by Alice Major
Suddenly, there was a faint sound of horns blowing in the distance. He recognized the long rumbling notes of the great horns from the war chariots.
It was apparently a signal. The army moved up the ridge until the soldiers would be clearly visible to the enemy camp below. A volley of gongs, horns, shouts broke out from Ssu-ma’s troops. Alasdair saw a sudden flurry of activity in the White Ti camp. More enemy soldiers broke out of the wood, then turned and raced back. This time, Ssu-ma let them go.
Then, surprisingly, things got quiet again. A long, focussed quiet. Alasdair had forgotten all about hunger. His eyes moved back and forth from the enemy camp to the woods near the road, straining to see details. He wished he had a weapon or a horse or something that would let him take part—and at the same time he was almost glad that his job was to “watch and learn” from a distance.
Suddenly, there was a great shouting from the woods opposite and enemy soldiers burst from the cover of the trees to attack the nearest leg of the “L.” The horsemen galloped to protect the end of the line and keep the enemy from getting behind it. The line of struggling soldiers swayed back and forth—Alasdair watched with his heart in his mouth as the enemy pushed Ssu-ma’s soldiers back against the other leg of the “L,” which held its position along the top of the ridge.
Then there was a diversion. A column of soldiers led by Ssu-kung burst from the woodlands to the left of the battle. They must have come up the path that Alasdair had followed that first time he found the enemy camp. Caught with this threat at their back, the White Ti faltered and fell back towards the shelter of the trees. Suddenly there was new shouting from a different direction. The enemy army from the camp below had mounted some way up the ridge and a group of them had tried to break around the end of the soldiers lining the ridge. Arrows rained down on them from a carefully placed band of archers, and the king led his band of horsemen racing across the field to strengthen the position.
The enemy fell back down the slope and hesitated. Obviously they did not want to throw themselves up the slope directly against the line of soldiers. There was a blare of trumpets from the plain and the White Ti soldiers began moving back down the slope, edging towards the camp. A few of Ssu-ma’s soldiers left their positions and began to chase the enemy. At the same moment, the other wing of White Ti soldiers broke and ran back into the woods. A cheer rose from the army of the Middle Kingdom and a few more started chasing the enemy, until a sharp order from their own horns commanded them back.
Alasdair watched all this unfold like something on a movie screen. It did not seem quite real, not even the scattered figures lying motionless where the fighting had been most intense. He got up and made his way in the direction of Ssu-ma’s standard. As he drew closer, the battle started to become more real again. He passed two sad soldiers who were carrying a stretcher between them. A cloak was drawn over the face of the body on the stretcher, but Alasdair was startled when a hand flopped down—a brown, rough hand with a scar over the thumb. A hand that would never hold a shield or the handles of a plough again. He shivered and hurried on.
The king and Ssu-kung had also ridden up to join Ssu-ma and the three were deep in argument.
“We should chase them! Harry them!” The king’s voice was elated by the easy victory, but he seemed on the verge of turning sulky.
“I have sent men in pursuit of the soldiers who fled into the woods,” Ssu-ma said calmly. We will try to keep them from rejoining their main camp. But to chase those others—we would only fragment our forces and give away the advantage of higher ground.”
“But surely we must take their camp, their supplies?”
“Sire, I remind you we have supplies of our own to protect. We have no assurance there are not other White Ti troops in the countryside. At the very least, we know they did not send all the troops in that camp against us. An enemy camp placed like this one, so openly, is almost certainly meant to be bait. If we chase these troops out onto the open plain, we will find ourselves in vicious, hand-to-hand fighting.”
“We do not fear fighting. They are cowards. Look how they broke and ran.”
“They broke and ran on command.” Impatience was cutting an edge in Ssu-ma’s voice. “We lost one man for each soldier of theirs we injured. They can replenish their troops. I cannot. Nor can I risk leaving our army scattered around this countryside like straw after a high wind.”
The king was definitely angry now. He drew himself up and said, “I order you to press the enemy. I command you on the oath you swore . . .”
Ssu-ma broke in. “Do not say it, sire, I beg you.”
They stared, eye to eye, for long moments, while Alasdair held his breath. Finally, Ssu-ma broke the silence.
“I am commanded by my oath to you—stronger even that the duty I owe my ancestors—to keep your kingdom and your person safe. There come times when fulfilling that oath means I cannot follow certain orders. Therefore, it is better that you do not give them.”
The king stared a moment longer, then shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, wasn’t it fine how they ran!” he exclaimed and laughed. “Like so many chickens down a hill.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Tell me about it . . . tell me everything,” Joss demanded, after the army had reassembled and camped again in clear country beyond the large lake, safely past the narrow region of the ambush. Alasdair told her, detail by detail, everything he had seen.
The king’s exhilaration bubbled through the whole army like warmed wine. In fact, there was warm wine for everyone—a cupful for each soldier. The king himself sat in the royal tent, cheeks flushed from the drink and victory.
“We will march over them. They cannot withstand us. Wait until the next battle.” He waved his carved cup cheerfully. “When will it be, Ssu-ma? We must be close to their cities and towns by now.”
The Director of Horses stood beside the table, fingering the pile of maps. He hesitated a long time before replying, as if he was trying to work out the best strategy over a difficult terrain. Finally, the king pressed him again.
“Surely we should be planning for the next battle, soon.”
“Sire,” Ssu-ma said at last, “it is time we returned to our own country.”
The king paused, wine cup in mid-air, then slammed it down. “No,” he said. “No! You would not dare suggest such a thing.”
“Winter is coming,” said Ssu-ma, looking gravely down. “The best information my scouts can bring us shows we are still more than twenty pulses from any strategically important place of battle. We are at the limit of our supplies—we have enough to return to our own country, provided we go no further.”
“We would take supplies from the enemy.” Ssu-kung spoke patronizingly, as if giving basic lessons to a raw recruit. Ssu-ma frowned in annoyance, but he did not look up.
“We will take supplies only if we come into settled areas. And we have an army at least as large as our own between us and any settled country.”
“We’ll defeat them. We’ll break through.” The king’s voice trembled. “We cannot go back—we have our treasures to win back. We have the honour of our ancestors to think of. How can we go back with our hands empty?”
“You would have the honour of a victory to celebrate. You would have troops returned safely to their homes. You would have information with which to plan and execute another campaign when the omens were right.”
“Enough of this. We will not go back.”
“Sire, we must. You cannot throw your army away on a vain quest.”
“You dare tell me what I must do?” The king’s cup rolled in a puddle of wine on the floor. “I order you to continue . . .”
“Spilled wine can be mopped up sire. But be careful you do not say words that cannot be put back in the bottle.”
“Remember who you speak with,” Ssu-kung warned smoothly. “This is your king and over
lord of the Middle Kingdom, sovereign of the Royal Domain and nine provinces. To him you have vowed absolute loyalty.”
Ssu-ma lifted his eyes at last to look at the other duke. “I keep all vows,” he said in a low, dangerous tone.
But Ssu-kung’s words seemed to have turned the last of the king’s self-control into flame. “Yes, remember who I am,” he said. “I tell you, this campaign will go forward, not back. You will set the men marching as usual.”
“Sire, I cannot give that order.”
“Then someone else will.” The king sat down again suddenly. “You are stripped of your office. Ssu-kung will act as Director of Horses in your place.”
Ssu-kung bowed his head, but not before Alasdair, standing forgotten near the doorway, saw the gleam of satisfaction in his face. He could also see Ssu-ma’s expression of wooden weariness, and had to fight back an impulse to protest, to speak up on Ssu-ma’s behalf. But the king seemed so far gone in anger that any interference would only make matters worse.
Ssu-ma did protest. “You must not do this sire,” he said. If so stern a voice could plead, he was pleading. “The oath I swore to you was matched by the one you swore to your people—to keep them safe, to rule them well.”
The king only turned his face and motioned for his wine-cup to be refilled. “Leave us,” he said curtly. And then, as Ssu-ma made no move, “Leave us, or you will leave at the end of a rope.”
The Director of Horses moved stiffly to the door. Alasdair slipped out behind him and raced to catch up with his long strides.
“What will you do?” he gasped.
Ssu-ma raised his arm swiftly, almost as though he was going to strike the impertinent questioner down, but the gesture turned into one of weariness.
“So you were there,” he said. “You would have done better for yourself to stay with Ssu-kung than to leave with me.” He spat the name out as though it blocked his mouth with straw.
“What will you do?” Alasdair repeated. “Will you go back home.”
“No. Whatever the king does to me does not break my duty to him. Nor to these men I have brought so far. No...” he forestalled any other questions with a wave, then turned and strode away. Alasdair watched him go with heaviness in his own heart.
News that Ssu-kung was now in charge spread through the camp like a wine stain, quenching the glow of victory. When the army woke on the following pulse to find a deep blanket of fog had rolled in again, it was received like a bad omen from the ancestors. The crusty soldier who had followed Ssu-ma on so many campaigns swore great oaths and cursed Ssu-kung’s name.
“What does he know about fighting?” he demanded with fierce contempt. “When did he ever bind up a soldier’s wounds with his own hand? Or share a blanket against the fog?”
The fog lifted again and the troops moved sullenly on. Ssu-ma’s war chariot was now placed towards the rear of the army, while Ssu-kung and the king took their accustomed positions at the front. Ssu-kung shone like a stroked cat and the king had apparently regained his high spirits. But when he looked back along the line of march, a stubborn expression settled on his face and no one dared mention Ssu-ma’s name. Defiantly, Alasdair wheeled his pony to ride close to Ssu-ma’s chariot.
Scouts brought news that the enemy camp on the plain to the east had packed up and disappeared in the fog—news that was also carried furtively to Ssu-ma after it was told to the king.
“Doesn’t sound good,” Alasdair muttered to Joss when she came back to ride beside him for a while. “That means there’s a whole army out there waiting for us and we don’t know where.”
Tension gathered as the hills loomed closer with every pulse. Once again, Alasdair felt sure soldiers were beginning to melt away from the army. They had probably pilfered some supplies and headed back in the direction of their homes, trusting that their chances would better alone in an empty countryside than with an ill-led army looking for an evasive enemy.
As they marched into the hills, the road became gradually steeper. Going uphill was hard on the horses labouring to pull the heavy war chariots. Going downhill wasn’t much easier. Finally, the road descended into a long, steep-sided gully. It opened at last into a broad valley cut through by a river—by far the widest river they had come to so far.
“What now?” said Joss as the army poured past her in confusion. The king’s war chariot was already drawn up close to the river and some mounted soldiers had been sent out to wade chest-high in the water, to find out whether it could be forded. Half the army was still filing through the gully.
Her pony was twitchy and restless and grunted unhappily as Chuan tried to tug him out of the way of the oncoming soldiers. Startled by a curse and a blow from a passing wagoner, he jerked back his head and half-reared. As Joss’s head went back with the motion, she caught sight of something moving on the hillside above—a quick, ducking motion.
“Look . . . something up there.”
Hardly anyone paid attention. She and Chuan got the horse pulled to one side and stood squinting upwards, trying to locate the source of the movement. She caught it again—a quick motion like a head being poked out of hiding and drawn back.
“Someone’s up there,” she said.
Chuan nodded. “We should tell the king.”
Joss agreed, doubtfully. “You go tell him.”
“What are you going to do?”
But Joss had already started moving across the stream of wagons and men moving through the gully. Ssu-ma’s war chariot was being hauled bumpily into the clear. She poked her fat pony desperately towards it.
“Up there. Up there,” she panted. “Heads . . . I’m sure they’re watching us.”
Ssu-ma cast a grim, experienced glance at the terrain around him and nodded.
“Ambush,” he said. “They want to corner us by the river.” He looked around at the disorganized array of wagons, hesitated a moment, then began giving orders. There were a few seconds of uncertainty as nearby soldiers wondered whether they should obey. Then, almost with an air of relief, they started to do as they were told.
“Get any men out of the gully. No, leave the wagons there if you have to,” he barked. “Just get the men into the open. You—get those wagons hauled out of the way. Over by that hillock. You too,” he snapped at Joss. “Get yourself out of the way. And that damned horse.”
The soldiers moved slowly at first. Then, as another voice shouted, “Look,” they began moving faster. Ssu-ma had his war chariot pulled well clear of the gully and was shouting orders from its high platform. Men formed lines and columns and freed themselves from their heavy packs. Archers formed tight clusters and strung their bows.
Ssu-kung himself came galloping up. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “Are you mad to leave those carts back there? You have no right to give orders.” He was about to countermand Ssu-ma’s directions when the Director of Horses cut him off.
“We’re about to be attacked. Get those men back out of the river and get the mounted soldiers placed near the king.”
As Ssu-kung hesitated, the Director of Horses swung round on him and bellowed, “Move! By the ancestors, MOVE.”
However, before Ssu-kung had galloped half-way back to the king’s side, there was a clamour of gongs and horns from the hillside above. The White Ti poured down its banks like a torrent.
Chapter Twenty-four
Battles are very different when they’re close up, thought Alasdair, fighting his horse as much as the enemy. He swung awkwardly with an axe that had been thrust into his hand at the last minute. Oddly enough, the fighting was less noisy than he would have expected, after the initial clamour of gongs and yells. Instead there were grunts and shaking thumps and, from time to time, horrible gurgling noises.
He found himself pressed against the wheels of Ssu-ma’s war chariot. Suddenly, a space opened in the fighting and he saw feet sticking out from under t
he chariot—just an anonymous pair of feet. Strangely, the sight of worn leather lacings seemed to burn itself into his mind before the struggling mass closed around him again.
Then he heard his pony screech horribly and felt it begin to tumble sideways. At that moment, he felt a pair of strong hands grab him. The hands of the charioteer hoisted him up so he could scramble to safety.
“You’re doing us more harm than good down there,” said a rough voice above him as he hauled himself over the edge. Steve shook sweat and hair out of his eyes and looked around.
The broad platform stood like an island above the battle, a command post so big and sturdy that it was barely shaken when a horse crashed into it below. Cruel, curved stakes ran around the sides to protect it from any enemy soldiers who tried to climb it. A handful of archers occupied the centre of the platform; the edges were protected by a line of regular soldiers.
The voice had been that of the crusty captain. Alasdair grinned at him and asked, “Where’s Ssu-ma?”
“Gone to the king’s side.” The reply came with a jerk of the head, followed by an abrupt shout. “Look out there!” A soldier nearby whirled and stabbed viciously at an enemy soldier who had tried to follow Alasdair up.
Alasdair looked out over the battlefield. From here, he could see that the main focus of fighting had shifted towards the river. It was fiercest around the war chariot where the king’s own banner hung.
“They were probably going to wait until half our army was in the river and then attack,” said the captain grimly. “When they saw us getting ready for them, they rushed us earlier instead.”
“Will we be able to fight them off?”