"What would you have me do, Your Grace?"
Polycarp shook his head slowly. "Avoid slaughter. If you must fight-fight barbarians. Do not let Roman armies kill each other while the heathens remain!"
Good advise, old man. But I've fought those barbarians. You haven't. Still, I suppose there's nothing for it.
It had looked so simple. Until that thing rose in the sky. And now-now everything he did would be reported to Marselius. While he had no information at all on where his enemies marched,
Disaster. Strange how small a thing can bring disaster. And how little you expect it.
Presently the enemy strategy was clear. Marselius's right wing advanced, slowly, through the crop-lands and orchards, while the barbarian left wing stayed behind. With his army split by the ridge, Frugi couldn't simply sweep Marselius from the field; and how could he break past the barbarians and fall on Marselius from behind now that his ambush was discovered?
"They are only foot soldiers," one of the legates said. "Barbarians at that. How can they withstand a charge of legionary horse?"
"I have described Sentinius to you," Frugi said wearily. "And then they had no balloon." The evil thing hung in the sky directly to the west. It must somehow communicate with the ground, because Marselius deployed against the legion Frugi had hidden in the orchards; and when the legion withdrew, Marselius closed his ranks again.
"It is held to the ground by that rope," the frumentarius said. "Cut the rope and it must drift free. This has happened before."
"How do you know this?"
"We heard this from spies," the intelligence officer said. "But we did not believe them."
"So." Frugi pointed to where the end of the balloon's tether lay. "We need go only there-"
"Where there are few barbarians," the legate said.
That was true enough. There were no more than a hundred to guard the balloon's tether. But- "Few indeed," Frugi said. "Now consider this. Their whole formation is like a funnel, with only emptiness at the bottom. With nothing where they keep their balloon. As if they cannot believe we know it to be vulnerable. Or that we do not know its value. Tell me, Legate: would Caius Marius Marselius know the value of a balloon?"
"He would, Proconsul."
"Then can we not assume that the barbarians who possess it must know?"
"We can-"
"Then we must assume they will protect it. With their star weapons, perhaps. With something. No. I will not send a legion down those lanes to chase a lure." Frugi studied the battle ground again. "But-perhaps-"
"Yes, Proconsul?"
"Their left flank. Spearmen. Supported by archers, but the archers are further in. There is a gap between their spearmen and the woods. I would suppose their horse waits there, just beyond where we can see, hidden by those woods. But-their horse is no match for a legion; and we have horse archers in plenty. These barbarians have never seen our archery. Perhaps, Valerius, it is time they learned."
"It will be my pleasure to teach them," the legate said.
"Do so. Recall the Eleventh from hiding in the trees and remount them. Take them and the Eighth.
Deploy the Eighth against the barbarian cavalry which will surely be hidden on your right. Bring the Eleventh to archery range and shoot down those spearmen. Shoot enough and they will run. When you have broken through their line, ride behind the enemy. Ignore the balloon and whatever protects it. Sweep behind the barbarian force and fall upon Marselius in the center. As you do, I will send the other legions in a general charge. We will crush Marselius."
His enthusiasm was infectious, and the legate was caught up with it. "Hail, Titus Frugi!" he shouted as he rode away. When he was gone, Frugi's smile vanished. Go with God, Valerius, Frugi thought. As for me, I am afraid.
"I still think it's stupid," Art Mason said. "Hell, Cap'n let me go-"
"No. You and Elliot are needed here. Just see that Frugi doesn't break through anywhere. And look out for the king."
"Ye're daft," Drumold said. "But I hae long ceased to vex myself wi' thoughts of controlling you. Still, what will you accomplish?"
"Possibly nothing," Rick said. "But you exaggerate the danger. There is none to me, and little to anyone else. You do not have the game 'chess' here, do you?"
"Not by that name," Drumold said.
"No matter. It is a war game. There are many ways to win, but only one way to win quickly without great slaughter. Let's go." Rick waved his group forward:
Reznick, Bisso, and two other mercs, plus a half dozen Guardsmen. The mercenaries wore kilts and bright tabards, and their battle rifles were wrapped in cloth bowcases. From a distance they looked like any Tamaerthan light cavalry. They rode southeast, toward Marselius's legions. When they were close to the base of the ridge, they dismounted and turned the horses over to two Guardsmen. Rick led the others into the thin scrub that covered the ridge.
"Okay," he said. "This is as good a place as any."
The mercenaries shed their kilts and pulled on camouflage coveralls. The Guardsmen also abandoned bright colors and put on drab kilts and leather helmets. When they were dressed, Rick led them up the ridge.
Halfway up they paused in a wooded draw. Rick took out his binoculars, while Reznick shook out signal flags and waved them. Rick focussed in on the balloon, "Okay, they've seen us," he said. He watched the flag man. "L-E-G-I-O-N-S A-T-T-A-C-K-I-N-G L-E-F-T W-I-N-G.' Get the rest of that signal and acknowledge. I want a look over that way."
He couldn't see. The brush was too thick and the draw too deep. Then he heard distant thunder. The recoilless, and possibly grenades.
"Murphy says First Pikes are holding," Reznick reported. "No change otherwise."
"Nobody above us on the slopes?"
"Not until we reach the top."
"Okay. 'Let's move." They climbed up the draw.
When they were nearly at the top of the ridge, they took more signals from Murphy in the balloon. Rick nodded and waved Reznick forward.
Reznick screwed the sound suppressor on his 9mm Ingram submachine gun. He moved carefully up the draw, guided by Murphy's directions, until he was near a small thicket. The Ingram made no more noise than the loud tearing of cloth as he fired an entire clip into the bushes. Then he reloaded and went to inspect his work.
After a few moments Rick heard a low whistle. He waved the others forward.
Twice more Reznick took the silenced Ingram forward. Then they were at the top of the ridge.
"Move!" Rick ordered. "Up. Go like hell!"
They dashed over onto the level ground on top. Rick was panting, and his legs felt like lead. My arse aches, too, he thought. Hell, a man with piles didn't ought to be doing this! A Roman trooper stood just in front of him. Rick fired twice with his.45 and the Roman went down. Then there were two more Roman soldiers. One held his shield forward and raised his sword- Rick shot through the shield. Reznick fired from behind him and three more Romans went down. There were a dozen more dismounted Roman troopers. Reznick and Bisso fired at full automatic, short bursts, slow, methodical fire; the Romans collapsed in heaps. Then they faced five mounted Roman officers.
"Surrender!" Rick shouted. When one of the Romans wheeled, Rick shot his horse. The animal screamed in pain. "Kill the horses!" Rick shouted.
Bisso's battle rifle thundered. Then it was joined by two more. As the horses began to buck and plunge, a Roman in a scarlet cape leaped free and drew his sword.
"Hail, Titus Frugi!" Rick called. "Why throw your life away to no purpose? I have come to speak with you."
Frugi licked his lips and looked around. One of his officers was struggling to free himself from a fallen horse. Bishop Polycarp's animal had not yet been killed; His Grace sat with his hands raised as if in blessing. His other three officers were taken, struck down and seized by these grim men; and his bodyguards lay in heaps.
"Set up over there," Rick shouted. Bisso and the other two mercs laid out their battle rifles. "Anything comes over that lip, kill it." He turned to
the Roman commander. "Now, Proconsul, let us talk."
"Who are you, barbarian?"
Hah, Rick thought. The way he asks that, it's a good thing I came myself. "Rick Galloway, Colonel of Mercenaries, War Lord of Tamaerthon-and friend to Marselius Caesar, who sends you greetings. Only two days ago I heard Marselius himself praise your courage and honor. And your good sense-however, you must not run away, Proconsul. And while I permit you to hold that sword for the moment, you must eventually put it down."
"While I hold it-"
"While you hold it you can kill yourself," Rick said.
"That, Titus Frugi, is forbidden," Bishop Polycarp warned.
"My Lord Bishop," Rick said. "I had hoped to include Your Grace in our meeting. Can you not prevail upon the Proconsul to lay down that sword?"
Titus Frugi looked around helplessly. His officers were taken or dead. The strangers looked perfectly capable of dealing with any rescue attempt-not that there was any sizable force nearby anyway. He stood shaking with rage and frustration, then threw down the weapon with a curse. "Speak, barbarian," he said. "I have little choice but to listen."
17
"Here they come," Art Mason raised his rifle. The two legions of cataphracti moved in formation, certain of themselves, riding proudly. The lead formation deployed, ready to ride through the chivalry of Tamaerthon to Drumold's banner lifted high above them.
The Roman trumpets sounded. Lances came down in unison. The Romans moved forward. At a walk. A trot- "Now," Mason said.
The light machine gun opened up in sharp, staccato bursts. Then the recoilless. The center of the Roman line went down; the troopers behind crashed into them, and the orderly line dissolved into confusion. The rear ranks crowded against each other.
"Fire in the hole!" Elliot shouted. The recoilless blasted again. More Romans fell. Their charge was broken before it had ever begun.
Tamaerthan and Drantos horse alike surged forward into the confusion. The Roman forces were bunched together, so that only the outer troops could use their weapons. The Allied cavalry, heavy and light alike, could dart in, strike, and dash back to charge again.
The other Roman legion reined in about a hundred yards from the pikemen and took out their bows.
Mason turned to his trumpeter and nodded. Shrill notes sounded, and two hundred Tamaerthan long-bowmen ran out of the trees where they'd hidden.
"Let the grey gulls fly!" Caradoc ordered. The first flight of arrows fell upon the Romans from behind.
The trumpets sounded again, followed by the thutter of drums and the squeal of pipes. First Pike Regiment surged forward at double time. They flowed across the ground toward the Romans.
Mason dismounted and opened the bipod of his H amp;K battle rifle. He lay on the ground and fired randomly into the Roman formation until the pikemen closed. The Romans found themselves in a desperate engagement.
"I had not known," Titus Frugi said. He raised Rick's binoculars again and stared at the scene below, then cursed. "Who ever saw foot soldiers attack cavalry?" It was an event totally outside his experience; the surprise was as complete as if the pikemen had risen into the air.
First the star weapons. The Eighth legion's charge was thoroughly broken before they ever engaged the enemy. Now they were trapped, forced back against the Eleventh which was in desperate straits, archers behind it and those spearmen in front. Could Valerius withdraw? Would he? He searched for a sign of his subordinate, hardly able to hold the binoculars still. What other marvels did these starmen have?
"You see," Rick said gently. "Two legions could not break my pikes. Not when they have the aid of star weapons. As you must know." He waved to indicate the dead and dying heaped around them. "Your bodyguards fared no better. What use is this slaughter? How will Rome survive if all her soldiers are dead?"
"And you?" Polycarp asked. "What do you gain from this?"
"I am a friend of Marselius Caesar," Rick said. "When Rome's borders are safely held by my friends, Tamaerthon and Drantos are safe. These are perilous times, Your Grace. More perilous than even you can know. We all need friends."
"Indeed."
"Even Rome," Rick said. "Perhaps Rome most of all."
On the field below the slaughter continued. Now the Romans were trying to withdraw, as the deadly Tamaerthan gulls flew again and again.
"Two legions," Bishop Polycarp said. "Two legions destroyed, and you have not yet met Marselius."
Not destroyed. Not yet. Disorganized, useless as fighting instruments until reformed. Doomed, unless they withdrew. But not yet destroyed… "What would you have me do, Your Grace?" Titus Frugi asked.
"You yourself said it was disaster," Polycarp said. He pointed to the balloon. "Will it not continue? Today your forces retreat with what Valerius can save. Tomorrow the barbarians advance. With that, watching, always watching. Wherever we go, it follows." He shuddered. "And I say nothing of the fire and thunder weapons."
"I ask again. What would you have me do, Your Grace?"
"End this madness."
"How?"
"One of your trumpeters survives," Rick said. "Sound the retreat."
"So that your cavalry can pursue."
"What of that?" Rick asked. "Will any be saved if they stand and fight? Where will Valerius take those legions?"
"Along the road, to hold the ford."
"Then send one of these," Rick said. He indicated the captured officers. "Have Valerius take his legions to the next crossroad and make camp. You and I will meanwhile go to speak with Marselius Caesar." Suddenly Rick's calm detachment snapped. "For God's sake, stop this slaughter," he shouted. "Haven't we had enough?"
"More than enough," Polycarp said. "More than enough."
Titus Frugi ground his teeth together. Then, grimly, grudging every word, he spoke to his trumpeter. "Sound the general retreat," he ordered.
"Forward, lads!" Drumold shouted. "Up the road! Forward!"
"For Drantos! Forward!"
The young king was right alongside the Tamaerthan leader. No way to stop them, Mason thought. It even makes sense. If we can get any sizable force around the ridge and behind the Roman main body, we've won the day. The same plan Titus Frugi had, only he couldn't carry it off. As long as there's no ambush.
Not sure we can do it. The Tamaerthan cavalry aren't that good, and there aren't that many of them, even with those Drantos troop amp; Either way, best send a couple of mercs to look out for Ganton- "Sir!" The young rider was nearly as out of breath as his horse. An acolyte of Yatar.
"Yes, lad?"
"Orders from the balloon. Halt at the ford. The Romans are going to surrender."
So, Mason thought. Captain's done it again. Now all I have to do is convince Drumold and the kid. He spurred his horse forward.
Drumold paced around and around the table in the largest room of the villa. "Och," he said. "I canna say I care for the situation. The Romans have their forces intact. All their forces, and all Flaminius's forces, While we are here, in their midst, without rations-"
"Which they're sending-"
Drumold cut off Rick's protest. "Which they say they are sending. But we have none yet. And I do not think they will let their troops-nor their horses! — starve to feed us."
"Your fears are groundless," Rick said. "They will send food. And why do you fear the Romans?"
"Iron," Camithon said.
"Iron?" Drumold asked.
"Iron," the Protector repeated. "Iron makes Rome what she is. They have much, we have little."
"That's a pretty sharp observation, Cap'n," Elliot said. "Like those mills I've seen. They've got millponds behind dams, and overshot wheels with gear trains. They can run on less water than any mill I saw in Drantos."
Or in Tamaerthon, Rick thought. Which means they can run during more of the year. "Iron mines and good mills-I suppose they use them to drive bellows?"
Elliot nodded. "Saw just that about five klicks from here. Regular foundry."
"Which means when the
Romans discover gunpowder-and they will-they'll have the means to make guns. Lots of them," Rick mused. One more headache. Add gunpowder and guns to Roman discipline and record-keeping and they'll own this end of Tran.
Which might be no bad thing-although Drumold and Tylara weren't likely to see it that way.
"If Tamaerthon is threatened, how long before Drantos falls?" Ganton asked.
Smart lad, Rich thought. Ganton seemed more sure of himself, now that he'd led troops in a battle. It hadn't been much of a battle, nor had Ganton played a large part in it, but he'd been at the head of his Guards, right alongside Drumold and Balquhain.
"What should we do, then?" Rick demanded.
"What we should have done before," Drumold said. "Take hostages. Think, lad. They have here the whole strength of Tamaerthon, and Wanax Ganton to boot. Surely Publius has thought of this. And 'tis Publius who will remain, while Marselius marches on to Rome.
"Without us," Camithon added. "Without us."
"You yourself refused his offer to take us to Rome," Rick protested.
"And what of that?" Drumold demanded. "Should we put our heads deeper in a noose? Protector Camithon did well to refuse such a dangerous offer."
"And you genuinely fear for our lives?"
Drumold shrugged. "Perhaps not now. But later, when Publius realizes that he holds all the strength of Rome? What will happen to Tamaerthon then? Aye, and to Drantos as well. You ask it yourself, lad-what happens when the Romans have star weapons for themselves? We can no conquer Rome. We can no destroy the Romans. We can take hostages. Take them, lad. Now. While we yet can."
"Is that your advice also?" Rick asked Camithon.
"Aye."
"Elliot?"
Sergeant Major Elliot shrugged. "You know these people better than I do, sir. But I'd feel some better if we could be sure we'll get home-and after, who knows what they might do? How can it hurt?"
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