The Sea of Grass

by Gilbert M. Stack

  “Then why aren’t you planning to use it?” Seneca asked. The question proved how bright the young man was. He had heard the various instructions Marcus had already given and seen the frown on his face when he inspected the wall and drawn the correct conclusion.

  “Because it’s too big,” Marcus told him. “This fort was built to house two legions.” That size was evidence to Marcus’ mind that Aquila was looking ahead to the day they might want to incorporate the Jeweled Hills as a province. “We have less than two hands to defend it with. If the savages attack in the numbers we saw at the Battle of the Thundercloud, we will be swarmed and pulled down.”

  “I read something about weather magic back at the collegium,” Seneca informed him. “It must take a great deal of power to form clouds and call lightning out in a barren plain like this. And it’s hard to keep control of something so powerful—especially something as chaotic as the weather. I might be able to interfere with their shaman if they try such a feat here at Fort Quartus.”

  Marcus succeeded in keeping the smile off his face, but it was hard. The young man couldn’t even manage a basic farseeing but he thought he could engage in weather magic. “I will leave the magical parts of this battle in your capable hands, Acting Magus. Advise me when you have evidence that the shaman is bringing magic into play and act as you deem best.”

  Seneca nodded solemnly and made a note in his book.

  “Now if you will excuse me, I have to speak with Señor Adán Nacio.”

  Seneca simply followed after him.”

  ****

  “Señor,” Marcus called out to the older gentleman—the oldest who was traveling with the caravan. Like the other Gente, he was dressed in a silk shirt and wore a wide-brimmed black hat. His vest was embroidered with silver thread in an aesthetically pleasing geometric fashion. His boots and pants were also very high quality and despite their many days on the trail he had kept his graying beard and mustache neatly trimmed. Everything about the man spoke of wealth, taste and respect.

  “If I could have a moment of your time, I urgently need to speak with you about the defense of this fortress.”

  Adán’s eyes flickered with surprise for a moment. While Marcus had always treated him with respect, he had never sought him out for advice and usually opposed the man’s unsolicited suggestions. But he handed his half-eaten plate of food to one of his drivers and, still carrying his cup of water, stepped to the side with Marcus.

  “I am making plans to defend this fortress from the savages if our fears are valid and it proves to be the case that Great Tribune Rogatus did not win a decisive victory.”

  “You mean to say, you fear that he and his boorish Gota allies were totally crushed by the savages this morning.”

  That was in fact exactly what Marcus had intended to say but one does not speculate verbally on so little evidence about disaster befalling superior officers. It was a crime within the legion often framed as mutiny or at least holding a defeatist attitude.

  “If such a thing happened that is all the more reason to bolster our defenses.”

  In fact, most of the horsemen they could see had remained at the site of the battle throughout the day. They still couldn’t make out any details so they could not dismiss the possibility that the legion and the Gota had won, but Marcus’ gut told him the opposite had happened.

  “What do you want with me?”

  “I need an officer to help me corral the merchants and their drivers into helping first to build up our defenses and second to fight if it comes to that.”

  “An officer?”

  Marcus could see that he had piqued the older man’s interest. “Yes, to act under my command, but given primary charge of those among us who are not legionnaires or Gota. The Gente hold you in high regard, Señor Adán. I think they will take orders coming from you more readily than coming from an outsider like me.”

  Adán nodded, clearly pleased with the idea. “What rank were you thinking to give me?”

  “It is my understanding that a man of the Gente given charge of a group of a couple of hundred soldiers holds the rank of capitán. We don’t have that many men to put you in charge of, but I believe it a fitting rank.”

  From the sparkle in Adán’s eyes, he agreed with Marcus, but the older man kept the enthusiasm out of his voice. “And what tasks do you fear my people will not want to carry out?”

  Marcus got down to business. “We have to build a new wall within the fortress around the area we now occupy. The outer wall is too large to defend. It’s going to take terrible grunt work because we need it finished by tomorrow night. If we get more time, we can strengthen it after that, but the basic wall, with a few innovations I am planning, needs to be done by this time tomorrow night.”

  Adán looked about him in amazement at Marcus’ audacity. “I don’t think such a thing can be done,” he said. It was not an argument, just a simple statement of fact.

  “If we want to live, it will have to be,” Marcus told him. “And that means that every man and woman in the fort save Señora Carmelita and her new child, must dig and dig until their hands are raw and their hearts burst in their chests.”

  “The señors will not like that,” Adán observed. “Such work is beneath their dignity.”

  “It doesn’t get any less dignified than dying,” Marcus reminded him.

  Adán took a deep breath. “I agree. Fortunately for you, you have found in me a capitán up to the responsibility. I will get your civilians working.”

  “I suggest, Capitán, that like my legionnaires from the caravan, you give your new soldiers until midnight to rest.”

  Adán shook his head. “I will start cycling them through in shifts—two hours digging, followed by two hours rest. The first shift will not accomplish much, but it will show the others how seriously we regard this business.”

  “Excellent!” Marcus complemented him. “I will leave this part of the defense in your capable hands.”

  As he stalked off to find Lesser Tribune Cyrus, Seneca trailed after him still scribbling notes in his book.

  ****

  Cyrus had been predictably horrified at the notion of putting an inner wall around his Great Tribune’s headquarters, but Marcus had not found it difficult to bully him into line. His legionnaires—there were about a hundred of them when he added the malingerers to Cyrus’s under-strength hand—were now hard at work digging the new trench—a task every legionnaire excelled at because fortifying every camp in enemy territory was among the most basic of legion activities. He didn’t think that his three hundred men were likely to build the whole new wall in one day—the area was still too big, but if he got two days he would have a descent surprise for the savages when they returned.

  To set up the second part of that surprise he was inspecting the creek with Severus, Calidus, and the now ever-present Seneca.

  “I want to dam the creek so that the savages can’t water their horses from it,” Marcus told them.

  “You what?”

  “I want to try and flood all the ground between the outer and inner walls, including the ditch we’re currently digging,” Marcus explained. “I want to make a lake the savages would have to cross to get to us.”

  “That’s…quite an idea,” Calidus said. Marcus knew him well enough to understand that that was not a criticism. His adjutant was trying to figure out how to make his Tribune’s vision a reality.

  Severus greeted the idea with an unusual level of enthusiasm. “The savages are probably unfamiliar with large standing bodies of water. This could really weaken their resolve and buy us more time.”

  “Why wouldn’t they just break open the damn and drain the water out again?” Seneca asked.

  “They undoubtedly will do that,” Marcus told him. “Which is why we are going to dam the creek in multiple places simultaneously. We’re also going to dig a traditional earthen wall in reverse at the main gate—anything we can do to make it harder to drain this lake we’re building. The idea
here, Acting Magus, is to buy ourselves time. So we are creating multiple obstacles for the savages that they will have to overcome before they get to us. The lake itself is a double trap.”

  “Double?” Seneca asked.

  “The first is the water,” Calidus explained, “but the second, and probably greater obstacle, is the mud that we’ll make of this plain if the water stands upon the ground long enough. I very much doubt that these savages have any experience with fighting in the mud. It weighs down both man and horse, tires them out faster, and makes them more vulnerable.”

  “We could also put traps beneath the surface of the water,” Severus noted. “They would probably only be useful if the savages try to ride or run through the flooded castrum, but it would certainly encourage them to slow down.”

  “Good,” Marcus agreed. “Keep thinking. Now how do we make this happen?”

  “Tribune?” Seneca asked but then kept talking without waiting for permission. “When I was a lad, my family had a dam built on one of our creeks to create a small lake. I have seen this done. We will need big stones, but we will almost certainly find them as we dig the trench for the new walls. I could help you with this!”

  Seneca met his officers’ eyes and both men gave him a slight nod.

  “Very well, Acting Magus, you are in charge of identifying the stones we need and getting them transported to the outlet of the creek at the outer wall. Use the legion wagon drivers to pull the big rocks. Calidus, find me backup sites to damn that creek after the outer wall is blocked. And figure out the best way to close down the front gate after we’re through using it. I want this to slow the savages down for as long as possible. Understood?”

  All three men saluted in acknowledgement of their orders.

  “Good, then let’s get to it.” He started to turn away, but hesitated. “And officers, we can’t have a repeat of what happened to me in the salt pan. Everyone gets at least four hours of sleep tonight!”

  ****

  The first survivors of the Battle of the Thundercloud rode into Fort Quartus on dying horses a few hours before dawn. They were nine Gota cavalrymen—every single one of them injured and one certain to die. Marcus met them at the outer gates as he would meet every single returning legionnaire and warrior. He saluted as the men rode up to him but it was Evorik, roused from sleep at the news the Gota were approaching who stepped forward and hailed the men. “Who do you ride under?”

  “We serve Lord Thursimod who holds from Lord Ildefons, brother of the Thegn of Topacio.”

  Evorik growled low in his throat. “And how is my charming half-brother?”

  “He is dead, Lord Evorik, killed in the first attack by the savages.”

  Evorik let loose the most creative string of curses Marcus had ever had the good fortune to hear. When he finished he strode forward to the Gota spokesman and said, “Did he die well?”

  The man swallowed hard. “He did not die poorly, my Lord. A thousand of the savages had concealed themselves by lying flat on the prairie, hidden by the tall grass as we got an early start on the day’s march. When they sprang up and let loose with their first dozen flights of arrows, the entire army was taken by surprise. Lord Ildefons was in the vanguard as was fitting, and by terrible misfortune, one of the arrows in that first flight took him in the eye.”

  Evorik cursed again. “May Fulgus rot these savages’ balls! Did he have his sword drawn?”

  The man flinched from the question, telling everyone what Evorik feared.

  “Damn them all to the icy hells!”

  “My Lord,” a man called from the rear of the rank, “I did not see it myself, but I heard from one who did that Lord Ildefons was drawing his sword as he fell. He was fighting, my Lord. He did die in battle!”

  “But if it was not actually drawn, the Halls of Fulgus will be closed to him!” Evorik yelled. “Rot these honorless savages! We will wipe them from the Sea of Grass!”

  Marcus stepped forward. “Lord Evorik, I’m sorry your beloved brother—”

  “Beloved?” Evorik turned on him. “I hated the conniving scum! But worthless as he was, he was ten times the man the best of these savages might be.”

  Thursimod’s men didn’t quite know whether to cheer or to protest the Gota lord’s mixed complement.

  Marcus cut through Evorik’s talk. “I need to know everything that happened. I need to know how bad the situation is. Will you let these men tell me?”

  Evorik glowered but did not object.

  Marcus turned back to the leader. “Your name, Sir?”

  “I am called Atta, Tribune.”

  “What happened? Not all the details, just the final summation.”

  “They surprised us, Tribune, and many fell in the first attack. We had started before dawn, to make haste to relieve Fort Tertium when at least a thousand savages sprang out of the grass with their bows and caught us totally unprepared. What was worse, they came with the storm behind them. Lightning fell within our ranks, killing men and horses, and while the army reeled in confusion many thousands more came mounted on their ponies. Hundreds fell in the first onslaught but Great Tribune Rogatus has steel in his soul and he rallied his legionnaires into a strong square, pulling the Topacio cavalry into the center of the square to regroup.”

  “You hid behind the infantry?” Evorik snapped as if he could not believe what he had heard.

  Marcus stepped in to head off an argument. “It’s a good strategy. We’ve used it quite effectively in the south. The cavalry readies itself while our foes waste their missile weapons on the shields of the legion. Then the riders sally forth to great glory and break the ranks of the enemies.”

  Atta nodded vigorously at Marcus’ words as if to silently affirm that this was indeed the plan.

  “Remember, Lord Evorik, that your half-brother was dead. There must have been great confusion among his officers as they struggled to rally their men.”

  He returned his attention to Atta. “But I’m guessing that by the time Great Tribune Rogatus was able to form square his own losses were too great and the savages were able to riddle the cavalry with arrows.”

  “There was a terrible loss of horses,” Atta agreed, “and the arrows of the savages seemed endless. So Great Tribune Rogatus changed his strategy. He ordered my Lord Thursimod and the other surviving great men to lead a break out and warn both Fort Quartus and the Jeweled Hills that the savages were riding in unprecedented strength.”

  “And you did break out,” Marcus stated the obvious.

  “A few score, perhaps, and not all together,” Atta agreed. “But not before we saw Great Tribune Rogatus struck by lightning and the legion’s square begin to collapse.”

  Marcus frowned at the thought of all of those men dead.

  “Many will have survived,” Evorik reminded him. “They always do. The question is: How many will be able to reach you before the savages come in force.”

  Marcus nodded thoughtfully. “You are correct. This changes nothing except that it gives me a small cavalry force if you’re willing to leave Warrior Atta with me when you leave to warn Topacio.”

  Evorik did not look pleased to be reminded he would be leaving soon. “What say you, Atta? Do you still have stomach for a fight? The Tribune is a good man, but he could use some experienced horsemen to bolster his infantry.”

  “Of course, Lord Evorik,” Atta swore. “My men and I long for the day we water these plains with the blood of the savages.”

  “Then I think I’ll get my men up now and we’ll get started,” Evorik announced.

  Marcus did not think that was a good idea, but he did not want to directly counter the Gota lord’s authority. “I’m sure your men will be up to it, Lord Evorik, but what about the horses? The trek across the salt pan was especially hard on them not to mention an additional day and a half with almost no water. Might it not be wiser to let them rest the full night before you make your last push for reinforcements?”

  “Curse you, Tribune, for being right,
” Evorik snarled before stalking off into the darkness.

  Marcus returned his attention to the Gota survivor. “Warrior Atta, I’m going to need your men to act as scouts tomorrow, looking for survivors and the enemy. Take your men to the center of camp. You’ll find food and water there. Then get some rest. I’ll need you back in the saddle a few hours after dawn.”

  Atta and his warriors nodded and went off to eat and get some sleep.

  Even though there were still a million things to do, Marcus followed them. It was only going to get harder from here on out.

  ****

  Still bleary eyed from fatigue, Marcus met Evorik and his men at dawn. The lord’s two wives, Hilduara and Riciberga, had risen and come down to the gate to see their husband off, but other than that it was only Marcus and the two guards watching for enemy activity from the gate. He waited patiently while the lord made a quiet farewell to his women, then shook the Gota’s hand. “We’ve come a long way together, Lord Evorik,” Marcus told him. “I look forward to finishing our journey on your return.”

  “Just keep my women safe,” Evorik grumbled. The idea of leaving now with the great battle coming clearly went against the grain, but he was a man used to wielding authority and being forced to view the whole battle and not just his small part in it. He understood why he, and only he, could bring the call for reinforcements. Aside from his personal influence, he was the half-brother of the Thegn of Topacio. No one else in the caravan had the hope of raising a substantial relief force as quickly as he.

  Evorik mounted his horse. “A day and a half to the border and fresh mounts with another day to the city giving warning all the way. Then,” he shrugged in frustration, “realistically, it will be no sooner than three days to raise a force and start back, but more likely we are talking five or even seven.”

  Seven would actually be fast for many kingdoms. Even with a professional standing army such as the legions it was very difficult to move the men from a peacetime to a wartime footing in a hurry. With the constant infighting of the Jeweled Hills and the need for the ruling Gota to respond quickly to any uprising of the Gente, it was possible that they would mobilize more quickly than most, but…