenty miles west, where Eston Valley opened into the central plain, the legions had built a fortified camp to guard the valley mouth—square earthwork, gate in each side, observation tower of crude lumber, tents for two thousand legionaries, three hundred archers. Between camp and forest edge the cavalry had their lines—space for nearly nine thousand men, more than nine thousand horses.
Justin looked around the command tent, spoke to Anton, the senior of the cavalry commanders.
"How many did you lose?"
"Almost two hundred head. Karls must have come through the forest after dark, cut tethers, spooked the horses. Their friends west of here grabbed them, left."
"What were your guards doing?"
"There's more than a mile of forest on one side, plains on the other. Takes a lot of people to cover all of it at night—only took a few getting through. My horsemen aren't much good in the woods anyway."
The scout commander looked up, spoke:
"We need Bashkai. A few hundred of them wandering around the forest, no damn horse thieves coming through alive."
"The whole army only has six hundred—His Majesty has them covering the main body. Lot more woods in there." Justin gestured at the mouth of the long valley.
"If we can't guard the forest side, we should move farther out. Besides, the horses have grazed down most of the grass between here and the forest."
Justin looked around the circle of faces, thought a moment, spoke:
"Vija, Garth, you were at council with His Majesty. He thinks the force out there is small but doesn't want us to take chances. He didn't order us to stay in camp. Is that right?
Both men nodded.
"Vija, what do your scouts tell you?"
"No word from the central plains for the last couple of days. Scouts near in say the enemy body is nine or ten miles south, not far from the woods. They can't get close enough to count numbers. We need horse archers, nomads. Somebody mounted who can shoot back."
"If you need nomads, ask Artos. Need Bashkai, ask Gavin. Recruit two thousand savages, only a thousand come home, makes it hard next time. There's not a whole lot we can do about it. Better to think about what we do have. More cavalry than the Karls. Two legions. Here's my idea; what's wrong with it?"
* * *
Up and Out! Up and Out!
Red hair on the pillow beside him. James smiled, knew he looked foolish, didn't care, leaned over to kiss his bride.
Up and Out! Up and Out!
He tried to fit the trumpet calls into the dream, failed, opened his eyes, rolled out of bed into the morning cool. The tent was still scattered with camp chairs; council had gone late.
"Majesty."
"I'm awake; what is it?"
The guard captain came through the tent door; James wondered if he slept in armor.
"Order scouts. There's cavalry moving our way. Stephen is ordering tents down, wagons loaded and out, men ready to ride. Half an hour, not much more."
* * *
By the time the Imperial cavalry came in sight, the royal army had formed up in a long double line, right crossing the road to the forest beyond, reserves behind. Horn calls rang out on the Imperial side; the advancing force slowed, stopped. On their right, almost out of sight, sunlight caught ripples on the Caldbeck, the river that carried the mountain streams north to Borderflood.
Anton turned to Vija. "Your count?"
The scout commander took one more look, thought a moment.
"More than His Majesty thought, fewer than he feared. Five thousand or so heavies, maybe a thousand lights—mounted archers. Haven't seen any cats, aside from a couple of scouts west of us—I expect the rest are off making life hard for my boys.
"And we have almost nine thousand, more than half of them heavies."
"Looks like they can count too."
The royal army was moving, retreating south along the forest edge. Anton watched for a moment, signaled the trumpeter, turned back.
"I think we have them."
* * *
Half an hour later, James turned to the captain riding beside him.
"Other than exercising their horses, what are they doing—trying to chase us a hundred miles south?"
"Don't know. I thought they'd use the fast cavalry to get around, try to force us to battle. Their right wing is pushed a little ahead of the main body, but not much. Something ... "
As they came over the next low rise and started down the answer became suddenly clear. Less than two miles south of them the river swung in a long bend towards the forest then away. At the narrowest point, from the trees to the river, a solid line of spears, behind them the banners of two legions.
Half a mile the other side of the royal army, Anton gave the scout commander beside him a fierce grin, turned to his trumpeter.
And Turn
A bear's play, a breaking wave, one night's ice
Are never safe—let no man trust them.
Behind them, someone was yelling. Anton hesitated, turned in the saddle. A scout, forcing his way through the ranks of heavy cavalry towards his commander.
"Cats, sir. Behind us. Thousands and thousands of them."
"Vija. See what the hell it is. If the Karls start shifting west to get across the river we charge; as long as they don't we can afford to wait."
The scout commander pushed his way back. In the rear ranks he could see men pointing backwards, hear the rising clamor. He spent most of a minute looking before turning, moving again through the lines to the Commander's side.
"What is it? There can't be thousands and thousands of cats—whole damn host is only two thousand. Your boys supposed to be watching for them."
"The whole damn host is here—west and north of us, moving this way. They brought some friends."
Anton gave him a puzzled look. "More Karl heavies?"
Vija shook his head.
"Nomads decided to come after all. Two or three thousand of them. The numbers don't look so good any more."
Anton looked south. The Karl cavalry in battle formation facing him was beginning to move, heavies center and right, lights on the left. One last order to his trumpeter. He lifted his lance from its socket, swung it down as the notes of the charge rang out. In the middle of the enemy line he recognized the banner of the Karl king, aimed his horse for it. Faster and faster.
Center and left met center and right, five thousand heavy cavalry on each side at the charge, a tangle of men and horses. On the royal left the Order, outnumbered four to one, wheeled, fled south and west. Trumpet calls on the Imperial right called back pursuit, swung the lighter forces to fall on the royal center from behind. The Order swung round in turn, dissolved into a line of archers on foot shooting into the rear of the enveloping force.
James, lance shattered, pulled out his sword, pushed forward. A big man, beard sticking out under his visor, struck two handed; the blow drove the King's shield back into his face. He backed his horse, saw his guard captain catch a second blow on his shield, strike back. Something hit his shoulder with numbing force. He wheeled the horse, the next mace blow on his shield, return blow blocked. Forward against the enemy, tried to get in a second blow. More around him, a pain in his side, his own guard coming up on his right. Another blow on the armor. The bearded man again. He tried to raise his shield, half made it, felt the blow on shield and helm. The two handed sword again. Slow as a dream, the sword drifted up. James tried to raise his shield, knew he would never make it in time. Red hair on the pillow.
* * *
Anton, shield raised against a Karl sword, felt a sharp pain in his back, another in his leg. Struck, blocked, struck. Something was wrong with his arm. He looked down. An arrow point sticking out of it. The Karl had pulled back; Anton turned in his saddle. Fifty yards behind him a solid line of mounted archers, pouring arrows into the rear of his dissolving line. Filled with fury, light as air, he wheeled his horse, charged them.
Harald lowered his bow, turned to Donal beside him:
"Thought so; they're digging."
He pointed beyond the ruin of the battlefield. A mile farther south, where the advancing line of the Imperial legions had been, a shorter line—a wall of freshly dug dirt.
* * *
Justin leaned on his shovel, wiped the sweat from his eyes, wondered when the last time was a senior legion commander had helped move dirt. All things considered, more digging and less commanding looked like a good idea.
"Sir. Karl to talk to you."
At the front entrance he stopped, looked back. The wall was up to four feet; with luck the enemy couldn't see the rear rampart, where men were still working furiously. He didn't know how many the Karls had out there, but with a legion and a half to hold them he needed all the help he could get.
"Want an escort, sir?" He shook his head, walked through the gateway.
The man waiting for him was a cat, dismounted, one hand on his horse's neck. Not young. Should have brought a translator. But surely the man they sent would speak at least some Tengu.
The cat said something to his horse, looked up, gave the Commander a friendly nod.
"Figure your boys could use a rest. Must have been up all night getting here."
Justin said nothing, waited.
"Field ours. Lot of wounded out there, both sides. Truce till dark, free to bandage them there, carry here, we don't interfere, your people don't get in our way doing
the same. Lend you some horses to help. Wounded prisoners who can ride we keep, can't ride, give us their word not to fight, yours. Too badly hurt, village west of here, you don't try to get them back. After sunset no promises either way. Agreed?"
Justin thought a moment, searched for hidden traps, failed to find any.
"Very generous. I'm the senior commander, can accept for our side. You have authority for yours?"
"His Majesty isn't in shape to agree to things just now. Leaves me."
Harald-ARC Page 29
