by S. J. Ryan
“Canoes!” Captain Modon snorted at Klath. “Like you inlanders know how to build canoes!”
Carrot saw sharp looks traded between the leaders of regional factions, and realized how fragile their alliance was. Truly Britan was yet a hundred nations. She hastily interjected, “Our choices seem to be either go east or west. They want to fight us on two sides at once. We must fight one group before they can wage a combined attack. We shall seek to break through.”
“And then what?” Hagan asked.
“And then live to fight another day.”
“That seems a modest goal for a battle.”
“Survival is not a modest goal to me,” Geth said.
“With due respect,” Sub-Major Laren blurted, “have you ever seen a Roman legion in battle formation? It's a moving wall of shields! I've seen them drill in Londa – and there's nothing that can get through!”
“I have seen legions drill in Rome,” Carrot replied. She assumed her most calm and didactic tone: “Romans march in solid formation only on flat parade ground. In battle, undulations of natural terrain require gaps lest the line buckle. The ground here is glade and forest, and especially uneven. We shall find a gap in their line and exploit it by concentrating our numbers at that point. Romans march in three rows, most junior in the front, the veterans in the rear, and that will work in our favor as the juniors will be reluctant to engage us and their line will block the veterans from doing so. The key, in other words, is disruption.”
Apparently impressed by the depth of her analysis, the officers all nodded slowly, even Laren. Carrot hoped they wouldn't ask how she had come by her experience, because she would have to admit that it was by book and not first-hand. Unfortunately, she was the best tactician they had, for no one in the Leaf had any knowledge of leading men into battles that were more than melees.
The overall plan, even though Carrot herself instinctively sensed flaws, was accepted without challenge. Lastly she turned to Athena and asked, “I request your opinion.”
Athena shrugged noncommittally. Perhaps her opinion was that she was on the losing side.
“The question then is which way do we break through,” Hagan said. “East or west?”
“We should decide that when the Romans are in sight,” Carrot replied.
“That makes sense.”
“If there is nothing more to discuss, your men may return to their regiments, Major.”
Hagan saluted and dispersed the senior officers.
The regiments – a word that Matt had provided as an alternative to 'legion' – had formed into rows and columns. Britanian irregulars would never look as menacing as their equivalent number of Roman legionnaires, Carrot thought. They had no armor. Their shields were wooden. Swords were few and poor quality, and spears were often just pointed sticks. A thousand firewood axes had been drafted into the defense of West Britan. And almost half of the 'warriors' were just boys, younger than herself. Only a fraction had seen battle, and that had been the skirmish in the Dark Forest.
“This is not going to work,” Athena whispered at her side.
“Do you have recommendations?” Carrot asked.
“Gather your most trusted people and leave the army here to delay while you escape. This army is doomed, but you can survive if you are willing to abandon it.”
I've had enough of you, Carrot thought. “Mirian!”
Mirian stepped through the circle of archers. “Yes, Carrot? I take it you'll want me at the front.”
“I want you guarding the Box, the basket, Letos and this woman.” Carrot answered the dismayed look on Mirian's face: “The job is of supreme importance. The whole point of this battle is to keep the Romans from the Box.”
“Have you thought, maybe we should just destroy it,” Mirian muttered.
“I'd like to see you try,” Athena replied. “It's designed to travel between stars and endure centuries. It won't break because you throw rocks at it. Even if you were to find a way to break it, you and all the men nearby would die with it for reasons beyond your understanding.”
That dispiriting remark reminded Carrot of why she had summoned Mirian. She stood behind Athena and pushed. “Take her now, please. I can't think with her around.”
Mirian motioned to her archers, who escorted away the hopping Athena.
“You'll need a speech to inspire your troops!” Athena called from a distance. “Something about 'making a desert and calling it peace.' 'This hallowed ground, this Britan!' 'Have them die for their country!' I've written over a thousand speeches! I can give you words!”
Hagan had gone off with the rest of his officers. The messengers concentrated on updating the map. Geth was inspecting the troops. And so Carrot was alone with Mirian.
“Let me be at your side,” Mirian said. “I won't let a Roman come within arrow range!”
“You've protected me enough,” Carrot said. “Now you have to protect what is most important to Britan.”
“Carrot, are you sending me away in truth because I'm your friend and you don't want me in a battle that you believe will go badly?”
“I truly need you to keep the Box from Roman hands, Mirian. And that may not be a charge for just this day. If the battle does go badly, you and Norian may have to hide from the Romans for years to come.”
“While you lie here dead.”
“I hope not.” Carrot turned away. “Please go now, Mirian. Please.”
Carrot felt slender arms squeeze her midriff tightly. Mirian's head buried against her shoulder. Carrot was too astonished to do more than stiffen. And then Mirian was gone.
Trying not to weep, Carrot watched the men in formations. Randomly, a few watched her. As their formations smoothed, the barking of the sergeants died away. Carrot blinked and thought: a speech.
Perhaps it would help, but at the same time it seemed an indulgence. What kind of words could be given in exchange for blood? She couldn't think of any that wouldn't sound pretentious and tawdry. They had come to kill and die, for reasons they knew when they left home. She could not add to that.
She lifted the tea cup and sipped. It was cold. The pot was empty. She wondered if she'd had her last cup of tea. She wondered if these were her last breaths. If she had seen Matt and Mirian and Norian for the last time. Her father was over there but when he left her sight, would that be for the last time? She set the cup down with shaking hands. Stop thinking this way before people notice!
A lieutenant brought her the leader-spear. It was long and made of polished hardwood and had a metal point. Carrot had ordered it constructed weeks ago. It was too cumbersome to be of practical use in battle, but it made a great flagstaff that could be seen across a battlefield. She attached the blood-red scarf that the lieutenant provided.
She looked down at her body and realized that she was worse-dressed for battle than her men. Under her coat, she still wore the dress she'd put on last night when she had brought drinks to Letos. She looked, she thought, like she should be serving ale. An army of farm boys, led by a tavern girl.
She addressed a messenger: “Have the clackers come.”
Soon she had assembled a dozen boys, again younger than Bok, snapping to attention. In place of weapons, they bore straps with sticks and grooved boards – their tools to signal troop movements over the din of battle. With Carrot's nod, the tallest boy unlocked a chest and distributed flutes to Carrot and the boys.
“Let us practice one more time,” Carrot said. “Softly now. When we are in battle, however, play as loud as you can.”
She played a tune of only five notes. Watching her fingering, they mimicked. When all passed the test, she said, “Remember, when you hear me play, you play also. Now go to your assigned regiments.”
When she was alone, Geth approached and said, “How did you acquire Roman marching flutes? You must have planned this battle for some time!”
“Not this battle. A battle.” She paused. “Father, I have a request . . . . “
“So help me, Arcadi
a, you will not keep me from the thick of battle!”
“You haven't mentioned Uncle Ral. I was going to ask about him.”
And so Geth told her about Ral's death, and then about Ral's life. Carrot listened intently, for it seemed they had come to one of those moments for which one hurries to prepare, and then waits for the thing to happen. The men were in ready formation, the rocks on the map showed the Romans were still kilometers distant. There was nothing to do but listen to her father and try not to show tears in front of the men.
But then her father stopped talking. He tilted his head and frowned. Carrot should have heard first, but she had been lost in grief, and when she noticed that he was listening, she listened all the harder.
It was shouting – thousands of voices shouting. The noise was coming from both east and west.
“Not even in sight of us and they're raising a war cry,” Geth said. “Thinking to frighten us. Well, they have. But see our troops, Carrot? Not a man is running. That is what courage is – not how they feel, but how they act.”
Carrot remembered the first time she'd heard him say those words, but before she could answer, an odd thought came to mind. War cries were for charges, not marches; why were they sacrificing the element of surprise by giving away their positions?
She held out the leader-spear. “Hold this. I need to climb a tree.”
There was a fifty meter evergreen nearby. She sprinted over, leaped to the first branch, and climbed branch over branch. She heard cheers from below, but ignored them. In fact, she wished they would quiet. She needed to hear!
The tree top was narrow and swayed from her weight. She held tight and surveyed the scenery. Trees all around, a sea of trees. Glints of armor in the east and west, where the Roman legions were marching through the forests at the perimeter of the poison ring. A glance to the south showed no sign of soldiers, as expected. And to the northeast, beyond the woods that separated the mill pond from the field, lay the abandoned base.
She almost missed the tiny dot on the horizon.
The airship was hovering just above tree tops. Athena was right, of course, it had no invisibility cloak. No scout positioned at the north point could have missed it. Yet there was no signal fire. Clearly, the north quadrant had been compromised, leaving a huge gap in the Leaf's defenses.
A hole in our defenses . . . ten thousand missing legionnaires
She gazed hard into the north. The legions to east and west were distracting, as they were intended to be.
Carrot hopped down from branch to branch, bringing more cheers, but she was too agitated to even hear. She met her father and Hagan on the ground and said, “We are marching now.”
“East or west?” Hagan asked.
“North!”
“But the poison ring! We'll be trapped inside!”
She grabbed a stick and traced on the map. She scratched away a portion of the northern edge of the poison ring and tapped the spot.
“There is a third Roman group. At least ten thousand men. I haven't seen it, but I know it is coming. It is coming from the north, through the ring. In order to do that, it must be making its own path through the ring, just as we did.”
“By laying down water,” Hagan said. “Of course!”
“Yes. Now, if we attack east or west, the airship will spot our movement and order the north group to intercept us. That will slow us down enough so that all three Roman groups can combine against us. We will be five thousand against thirty thousand, and forced southward into the sea.”
Hagan nodded. “Instead, if we go into the ring now, we will counter only ten thousand. And if your plan is to go around the northern group – “
“Then we can escape the poison ring through the very gap in the north which they have created.”
Hagan wasn't laughing, but his eyes showed comprehension. “Into the ring, then!”
“Ready for march, Major.”
“Yes, Colonel!”
When he dashed off, Carrot faced Geth. “Father, there is more.”
“There always is with you! Go on.”
She scratched a path from the gap in the southwest edge of the ring, through the gap in the north, and then eastward to the Roman encampment. “The Romans have only five thousand men guarding their supplies. If we could destroy their supplies, then they are reduced to forage, and if every farm they march toward burns its harvest, the Romans will be forced to retreat to Londa, or starve.”
“The Romans at the encampment will fight to defend their supplies, you know.”
“I know. Yet it is an opportunity to think about. When the time comes, we might be able to do something about it.”
The sound of wood striking wood came from all around as the clackers signaled that their regiments were ready. With her father, Carrot turned toward the combined army of the Western Leaf. Thousands of faces were silently watching her, waiting. Carrot saw the idealism and hope in their eyes. She wished she did have words.
“They have so much trust in me,” she said. “And what am I? A girl.”
“Arcadia,” her father said softly. “You are a woman. You have been so for a long time.”
She blurted, “You mean, since Mother died.”
“No. All the days after that, when you fought to survive your own mortal wounds. That was more than mutant power. That was the power of your spirit. That is what these men recognize, and why they follow. Arcadia, your mother would be proud, as am I.”
She hugged him tightly, and it took all her will to resist crying in front of the men. But Geth did not hold back.
She broke away and climbed onto the waiting horse. She clamped her jaw and strained her eyes and extended an arm. Geth handed her first a shield, then the leader-spear. She looped the shield straps onto her back and turned the horse about to face the thousands. She twisted the spear vertically, boldly waving the blood red scarf high against the cobalt sky. Five thousand voices cheered.
She looked down at the chief-clacker standing by her saddle. The boy looked up, blinking. She shouted, “Follow!” He could not have heard above the din, but he sent out the signal. The sequence of sharp bangings of wood against wood cut through the noise and were repeated by the regimental and company clackers, then echoed by the trees. The cheering silenced.
Pointing the leader-spear halfway between north and sky, Carrot trotted north at what would be a steady pace for the men on foot. The clackers transitioned from the command-pattern to the march cadence.
The sounds then were ravens awking, feet stomping, and from beyond the trees, Romans continuing their battle cry. In the north, from the unseen force that Carrot intended to engage, came only silence.
Mounting his own horse, Geth barked and a contingent of a hundred warriors, among the few in the camp to carry real swords as well as shields reinforced with metal, circled about Carrot. Geth rode over and placed one hand on her shoulder, a reminder that a commander's place in battle was not at the very front if she wished to live long enough to give more than one order. As she slowed, Geth gave a forward wave to the regimental captains. Their lines drew ahead in rows.
Hagan had no battle experience, but he was no passive oaf. On his own initiative, riding about and shouting orders, he had sergeants form a funnel at the poison gap. The regiments compacted to cross through the narrow entry. Once through, they extended into battle lines once more.
Carrot rode into the ring gap. The smell of wet hay was faint, morning dew having abated it. Once inside the ring, she could hardly smell anything unusual. Yet at the perimeter, she knew, the poison remained potent enough that death still encircled them.
Amid the standards and wagging spears, Carrot at last spied signs of movement across the field in the north. She signaled to the chief clacker, who sounded the command for halt. The army ceased tromping. Holding her breath, she listened into the north.
At last, faintly, she heard the flutes of the imperial cohorts. It was the steady-march tune, high notes trilling in pride, low notes reveling
in invincibility. Then came the drums, pounding martial cadence for myriad boots to keep in synchronization.
And then they came into view. Like a spreading oil, the Romans seeped across the field. The lines came with mechanical precision, spears held so that the tips of novices and veterans alike were all at the same distance in front. The edges of the long shields overlapped, forming a wall that stretched the chord of the poison ring. Behind the shields, the polished helmets bounced sunlight.
Between every fiftieth soldier was a gap, as she had mentioned at the meeting. What she had not mentioned were the groupings of veteran soldiers who followed behind the lines, spears poised to skewer any enemy who might break through.
She aimed the leader-spear to zenith and made circles. It was the command to lock shields. The regiments stretched across the field from east to west, as near the perimeter of the poison ring as was safe.
Like the Romans, the Britanians formed a fronting wall. At first glance theirs seemed even more imposing than the wall of the Romans, for their shields towered well above head height. Their long shields, however, were not metal and leather but only flimsy cloth stretched between sticks, serving only for concealment as the troops behind them prepared to maneuver in secret.
“Rapid advance!” Carrot shouted to the clacker chief. He scraped his stick along a serrated board: ziiiick, ziiiick, ziiiick! The pattern was repeated by the regimental and company clackers. Trained to interpret the signal, the Army of the Western Leaf increased pace on its collision course with the Roman lines.
The distance between lines closed to less than half a kilometer. Carrot surveyed the Roman line, probing for a weak point. There weren't any. She did not doubt that the Roman line would break under concentrated attack, but it would not be without cost.
“Colonel!” Hagan shouted. “There!”
While she had been watching the ground, the Roman airship had made its appearance over the northern forests. It had ascended to gain a better view of the field.
This was Carrot's first close-up view of the new Roman airship. It was twice the length and width of the Good Witch, with a gondola of two stories. A metal sheet hung below the front of the gondola, being tilted by a system of cables to flash reflected sunlight in code. No doubt, the precise disposition of her troops behind the long shields were being relayed to the Roman officers on the ground.
