“I have sent messages. We will bring down an army. Your pikemen will be of little use then. You can’t escape.”
†
Harley was chiding Don for risking his life to parley with the enemy when Philip cried, “The horse troops are coming back.”
Don looked to the east with his binoculars and saw the Stonegate banners snapping in the wind over foam-flecked horses. For a moment he thought that they were returning victorious, then it became clear that they, too, were fighting a delaying action. The hills behind them glittered with armored men on horses.
Jenkins held his fire until enemy troops massed to the north, but he then put a volley through the middle of them. Gunners’ muskets and even crossbows loosed at the extreme limit of their range. The enemy scattered.
Trained Stonegate warhorses snorted as they gathered speed and crushed the waiting line which was too thin to hold. Horses and riders were thrown aside, as war-spears, swords, and axes struck home. The way behind them was littered with prone forms; others crawled or groaned. The returning troopers passed into the headquarters compound as the pikemen moved aside to let them through, then closed ranks behind.
Stonegate had paid a high cost. Some horses carried double, and other men were barely able to ride. Helms were dented, shields were notched, and horses and men alike were covered with dust, sweat, and blood. The hospital tent was soon overflowing.
Don ran to meet the arrivals, just as the guns began firing volleys at the pursuing force. The ring closed again around the camp, and the stand-off continued. A hush fell over the battlefield when the enemy scattered to make a poor target for cannon fire.
Gray John was being helped off his horse by two burly troopers. As soon as Don reached him he asked, “Are you all right?”
John’s cheeks were brown with dust, but sweat rivulets made light streaks across his face. He gritted his teeth, then said, “I’ve been better.” A lump of bloody bandages was visible through broken mail near his right shoulder.
“He took several spear thrusts, and his mail gave way,” said one of the troopers supporting him.
“Get him to the hospital tent,” said Don. He knew that their two healers would be overwhelmed. “And help him get his armor off.”
Pack horses were laden with still bodies, and Don made a quick count. He saw a trooper with officer’s gold braid and asked, “We lost twelve?”
“Many more than that,” the officer answered. “These were all the bodies that we could recover. We still gave better than we got.”
“You had hard fighting,” Don said.
“They had grenadiers, but we took them out with arrows. They had a gunpowder weapon…” he said, his voice trailing off.
“Where is Lord Cal?” asked Don.
“He fell,” said the officer. Then he gave a muffled groan, followed by a sob.
†
Lord Cal—gone! Don could hardly bear the thought. He learned that another of his doubles had also been slain, and Don realized that a figure in a red surcoat must be him. Guilt merged with the shock. With Gray John wounded, the burden of command fell on his shoulders. Seeing troopers standing around or wandering aimlessly, he ordered them to water and feed their horses. They began doing so, though the two springs were barely enough.
The enemy circled the camp like a noose and began taunting. They were trying to lure the Stonegate troopers out. But Don knew the horses needed rest. They had about twenty remounts, which only served to replace the most seriously wounded horses.
Don saw one Stonegate horse troop mounting and readying their weapons. Don walked over to the leader, beneath an eagle banner. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“They can’t get away with that. What they called us. We’re going to show them!” said the troop leader.
“No, you’re going to wait for orders!” said Don. He grabbed the rein of the commander’s horse. “Order your men to dismount.”
“You are not in my chain of command,” said the young man. “Step aside.”
Then a figure, bare to the waist and wearing a white dressing, appeared at the flap of a nearby tent. It was Gray John. “The lore-man is in command,” he barked. “Follow his orders or feel my wrath!” His face was drawn and ashen, but his voice was as strong as ever.
The young commander snapped a salute and dismounted. “Sorry, sir,” he said. “It’s hard to sit here and do nothing.”
“You will have your chance before the day is out,” said Don. “Now take care of your horses and get something to eat.”
Don looked in on Gray John, but he was back on a pallet, eyes closed. His effort to stand and issue orders had exhausted him. A long quarter-hour passed as the bone-tired troopers ate biscuits and dried meat. Then shouts called his attention to the enemy. They seemed to be circling to the west, then forming into a column. The guns pointed to the north.
Don ran to the guns. “Haul them around so you can cover the western approaches, “ he said. Obeying promptly, they hitched the horses and wheeled the guns around. The crossbowmen and grenadiers moved to cover them. Their well-drilled movements steadied Don’s hands which had been shaking a few minutes before.
“Horse troop commanders,” shouted Don. The bugler was standing by and blew Assembly. They crowded around him. “I think they intend to try a mass attack. If they do, sally out and hit their flanks. Beware of the guns.”
They shouted their agreement, and orders began sounding. The troopers mounted once again as the enemy columns jointed and came from the west in the shape of a large wedge. Their formation was loose, yet Don realized that they would mass at the last minute and try to force their way into the camp.
“Give them two volleys of ball—then beehive,” shouted Jenkins, and the guns roared. The point of the wedge vanished in a cloud of dust and a tangle of rolling limbs; even so, the gap closed in an instant. A long minute later, the guns fired again, but the gap in the line filled again as the charging horses began to mass. The grenadiers cast their bombs just as the musketeers fired and the crossbowmen loosed. The combined volley hit the forefront of the enemy.
It was like hitting a wall. For a moment, Don could see nothing for the powder smoke. The pikemen jumped forward to form a line in front of the guns, as the gunners frantically reloaded. As the smoke cleared, a knot of riders wheeled in confusion. Some horses, maddened by the explosions, fled in terror. Jenkins had reloaded with ball, and the guns again sounded, cutting gory channels through the packed mob.
Don released the horse troopers who swept around the pikemen and hit the stalled column on both flanks. Crispin shot an enemy grenadier whose grenade dropped beneath the enemy horses. The explosion shredded horses and riders nearby.
At this point, the enemy cavalry seemed lethargic, and Don knew why. Their horses needed water, while the Stonegate horses were recently watered and were pressing them hard. Despite heavy losses, though, the enemy still had the advantage of numbers. The fighting drew farther away, and the missile troops could do little more, so Don mounted and rode toward the melee. Scott and Boyd followed, as did Philip, Crispin, and Rowan with their rifles, now low on ammunition.
Just then a bugle sounded from the south, and Don glanced that way in surprise. More horse troops were advancing. Their friends, the Haven troops, had arrived.
†
Don met with the commanders around the fire as evening fell. Blackie had brought three more of the ancient firearms and five hundred rounds of ammunition. They had also brought the Lobo troop from Stonegate, which had rested for a day and were mounted with fresh horses. They also had fifty Diné scouts led by Wilson. Their presence lifted Don’s spirits.
They had captured sixty of the enemy, nearly all wounded. Two dozen warhorses were captured that were fit for use, and Stonegate had sent fifty remounts. Over eight hundred enemy dead lay on the ba
ttlefield near the camp and scattered across the eastern plain. The foe had been badly hurt.
“What will be their next move?” asked Don.
Gray John had lost much blood, but he was able to attend the war council. He spoke in a faint voice, “The only thing they can do is advance with infantry and their siege guns. We would have no defense against that.”
“If they moved immediately they could easily be here in two days with a couple of cannon and five thousand men,” said Blackie, in agreement.
“Do their big cannons outrange ours?” asked Don.
“Yes, though not by much,” answered Jenkins. “They could still emplace, or dig in, in safety, and smash our camp. We could not hold against them if they had enough pikemen.”
“Very well,” said Don. “We need to move the camp.”
†
Balek Brown climbed out of his canvas bathtub and drew the coarse towel over his aching muscles. His rage and frustration were gone, and an icy calm had returned. The day had been a disaster; it was true. Yet for him it had not gone that badly.
He had been ordered to send all his Raiders and all available heavy cavalry south to clear the way for the main advance. They were instructed to wipe out the enemy field camp. But he had argued that he needed to hold back three hundred Raiders to guard the supply line. Everyone knew that the Prophet had sent five hundred more cavalrymen with a large supply train, but they were not expected for several days. He had urged a delay.
General Roundy, angered, had put Colonel Young in overall command of the mission. Brown was to lead the eastern diversionary raid with a score of Raiders, eight hundred heavy cavalry, five grenadiers, and one rifleman. Colonel Young had commanded the main force. So the blame for the failure, this time, fell on Colonel Young. What an unfortunate turn of events for Colonel Young.
He dressed carefully for the meeting with General Roundy. General Logan would be there, of course, as well as the other senior commanders. He walked across the beaten earth to the command tent. A junior officer showed him to his seat. General Blacklock, the headquarters commander, was there but did not take part in the discussion.
“I need an explanation, Colonel Young,” snarled General Roundy. “But first, share with us the full scope of this debacle.” His voice dripped with malice.
Colonel Young stood, nervously tugging at his tunic. He glanced down at his notes. “As you have heard, sir, this mission was not successful—”
“I certainly heard that!” cut in General Roundy. “What were our losses?”
“Heavy, sir. We lost nearly nine hundred men. Of that number, forty-five were Raider scouts and the rest, heavy cavalry. We lost about one thousand warhorses. And we were not able to eliminate the enemy headquarters.”
“How about you, Colonel Brown?” asked Roundy, glaring at him with narrowed eyes.
“My diversionary raid succeeded in drawing five of their horse troops away from their headquarters. They totaled about three hundred, counting scouts and such. My rifleman killed their leader, Cal by name, and he also eliminated the lore-man you mentioned. We caused them heavy losses and threw them back.” Brown gave Colonel Young a smirk.
“A bit of good news,” said Roundy. “And you, Colonel Young, still could not overrun the headquarters? Unbelievable!”
“We did push back a small force that came out to meet us,” said Young. “But they had riflemen, too. They eliminated my grenadiers and seven of my best officers. And there was one thing we had not expected.”
“What was that?”
“Colonel Brown’s Raiders did not inform us that the enemy had eight hundred pikemen defending the camp, plus their guns and crossbowmen. There were also muskets, grenadiers and some rifles. It was much more heavily defended that we were told.”
“You should have charged. Punched right through them.”
“Not easy to do in the face of pikes and axes. Plus, every time we massed to charge, we made a good target for the guns. They can fire accurately for a half-mile, or more.”
“Did you not even try?”
“Of course we did, and they cut us to ribbons. Then the enemy horse troops returned and struck us while we were regrouping. We were giving a good account of ourselves when four fresh enemy horse troops arrived. Our mounts were exhausted and dehydrated, so I gave the order to withdraw.”
“What about enemy losses?” asked General Logan.
“Perhaps two hundred.”
“What do you say, Colonel Brown?” General Logan looked toward him.
“Exaggeration,” said Brown. “I doubt that his force was able to take down more than a handful. My troops, on the other hand, gave as good as they got.”
“Enough. You embarrass yourself, Colonel Young,” said General Roundy. “What do you say, General Logan?”
“Colonel Brown is our most experienced commander. He has fought these Easterners for years,” said General Logan. His tone was icy. “Put him back in charge. Colonel Young would be best used to guard our supply trains in the rear, well away from the enemy.”
“Let it be so,” ordered General Roundy. “We can eliminate this little camp when our main force moves up.”
†
The prisoners were stripped of arms, armor, and over-tunics and sat huddled in a circle. Most had wounds, but only the most serious had been treated. Don studied Philip’s face as he stared at them. He knew the boy was seeing them as people, human beings, and not as faceless enemy. He put his arm on Philip’s shoulder and drew him away.
Hamway had sent a request by pigeon for twenty heavy freight wagons to retrieve the enemy armor and weapons. He also requested ten light wagons to return the wounded, both friendly and enemy. Unfortunately, it would take at least a day for the wagons to arrive. They had to delay the enemy for at least that long.
The reinforcements had brought more ammunition. He now had six rifles with about eighty rounds per weapon. Their force now totaled eleven horse troops. They had horse holders, buglers, and two hundred scouts. They should have had five hundred fifty armored troopers, but because of losses, the steel-edged muscle of the force numbered only five hundred.
He put Hamway in charge of moving the camp, the prisoners and the wounded. “Find another place with water and clear fields of fire. At least five miles east of here,” he ordered. Moving the piles of captured armor would have to await the wagons.
The troopers spurred north to bar the way and kept the approaches closed for the rest of the day. They saw Raiders, although they kept their distance. Then a messenger found Don. He was requested to return to Stonegate. Señor Ramos and Danny Yazzi had arrived.
†
Don left Blackie in charge and returned the next morning with Philip, Boyd and Scott. He knew that this was enough protection, but Blackie had insisted on sending ten Diné scouts with them in case they met a Raider patrol.
They passed a train of wagons heading north, but otherwise, the ride was uneventful. The outlying farms were all empty, deserted. No flocks or herds could be seen. A tent city had sprouted just outside the city gates. Hundreds were camping there, apparently awaiting accommodation behind the walls. The streets inside were thronged with people; many were soldiers in armor. Even the square in front of the lore-house was piled high with crates and barrels. Don had no idea where he and his party would spend the night. Every spare room, shed, and cellar seemed to be crammed full.
Don and Philip entered the tightly guarded lore-house. There he met Reuben Ramos and Danny Yazzi, but they only had time for polite greetings. He hurried upstairs to Samuel’s room and was surprised to find Deborah there. She met him in the hallway and gave him a hug, followed by a peck on the cheek.
“How are you?” she asked. “You look tired.”
“Yes, tired,” admitted Don. “Desperately in need of a bath and shave.”<
br />
“That, too,” she said, laughing. “There is word that you drove the enemy back. The news is all over town. Everyone hopes the Prophet’s men have had enough.”
“Just a skirmish,” said Don, with a sigh. “We did cripple their cavalry but nothing more. The main army will be moving soon, if not already.”
Deborah looked down. “I suppose,” she said. “But I had hoped…”
“How is Samuel?”
“Doing well. The wound is clean, though he is weak.”
Don entered the room and greeted the old warrior.
“Glad to see you, Lore-man,” said Samuel. “But don’t worry about me. You need to keep the pressure on.”
“I know,” said Don. “I wish you could sit in. We are meeting soon.”
“Just stay mobile,” Samuel said, with a soft voice. “Don’t let yourself be tied down. Don’t defend. Attack.” His voice trailed off, and then he sat up. “I will attend for at least an hour, I think.”
†
The mood of the meeting was lighter than before. But the death of Lord Cal was a wound too fresh. Don gave a report of the latest battle. Even though their losses had been light compared to the enemy, a hundred killed and wounded was still a bitter price to pay. They received the report in stony silence for the most part.
Marshall Allen said, “I think I speak for all of us in charging Lord Donald to take command of the horse troops. Do I hear any objections?”
He looked around the room for a moment. No one said anything. Then he turned to Señor Ramos and said, “Lord Ramos. We have the deepest gratitude for your aid. We had heard that you were bringing a force to fight with us, but you did far more than we expected. But let me ask one thing. Are you willing to serve under Lord Donald’s overall command of our mounted force?
The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2) Page 33