by Doug Kelly
They were now in a thick forest, and the road was much narrower because the traffic had worn it into a hollow, as if it were the dry bed of a river. The horses and the haulers were weary, too, but they could not stop. They had to deliver the weapons before morning. They spoke little, except to urge the animals. Aton reclined, looked up, and saw the bright stars above. After a time he fell into deep sleep, despite the jolting and creaking of the wheels.
The sound of a trumpet startled and awakened him. His dreams had taken away his memory and for a moment, Aton did not know where he was. When he sat up, two burlap sacks fell off him. The haulers had thrown the covering over him as a protection against the chill of the night. The morning was already as bright as noon, and the camp around him was busy. He quickly woke, his senses coming back, and getting out of the cart, he looked around. All his old interest had returned; the spirit of war entered into him as the trumpet sounded again and the morning breeze extended the colored banners around the encampment. He had finally arrived in the heart of a real battle camp, ready to enlist. All that remained for him was to commit his allegiance to Grinald; the manhood that followed bravery during combat would come soon after. He was ready to prove himself.
The spot where he stood was in the rear of the main camp and a short distance from the forest. On either side, there were handcarts, wagons, and piles of supplies, all crowded tightly together. Dozens of slaves, wagon drivers, and other miscellaneous men, many of them apparently still under the influence of the ale that they had drunk the night before, were sleeping in every possible location, on and around sacks of supplies and huge heaps of fodder.
What immediately caught his attention and concerned him the most was the absence of any guards here, in the rear of the camp. The enemy might sneak out from the surrounding forest and steal what they needed, murder the sleeping men, or march past the supplies to attack the camp itself. To Aton, that neglect appeared baffling. He questioned the competency of the judgment involved in the organization, or rather, lack of organization, that he found here. It indicated a clear deficiency of logistical planning and strategy, altogether opposite to his clear and well-ordered ideas.
The ground sloped gently downwards from the edge of the forest. Farmers had plowed and the land where he stood and used it as a cultivated field before the invasion, but the warlord’s troops had trampled it flat and hard. In front of the supplies, he observed a long, low hut built with poles and roofed with branches. The soldiers had made those walls with ferns, straw, and bundles of hay, anything that had easily come to hand. On a standard beside it, a pale blue banner with the image of crossed arrows embroidered with gold-colored thread fluttered in the wind. With their shiny points projecting above the roofline, twenty or thirty spears, maybe more, leaned against one end of that crude shed. To the right of the hut were just as many horses, and not far from them, some soldiers were cooking at an open fire. As Aton went slowly along, winding in and out among the carts and heaps of sacks, he saw that similar huts extended down the slope for a long distance.
There were hundreds of them, some large and some small, not placed in any order, but pitched at random. The first soldiers to arrive had taken the best locations and the rest just crowded around. The owner’s banner stood beside each hut, and because of the intricate designs and detailed embroidery, Aton knew that battle commanders occupied them. The servants of each allied war party camped where they could in the open air. Some of them had hunter's hides, and others slept on bundles of straw.
The indentured servants, or slaves, also slept in the open air, but at the rear of their owner's booth and apart from the free servants. Aton noticed that although the soldiers had pitched the huts randomly, those on the lowest ground seemed built along a line. Looking closer, he found that a small stream flowed there. Later he learned that there was usually a rivalry among the commanders to set up their standards as near the water as possible for convenience because those in the rear had to lead their horses a longer distance to the stream. Beyond the creek, the ground rose again as gradually as it had declined. It was open and cultivated up to the walls of the besieged town, which was not far in the distance. Aton could not see the warlord’s headquarters. The confused manner in which the soldiers had built the booths prevented him from seeing far, although from the higher ground it would be easy to look over their low roofs.
He wandered into the center of the camp. Astonished, he saw groups of servants everywhere, eating, drinking, and talking, but not a single battle commander of any rank. At last, after stopping by the embers of a campfire, he timidly asked if he might have something to eat. The soldiers laughed and pointed to a cart behind them, telling him to help himself. They had turned the cart so that the rear was toward the fire. It was full of bread and freshly butchered meat that the men had been cooking over the embers. He helped himself to the food.
At the rear of the wagon, a soldier, not quite steady on his legs from the long night of drinking ale, offered him a flask. Aton accepted it and tried to mix in with the crowd. Listening to them talk as he ate his breakfast, Aton learned the reason why there were no commanders around. It was because most of them had drunk too much ale the night before. After the fatigue of the recent march, they had engorged themselves with ale to wash the dust of the road from their throats. They thought that the siege was likely to be a very long one and congratulated themselves, because on horseback it was only a day’s trip to Acadia, so that as long as they stayed here, they might get supplies with acceptable regularity.
Beside the campfire, he saw a man insert the tip of a small twig into his mouth and easily begin picking between his teeth because half of them had already rotted away. None of the men wore any battle weapons, except the expected knife. Their armaments were piled against the adjacent booth, bows and quivers full of arrows, spears, swords, all thrown together just as they had cast them aside, and slightly rusty from the dew. Aton thought that if the enemy came suddenly down, they might have made a clean sweep of the camp because there were no defenses, but he had forgotten that the enemy was just as lax as those troops around him currently appeared. However, local clans in the province considered Grinald one of the greatest of military commanders, if not the very greatest. How much of that reputation was based on fact and how much was based on fable, he did not know, but if it could keep an enemy from attacking throughout intermittent moments of vulnerability, like during the aftermath of the drunken stupor from which this slowly waking throng of troops currently suffered, Grinald’s reputation had to be worth something.
The only sign of discipline he saw was the careful grooming of some horses, which he guessed to be those ridden by the cavalry, and the equally careful polishing of some metal shields by some slaves who were sitting near the doors of their owners’ huts. Aton wished to ask the way to Grinald’s forces, but as the question rose to his lips, he stopped himself, remembering the caution the friendly wagon drivers had given him. Therefore, he was determined to walk around the camp until he found some evidence that he was close to Grinald’s section of camp.
He rose and stood casually to dispel any possible suspicion as to the reason for his presence, and then sauntered off with the best careless attitude that he could assume. He looked around, first at a forge where the blacksmith was shoeing a horse, then at a grindstone, where another blacksmith was sharpening a sword. He took a few steps, and a horse nearly knocked him down; its rider had urged it to trot quickly through the crowds. Behind the horse, a rope tied to the saddle’s pommel pulled a dead body along the ground. It was dusty and disfigured from bumping against stones and dirt clods. It was the body of a slave hanged the preceding day, perhaps for stealing, perhaps on a mere whim of his owner since every master had the power of the gallows.
The horse dragged the corpse through the camp and beyond, and left it there for the buzzards. That horrible sight, to which the others were so accustomed and so indifferent that they had not even turned to look at it, deeply shocked him. The drawn an
d distorted features, the tongue protruding and literally licking the dust, haunted him. Although his father, as a clan leader and master, possessed the same power, he had never exercised it, and Aton had not been hardened to the sight of executions, which were common enough elsewhere.
Hurrying from that scene, Aton came across the artillery, which consisted of battering rams and immense crossbows. They had made the giant bows from entire trees, or more accurately, from the long and straight trunks. He inspected those awkward looking contraptions with interest and entered into a conversation with some men who were assembling the framework on which a battering ram was to swing. Extremely conceited with themselves and the knowledge they had acquired from their experiences, they barely answered him. He offered to assist and they accepted, and after a while, they softened and offered him a drink. Throughout the camp, the ale was plentiful, too plentiful for much good progress.
Aton took the opportunity to suggest a new form of transportation for the battering ram that would protect its operators as they advanced to the wall. It would make the battering ram a safer and more effective weapon to operate. The men understood him and acknowledged that it would be a great improvement. One of the men, who was the leader of the gang, thought it so valuable an idea that he immediately went to speak with his battle commander, who would then carry the matter to someone of higher authority, or possibly the warlord himself. The others congratulated Aton and asked to share in the reward that he might get for this invention. They asked him under whose banner he fought.
Aton answered, after a little hesitation, “The warlord.”
At that they whispered among themselves, and Aton, again remembering the haulers' caution, said that he must attend the roll call, but that he would return directly afterwards. As he hurried away, they never thought for a moment that he would avoid the reward for his idea. Pushing through the groups, and not knowing where he was going, Aton stumbled upon Grinald’s quarters.
Grinald’s temporary abode stood apart from the rest. It was not much larger, but was thatched with straw, and pleated curtains hung in the doorway. Two standards stood beside it, one much higher than the other. The taller standard displayed the warlord’s emblem. The shorter was for the most powerful clan with which he had an alliance, and he exhibited it as a sign of respect. A ditch circled the hut, enclosing a space about a spear’s throw in diameter, and sharp stakes circled it to repel anything that approached by foot or hoof. There was one entrance, and fully armed warriors guarded it. A cavalryman rode slowly up and down in front of the entrance. He must have been in charge of security or simply an important man himself, because his servants, dozens of them, were close by at his beck and call.
Another spear’s throw of distance was between the trench and the camp, and the guards kept it free and clear of everything. Within the trench’s circle, Aton could see a number of men, and several horses adorned with decorative blankets, which appeared more ornamental than functional. With the absence of noise and the fact that everyone appeared to walk quietly and whisper, he concluded that Grinald was recovering from the same hangover as the other men. The stream ran beside the dry moat. The warlord’s quarters were at the corner of camp at the farthest point upstream, so that no one could pollute the water before it reached him.
Although he had apparently found the warlord, the ranks he commanded were not nearby. His location seemed to have little appearance of formality. The soldiers were not so rowdy, and there were few of them moving about. Aton later learned that volunteers from the city of Acadia, or more correctly, wealthy merchants from Acadia who had innumerable slaves and servants who were trained and experienced in combat, claimed the right to camp nearest the warlord, and that Grinald’s troops were just behind the huts that surrounded his. Now that Aton was so close to the warlord, he was afraid of losing his freedom to the battle commander of an allied clan if he did not quickly enlist. After hesitating for what felt like an eternity, he decided to engage the guard at the gate of the warlord’s circular enclosure.
As he crossed the open ground toward it, he noticed that Grinald’s quarters were the closest to the enemy. Across the little stream were some cornfields, and beyond those the walls of the city. The walls that enclosed it were so close that he could easily see them. There was no outpost for defense. The stream was only deep enough to merely babble and anyone could cross it with ease. He was amazed at the lack of precaution, but he was as ignorant of the enemy as he was of the warlord’s strategy. For all he knew the enemy was equally ignorant and equally as careless.
With as humble a demeanor as he could assume, Aton began to speak to the guard at the gateway of the trench. The nearest soldier immediately raised his spear and struck Aton with the butt. The unexpected thrust hit his left shoulder and stunned his left arm so brutally that it went limp. Before he could explain his presence, a second guard had seized Aton’s boar spear, snapped the handle across his thigh, and hurled the splintered shaft onto the ground. Others took him by the shoulders and pushed him back across the open space to the camp, where they kicked him and left him, bruised, stupefied, and humiliated. He should have known better than to approach Black Fang’s hut with a weapon in his hand.
Later in the afternoon, he found himself sitting on the bank of the stream far below the camp. He had wandered there without knowing where he was going or what he was doing. These recent events had crushed his spirit, not so much from the humiliating beating as from his aspirations for a better life, a life in which he had meaning and substance. So recently full of high hopes and ready to share his wealth of novel ideas for warfare, they had just beaten him like a stray dog, and had crushed him physically and mentally.
From that spot beside the brook, the distant camp appeared very beautiful. The fluttering banners, the green roofs of the opposing huts, thatched with ferns, reeds, and fresh branches. The enemy’s troops were now marching back and forth, and well-groomed warhorses pranced between commands from their handlers. Contrary to war, it made a pleasant scene on the sloping meadow with the forest as a background. Over the stream, the sunshine lit up the walls of the city and the many flags waving on it. Aton realized and acknowledged that he only had himself to blame. He had evidently disobeyed a rule, and his ignorance of the rule was no excuse, since those who had any right to be in the camp were supposed to understand it.
He got up, and returned slowly toward the camp, past the place where people had gathered water from the stream. There he noticed a stableman was watering some horses. The man called to him to help hold a spirited gelding, and Aton mechanically did what the man had asked. The other stable workers had left the man to do their work, and there were too many horses for him to manage. Aton led the steed back to the camp, and in return, the man asked Aton if he wanted a drink. He preferred food, and the man offered plenty to him. The stableman, gossiping as he attended to his duties, said that he always welcomed the beginning of a war, because they were often half starved, and had to gnaw bones, like dogs, in peacetime. When ruling families declared war, food was abundant because it was the easiest way to control a hungry man, just like the way some people throw scraps of food to a ravenous dog to obtain its obedience. He pointed to half a dozen hungry dogs that were tearing a raw shoulder of pork to pieces. He warned Aton that before the campaign was over, they might starve for food like those very dogs.
“To whose ranks do you belong?” asked the stableman.
“The warlord’s.”
“I have also enlisted with Black Fang.” When answering Aton, the man had chosen to use a name for Grinald that was more commonly used when referring to the warlord on the battlefield, as opposed to when he resided behind the walls of Acadia. He narrowed an eye and tried to remember if he recognized Aton from the march or the city of Acadia, and Aton could tell by his stare that the man did not recognize him. He knew that what the man had said was actually a question. That puzzled Aton. He did not know what to say, but decided to tell the truth. He begged the man for advice b
ecause he did not want some random clan’s battle commander to conscript him into indefinite service. The man told him to stay where he was, and serve with him under Commander Wigit, who was in Grinald’s service. They all knew the commander would be through with battle as soon as the warlord declared victory.
Commander Wigit was a merchant of Acadia, an owner of ships. Like most of his associates, when war came so close home, he was obligated to join the warlord's ranks. If he did not do so, Grinald would have noted it as a lack of loyalty, taken his privileges away, possibly seized the wealth he had accumulated, and Grinald could also reduce him to slavery. Therefore, Wigit had put on battle gear and accompanied the warlord to the battle camp. Aton’s mood grew sullen. After all his hopes and desires, he found himself acting as a servant to a mere citizen. How could he ever prove himself in combat if fate relinquished him to menial labor?
Aton had to take the horses down to water and fetch wood from the forest for the campfire. He was at the beck and call of all the other men. They never hesitated to use his services, and after noticing that he never refused, they leaned on him even more. On the other hand, when there was a lull in duties, they were very kind and even thoughtful. They shared the best with him, and even brought him wine occasionally, which was a treat because wine was scarce around soldiers, but ale was plentiful. One of the warriors, so impressed with the care Aton had given his horse, gave him several copper coins, tinged with green. Aton, grown wiser by experience, did not dare refuse the tarnished coins, for fear of insulting the man, but he had an aversion to the odor of tainted copper.
