"Stay down!" someone called to him. "Do not stand so!"
"You will unsettle the craft," said another.
"Cursed rencers!" he screamed again. Then I heard a cry of pain.
"It came from there!" cried a man.
"I saw nothing!" cried a man.
I heard a body fall into the water.
"From there!" cried the fellow, again.
"Hurry!" cried a man.
I heard metal unsheathed. I heard men wading to the right.
"Fulvius! Fulvius!" cried a fellow.
"He is dead," said a voice.
I heard a cry of anguish.
I had stopped, and the column, too, I think, as a whole, had stopped. I did not, at least, hear men moving in the water.
There was not much noise, only the cry of a marsh gant.
We waited.
In a few moments I heard some men approaching. "We found nothing," one said.
"Lines!" I heard. "Lines!"
"I will avenge you, Fulvius!" I heard a man cry. I heard, too, metal drawn.
"Come back!" I heard. "Come back!"
"Lines!" I heard. "Lines!"
"Let him go," said a man, wearily.
"Shields right!" I heard. Normally the shield, of course, is carried on the left arm, most warriors being right handed. The shields were now to be shifted to the right arm, for that was the direction from which had come the arrow. There might be rencers, too, of course, on the left. But they knew that they were on the right.
I heard the whip snap again behind me. I then, and I gather, too, the rest of the column, began again to move forward.
"Keep the lines!" I heard. "Keep the lines!" We did hear, an Ehn or so later, a long, single wailing cry from the marsh. It came from behind us, from the right.
16
It is Quiet
"Cos may not be in the delta," said the officer.
"I do not think she is," I said.
No fires were lit. There was little noise.
"I have tortured myself," said the officer, "particularly of late, considering whether or not the things you have spoken to me might be true."
"I am pleased you have considered them," I said.
"It has been difficult of late not to consider them," he said.
"I would suppose so," I said.
"Even though they be the utterances of a squirming spy," he said, bitterly.
"Even if the motivations for the thoughts which I have confided to you were purely self-regarding," I said, "which, under the circumstances, I think, would be understandable, it was nonetheless appropriate that you consider their plausibility."
"Would you teach me duty?" he asked.
"No," I said. "I think you are much concerned with it."
"The men are weary, and sick," he said. "I, too, am weary and sick."
He sat near me. Few men in this camp now assumed an upright position. Even in moving about they usually did so in a crouching position. The crouching figure makes a smaller target. I sat up, my neck-rope lengthened to permit me this lenience. My ankles were tethered to a mooring stake. We spoke softly. There was little sound in the camp. My hands were now, again, as it was night, manacled behind me. My captors, I thought, however, were growing careless. I thought I now knew who, for this day, had carried the key to the manacles. In the morning, after I had been again gagged and hooded, my hands would be again manacled before me, and fastened there with a strap, that my back might be more available for blows. If I listened carefully, my captors perhaps being less careful than before, given my hooding, I might be able to determine to whom the key was delivered. A word, a careless sound, might be sufficient.
"Some think we should try to withdraw from the delta," he said.
"It is perhaps too late," I said.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I think it unlikely that a single column can withdraw successfully from the delta."
"What of several columns?" he asked.
"That would seem to be possible," I said, "though difficult."
"Why difficult?" he asked.
"The movements of so large a force will be easily determined," I said. "Cos, if nothing else, even disregarding the rencers, controls the skies. She has tarn scouts. And the forces of Cos, moving swiftly on open ground, well informed, adequately supplied, in good health, can be marshaled to a given point far more rapidly than can be the men of Ar, struggling in the marsh."
"Nothing can stand against Ar," he said.
"Do not underestimate the Cosians," I said.
"Mercenaries," said he scornfully.
"There are Cosian regulars, as well," I said. "Too, your columns will be exhausted and ill. Too, your columns must reach the edge of the delta. Do not forget the rencers."
"Seven columns, four to the south, three to the north, are intent on breaking out, even now," he said.
"How do you know these things?" I asked.
"From stragglers," he said, "from fellows found in the swamp, from men separated by rencer attacks from their units."
"What of the left flank?" I asked.
"It is intact, as far as I know," he said.
"I would guess that the columns to the north have the best chance of success."
"It is unwise to go north," he said. "It is farther from Ar, from our allies. There is much Cosian sympathy in the north. It is enemy country. Port Cos lies in that direction. Then, even if successful in escaping from the delta, the columns would have to manage the crossing of the Vosk to return to Holmesk, or Ar."
"It is for such reasons," I said, "that I expect there will be fewer Cosians in the north."
"You expect more in the south?"
"Of course," I said. "They will expect you to take just that course, to avoid the crossing of the Vosk."
"I do not know," he said. "I do not know."
"Too, it is convenient for them," I said. "They can be supplied from Brundisium. They can even bring up men from Torcadino, if they wish."
"I still think it possible that Cos is in the delta," he said.
"Apparently many of the other commanders do not agree," I said.
"Or now fear the pursuit is too costly," he said.
"Perhaps," I said.
Out in the marsh we could hear various sounds, movements in the water, the occasional bellow of a tharlarion, usually far off, and the cries of Vosk gulls, perhaps Vosk gulls.
"You, too, now plan to withdraw?" I asked.
"No," he said.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Cos may be in the delta," he said.
"That is unlikely," I said.
"My orders are clear," he said.
"It is perhaps just as well," I said. "Indeed, it probably makes little difference."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"You are isolated," I said, "probably like most of the other units in the delta. I regard it as unlikely you could, with this strength, enforce an exit."
"You suggest that we are doomed?" he asked.
"I think men will escape the delta," I said. "I suspect some have already done so, perhaps even units, some days ago. Perhaps, too, these large-scale efforts by united columns will be successful. Let us hope so, for the sake of Ar."
"But?" he asked.
"But," I said, "I think the only real hope of escape from the delta lies not with units but with individuals, or small groups of such, individuals who might with fortune, and with skill and stealth, elude rencers, the surveillance of tarn scouts, and the patrols of Cos. Such I think, and, ideally, lone individuals, would have the best chance of escape. Obviously Cos cannot survey the entire delta. She cannot investigate every rush, every stem of rence. She cannot, with adequacy, patrol every soft, dark foot of its perimeter. Indeed, I think that an individual, experienced in marshcraft, familiar with techniques of evasion and survival, of penetration and infiltration, traveling alone, moving with care, might easily escape the delta."
"I think there are few such men," he said.
&nbs
p; "The red savages are such," I said. I thought of such men as Cuwignaka, Canka, and Hci.
I think he had his head in his hands. "Cos must be in the delta," he whispered.
"Do you pursue your course because you fear, otherwise, court-martial, or disgrace, or shame?"
"No," he said.
"Why then?" I asked.
"Duty," said he. "Can you understand such a thing, a spy?"
"I have heard of it," I said.
He then moved away from me. In a few moments my keeper moved toward me. He regagged and rehooded me. He then thrust me back on the sand and shortened my neck-rope, so that I might be again held closely between the two stakes.
"If it were up to me," he said, "I would clothe you in bright scarlet, and put you at point, manacled, a rope on your neck."
He then left me.
It had again been hot in the delta today, steaming and oppressive.
Columns must by now have attempted to escape from the delta, I thought. The information at the disposal of the captain might have been days old. Perhaps, exiting in force, they had been successful. I was not one to gainsay the expertise of the infantryman of Ar.
Oddly enough, I now again, as I had once long ago, felt uneasy in the heat. I felt again almost as if something lay brooding over the marsh, or within it, something dark, something physical, almost like a presence, something menacing.
It was a strange feeling.
I noticed then, interestingly, that the marsh was unusually quiet. I could no longer hear even the sound of Vosk gulls.
17
Flies
"Hold, draft beast!" called my keeper.
I stopped, grateful enough in the harness.
Lamentations, cries of misery, rang out in the marsh. Intelligence had arrived from the left. It was impossible not to hear the reports as they were carried from man to man. Indeed, the men learned more rapidly than the officer, I think, what had occurred, for it was onto their lines that men would first come, bearing ill tidings, crying out for succor, many of them, I gathered, wounded. Oddly enough, it seemed few, if any, had encountered rencers in the marsh. It was as though these mysterious, elusive denizens of the delta had inexplicably withdrawn, suddenly melted away.
"I knew Camillus! I knew him!" wept a man.
"Flavius has fallen?" demanded another.
"I saw him fall," said a man.
The left flank, apparently two days ago, had been struck, in much the same manner as the right, earlier. Until the attack it had been relatively immune from rencer contact. Many had conjectured the rencers were only on the right. If anything the attack on the left, to the south, had been more devastating than that on the right, perhaps because of lesser vigilance on the left, where no village had been encountered in the path of the advance.
"Woe is Ar!" wept a man.
I thought I knew, even though hooded, who now held the key to the manacles. I had heard this morning what I took to be the exchange.
"Woe! Woe!" cried a man.
"Four columns have been destroyed to the south!" cried a fellow.
These must be, I had then supposed, those of the left.
"Speak!" cried a fellow.
I heard men wading near me. One was coughing.
"Do not make him speak," said a fellow.
"Speak, speak!" cried a man.
"I come from the 14th," he said. "We with the 7th, the 9th and 11th sought to make exit from the delta!"
"Desertion!" cried a fellow.
"Cosians were waiting for us," he gasped. "It was a slaughter, a slaughter! We were raked from the air with quarrels. Stones were used to break our ranks. We were trampled with tharlarion! War sleen were set upon us! We had no chance. We could scarcely move. We were too crowded to wield our weapons. Hundreds died in the mire. Many, who could, fled back into the delta!"
"Woe!" said a man.
"We had no chance," wept the fellow. "We were massacred like penned verr!"
"The field was theirs?" said a fellow, disbelievingly.
"Totally," wept the fellow.
It was now clear, of course, given the references to Cosians, tharlarion, sleen and such, that this disaster was not that of the left flank, which had been struck by rencers, but a defeat suffered in the south, by the units attempting to remove themselves there from the delta. It was no wonder the Cosians had been waiting for them. Their every move in the delta, for days, had probably been reported to the Cosian commander, perhaps Policrates himself, said once to have been a pirate, by tarn scouts.
"Surely you made them pay dearly for their victory," said a man.
"We were weak, exhausted," said the man. "We could hardly lift our weapons!"
"How many prisoners did you take?" asked a man.
"I know of none," he said.
"How many prisoners did they take?" asked a fellow.
"What prisoners they took, if any, I do not know," said the man.
I supposed the Cosians would have taken prisoners. Prisoners can be of value, in the quarries, on the rowing benches of galleys, in such places. I wondered if the Cosians would have had chains enough, or cages enough, for the prisoners, assuming they elected to accept them. The prisoner, surrendering, is often ordered to strip himself and lie on the ground, on his stomach, limbs extended, in rows with others. They must then wait to see if it is their limbs which are to be chained or their throats to be cut. Self-stripping, usually unbidden, performed voluntarily, is also common among fair prisoners. The female prisoner is more likely to be spared than the male prisoner. Victors tend to find them of interest. Too, it is easier to handle large numbers of fair prisoners than warriors and such. Fair prisoners tend to herd well. Often a mere cord tied about their necks, fastening them together, the one to the other, is all that is required for their control. Indeed, it is almost, interestingly enough, as though they were made for the coffle, and understood the appropriateness, the rightfulness, of their place within it. Too, of course, they know that Gorean captors do not tend to look leniently on attempts to escape by pretty things such as they, no more than by female slaves, which they may soon be.
The man began again then to cough. From the sound of it there was blood in his throat.
"Seek new bindings for your wounds," said a man.
I supposed that by now a trophy had been erected by Cos on the site of the battle, such as it had been. Usually the limbs of a tree are muchly hacked off and then, on this scaffolding, captured arms and such are hung. Trophy poles, too, are sometimes erected, similarly decorated.
"Lo! To the north!" called a man. The voice came from above and to the right, probably from the captain's barge. It came probably from a fellow on the lookout platform, or the ladder leading upward to it. In recent days the platform had been improved, primarily by an armoring, so to speak, of heavy planks, this providing some protection for its occupant. Even so lookouts were changed frequently and the duty, I gathered, in spite of the respite it provided from the marsh, the relative coolness and dryness afforded by the platform, and such, was not a coveted one. Even with the planking it seemed one might not be sufficiently protected. Too much it was still, I supposed, like finding oneself set forth for the consideration of unseen archers, as a mark.
"A standard of Ar, raised above the rence!" cried the voice.
"Where?" demanded a man.
"There! There!" called the voice.
"It is a standard of Ar!" confirmed a man, his voice now, too, coming from high on the right.
"It is the standard of the 17th!" said a fellow.
"Coming from the right!" cried another.
"Reinforcements!" cried a man.
"From the right!" cried another.
"They have broken through!" speculated a man.
"They have defeated the rencers," conjectured another.
"We have won a great victory!" conjectured yet another.
There was then much cheering.
Such, of course, could explain the recent apparent absence, or apparent
withdrawal, of rencers. Indeed, if it were not for some such thing, say, a decisive victory on the part of Ar, or perhaps a hasty flight at her approach, the apparent absence, or withdrawal, seemed unaccountable.
"Where are the points, where are the scouts?" asked a voice.
"Why is the standard first?" asked a man.
"It is wavering," cried a fellow.
"Do not let it fall!" cried a man.
"Quickly, to him!" called a fellow, probably a subaltern.
"Beware!" said a man. "There may be rencers there!"
"Is it a trick?" called a fellow.
"He is out of the rence now," called the voice from above and the right, probably that of the lookout.
"He is alone," said a man.
"No," said another. "There are others with him. See?"
"He is wounded!" said a man.
"To him! To him!" said the voice from before, probably that of a subaltern.
"Have we not won a great victory?" asked a fellow.
"If not, where are the rencers?" asked another.
"They are not here," said a fellow.
"Therefore the day was ours," said another.
I heard men wading about. I think several fellows left their lines to go out and meet the standard bearer, if that was what he was, with his fellows.
I tried, in the hood, to keep track of the position, marked by his voice, of the fellow who I thought had the key to my manacles. Then I had lost him.
To be sure, what difference did it make, I asked myself, bitterly, who held the key, for I was helpless? Indeed, most often captors make no secret of who holds the key to a prisoner's chains. What difference can it make to the prisoner? Indeed, some captors delight in letting the prisoner know who holds the key, in effect letting him know whose prisoner he is, in the most direct sense. Often the key is even carried on a ring, on a belt. I might as well have been a pretty slave girl, I thought, in fury, chained down in an alcove, who may turn her head to the side and see the key to her chains hanging on the wall, on its nail, convenient for the use of guests or customers, but perhaps, a frustrating chasm, just inches out of her own reach.
"Woe!" I heard, suddenly. "Woe!" There seemed then a great lamentation in the marsh. I strained to hear, within the darkness of the hood.
Vagabonds of Gor Page 17
