The Sorcer part 2: Metamorphosis cc-6

by Jack Whyte

  Ambrose was aware of our peculiar disdain in Camulod for the light, skirmishing cavalry the Romans had used throughout their history. Primarily mounted archers with short, puny bows, Roman cavalry, in our eyes, had been useless except in the role for which it had been developed: providing a mobile defensive screen for the cumbersome legions while they were forming up in their battle order. But Ambrose had not been born and raised in Camulod, so he did not share that disdain. He was perceptive enough to realize that under certain conditions, such as heavy rain and muddy terrain, lighter—and therefore speedier—cavalry might be extremely effective. He put his findings into effect and created a new branch of Camulodian cavalry—on smaller mounts, with stirrupped saddles and with lighter armour and weapons—and called it a Scouting Force, thereby avoiding the pejorative "light cavalry."

  "They're brilliant troops, Cay—hard hitting and unbelievably mobile. But most of all they're fast, and they can go to places where the heavy cavalry can't go. The heavy troopers require space and dry, level land to do their best fighting. When they have all of those, as you know, they are invincible and terrifying. Unfortunately, we seldom find all three together. The Scouts, though, can go anywhere. They can fight on level ground and they can charge uphill and down because their horses are lighter in every respect. They travel farther and faster, too, and yet tactically, fighting in formation, they're almost as awe inspiring as the heavy cavalry."

  "Sounds excellent. You have them organized in the same way as the regular troopers, I presume."

  "Of course. Anything else would be madness. The only difference is in the weight of the horses, and the proportional weight and weaponry of the armed riders. Their primary weapon is the light spear we designed after the one your Erse friend sent from Athol's kingdom."

  Years earlier, while visiting Athol Mac Iain in Eire, I had worked with a smith called Maddan on a design for a new cavalry spear, loosely based on the long spears used by the Scots for hunting boars. Much later, when he felt he had perfected it, Maddan sent it to Camulod aboard one of Connor's ships, as a gift, and Ambrose had appropriated it in my absence. It was far lighter and less cumbersome than its size and shape suggested it would be, owing to the construction of the shaft. It had a slender, lethal head welded to a thin iron rod that stretched the entire length of the weapon. The shaft was built around the rod, a laminated cladding of tough, dried, feather light wattle—the same reeds used in house building in Eire, and in shield making by the Saxons—fastened securely along its length with tightly wound bindings of soaked, stretched deer hide that dried out iron hard. The result was a spear that was light, almost flexible and incredibly strong—a perfect weapon for a mounted man.

  I was reminded then that I had not yet told Ambrose the sad news that Connor had brought. I watched his expression carefully as I spoke. "You do know that Athol is dead, don't you? Brander is the new king." Clearly he had not heard.

  "Strange," he muttered. "You would think the news would have reached us before now, if he died that long ago. The death of a king is noteworthy, cause for much talk."

  "Aye, but Athol's new holdings are far north of here, and newly won. And they are islands. The people have been winter bound. No means existed for the tidings to travel to Mediobogdum, or even to Ravenglass."

  I went on to ask him about the biremes supposedly being used by Ironhair's armies. Ambrose nodded, looking grim. "Aye, he has them, two of the whoresons. I haven't seen them, but I've heard all about them. They're the biggest ships ever seen in these seas, I'm told, and they carry enormous numbers of men and great quantities of stores. Roman navy biremes, here in Britain, fighting for Ironhair! They have an army of oarsmen, but each of them also carries its own army Of warriors! And then, in addition to all that, they ferry levies for Ironhair in the bellies of the things. Apparently they have huge cargo holds, built right into the bodies of the ships themselves, and they carry their own cranes to load them and unload them."

  "Aye, well that's nothing new—the cranes, I mean. Connor's galleys have the same device, although probably much smaller. Where did they come from, these ships?"

  Ambrose shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea. The vessel you told me about, the one you saw on your way to Eire, is the only thing of that type I've ever heard of, and I've never been able to imagine what that looked like. The thought of two of them, and the possibility that there might be even more, confounds me. God knows where Ironhair found the things. "

  "Well, Brother, wherever he found them, they were for sale or for hire, and now they're here, ferrying his vermin into Cambria. What about Carthac, is he still alive?"

  That brought a grunt of disgust. "Aye, he is, still alive and still demented. He'll always be demented, but I'm beginning to fear he'll always be alive, too. He seems to be unkillable. God knows many have tried. I've heard two different reports of close shot Pendragon arrows being deflected from his armour. "

  "I don't believe it. Who told you that?"

  He shrugged. "Two people. Two separate reports, two separate incidents. "

  "How close were the shots? Did you speak to either bowman?"

  "No, I merely heard the reports. "

  "Rumours, then. Soldiers' stories. Those bows are accurate from a quarter mile away. A close shot from a Pendragon longbow will pierce any armour ever made, if it hits clean. Someone ought to have killed him by now with one of those things. I'll grant he may be formidable, fighting hand to hand—from all reports he's big enough to be indomitable—but he's not immortal. And you say there's no word at all of Vortigern?"

  "Not a breath. Utter silence out of the northeast. "

  "But Hengist is dead, you are sure of that?" He nodded. "Well, you and I agreed years ago that when Hengist died, Vortigern would have trouble with Horsa. For all we know , Vortigern might be at war right now, or he might be dead, long since. If he's at war, he might appreciate some token of support, to keep Horsa off balance. If he is dead, on the other hand, then Horsa is at large, and in power. I think we ought to try and find out what the situation is up there, don't you agree?"

  Ambrose thought about that as he leaned forward to stir the fire with an iron rod that lay before the brazier. "Aye, I do," he murmured eventually. "But how? It's a long way from here to there, and logic dictates that we would only be inviting grief by going looking for trouble that might otherwise pass us by."

  "Horse turds, Ambrose! You don't believe that any more than I do. Logic dictates that whatever can go wrong will go wrong if you choose to leave your fate in any way in the hands of a mad young bull like Horsa. You once told me Vortigern thought of himself as High King of all Britain, remember'? Well, he has never ruled down here, so his fancies were no more than that. But what if he discussed those fancies with others? All it would take for Horsa would be the suggestion that there might be more settled areas of Britain ripe for conquest, and he'd be here, at the head of his hordes. I don't think we can afford to wait for that to happen, and I don't think we can afford to take the risk that it won't. I think we have to go and see what's going on, up there in Northumbria, and I believe we should go up along the Saxon Shore, now, immediately."

  "What? You mean an expedition in force? But that would mean—"

  "Aye, I know it would. It would mean splitting our forces when we have a war to deal with here already. I know it's not feasible to do the thing now as it ought to be done, but I still think it's foolish not to slip up there and take a look, at least. The thought of an army of Horsa's Danes falling about our necks while we're involved with Ironhair is not a pleasant notion. "

  "No, I've known that for months, but I've been hesitant to commit any kind of force to the task while you were away in the north. I've had enough trouble with the thought of leaving this place in other hands while I ride off to Cambria. " He pulled himself out of his chair and went to stand over the fire, rubbing his hands together in the heat rising from the coals. "That sounded different from what I had been thinking, when I said it aloud, so I don't
want you to misunderstand me. We have good men here. Any one of our senior people is more than capable of looking after things in my absence, commanding the garrison and tending to daily affairs. Tactically speaking, they're all superb. But in terms of strategic ability, I don't know, Cay. There's not a single man I can think of whom I'd care—perhaps even dare—to trust with the responsibility of reacting instantaneously and decisively should the drastic need arise. " He held up a hand to forestall my objections, but I had none because I knew exactly what was in his mind. Seeing that, he continued.

  "I know I should be able to delegate absolute authority in my absence. That's not my concern. My problem is, quite simply, that none of our second level commanders has ever had that kind of requirement thrust upon him. Any one of diem would accept my dictates, and assume the command and the responsibility, I've no doubt of that. But could any one of them act decisively, should the need arise? Would he commit every resource he had at his disposal to all out war on a new front—here, at home—on his own authority, or would he hesitate and wait for some kind of endorsement from me? I simply don't know, Cay, and I haven't dared risk the uncertainty. Lip service and willingness are not enough, not with so much at stake, and until I've seen with my own eyes that whoever I choose is capable of taking absolute control—and that's impossible, since I would have to be here when he needed to and that would negate the need—Ach! I can't even make sense to me!"

  I cleared my throat and sat forward in my seat. "I know you expected me to interrupt you, but you are right. The problem is real and worrisome, and it has occurred to me long before now. I suppose it means, in the absolute, that armies require wars—not merely defensive disciplines—to evoke their true strength, and that's a sobering thought."

  "You've thought of this before? How? When?"

  "Oh, a few years ago, before I left for Ravenglass. I meant to talk with you about it at the time, but the opportunity never arose. It came to me one night, when I was thinking about ambition and what that entails. It began with Peter Ironhair. I realized that none of our senior officers seem to possess his ruthless ambition, the kind that's necessary to achieve true greatness as commanders. They're good and able men, one and all, but they're all followers. And so I began to wonder why that should be so."

  "And? Did you discover any reasons?"

  "Of course I did, the best of reasons: there's nowhere for them to go."

  "I don't follow you."

  "You will, if you think about it. We have the only army of its kind in Britain, as far as I'm aware. No?" He nodded slowly, looking bemused. "Well then, what can they aspire to, in terms of supreme command? You're here, and so am I, and we're both young enough yet to have decades ahead of us, barring sickness and accident. We have no wars—or we had none at that time—so the risk of either One of us meeting death in battle has been negligible. So the only route to supremacy for any of diem must lie in fomenting mutiny here in Camulod—and who would follow them, were they to try? Where would any malcontent find cause for general mutiny? When did we last execute a soldier? Our greatest penalty is banishment, and the fear of that alone is sufficient to maintain order in CHIT ranks, because banishment from Camulod means perdition: where is a banished man to go? Will he wait around our borders, living on what he can hunt and trap, in the hope of being joined by others, then raiding us? I think not "And so our soldiers recognize the benefits they enjoy here, and so do our senior officers. The highest rank they can attain, they hold already, and they seem content with that. We alone; Brother, you and I, must face and live with the disadvantages in such a system, which arise only at times like this. When a man—any man—has reached the limits of his progress, he tends to accept those limits and grow comfortable. There is your dilemma. "

  "Hmm... " Ambrose had been pacing as he listened, and now he sat down across from me again. "You're absolutely right. And now that we are faced with war again, those expectations will all change. The dilemma will resolve itself as individual field commanders rise to the challenges they meet. "

  "Aye, or fail to rise, in which case they will be replaced. Either way, we'll soon have no lack of qualified field commanders. But let's get back to the original point, which was the threat from the northeast, Horsa's Danes. Your hands have been tied in that by your not knowing whom to leave in charge, given the risk of attack from that direction. Now they're untied. I'm here, and so is Dedalus, and Ded, next to you and me, is the best man we have, in terms of possessing the will and the flair for absolute command. You were going to leave two legions here, taking the First with you to Cambria. Why? Why wouldn't you take two into Cambria?"

  He held up his hands. "Because of the danger from the northeast—precisely what you were talking about earlier. I had decided that with you away in the northeast, should everything go wrong while I was in Cambria, and Camulod's defenders were essentially left lacking decisive strategic leadership, they ought at least to have sufficient defensive strength to survive until we could provide that leadership. That meant two legions, sufficient to hold and patrol our borders. "

  "Good enough. But that's all changed now. I think you have to take two legions into Cambria, less one tenth. "

  "/ have to take them? So you've decided not to come. What do you intend to do with the tenth I leave behind, as if I did not already know?"

  I nodded. "An expedition in force, into Northumbria. You'll have six thousand men, less my six hundred. That will allow you to win in Cambria, smashing Ironhair, and it will allow me to penetrate to Northumbria in relative safety. I'll have two hundred heavy cavalry, a hundred of your Scouts, and three hundred infantry. That will discourage unwelcome attention. "

  "Aye, it should, but you'll have two hundred and more miles to travel, each way, and much of it across rough country. To take the roads would not be worth the risk—people tend to congregate along the open routes. "

  "No, you're wrong there, Ambrose. The roads offer the greatest advantage for speedy progress, there and back. There might be people lining the routes on either side, all the way, but we'll be travelling quickly, at the forced march. "

  "You'll be tied to the speed of your infantry. The roads are speediest for heavy cavalry and infantry. But the roads also offer endless opportunities for entrapment The news of your coming will precede you at the speed a man can run to pass on word to another runner. On any of diem, your progress and your arrival at any given point will be predictable. You could lose your entire party over the course of a hundred miles, one arrow at a time. "

  "True enough, I suppose, if you look only at the bleakest picture. "

  "I do, and so do you. That's our responsibility. That's command. "

  "Accepted. So are you telling me I should remain here and wait to see what might come down against us from the north?"

  "No, not at all. I'm thinking about Cambria, my battleground. Most of it is mountainous, except for the coastal areas, which means that most of it is bad cavalry country. I've been aware of that all along, and I have what I think will be a successful strategy for using our infantry in the hills, supported by our cavalry working from base camps in the valleys beneath. I intend to flush Ironhair's levies the way boys flush out wild game for hunters to kill. One hill, one hill range at a time, I intend to push them back and off the summits, thrusting them down into the valleys beyond and into our cavalry. We can count on the Pendragon warriors and bowmen to join us, and we've trained enough of them in our own ways for us to hope, at the very least, that they'll be able to work with us in concert. Our discipline will win the battles and the war for us. In addition to that, the Scouts should be able to work well in all but the most inaccessible mountain terrain, although not in massive numbers, and that has an effect on you. "

  "Very well, now it's my turn to be lost. "

  He smiled. "Test this then, for logic. I need every infantry soldier we possess. I also need every individual unit of heavy cavalry. I intend to divide, my force, initially, and to interdict Ironhair's fleet from using the
harbours they now hold. To do that, I need cavalry and infantry both, to seal each harbour from the land side and then drive the defenders into the sea. One legion should suffice for that, at the beginning, and I'll be able to reduce that number later, once we hold the harbours.

  "In the meantime, I won't need the full complement of Scouts, while you, on the other hand, can use them. I'm suggesting you exchange your force of six hundred mixed troops for Ave hundred Scouts. That will allow you to move more quickly than otherwise possible, and to pick your own route at every stage of your journey. I'd suggest you'll be invulnerable, too, until you decide if and when to stand and fight. No one who doesn't have an army of his own would ever dream of attacking five hundred armed and disciplined mounted men. There's never been a force like that seen outside the bounds of Camulod, Cay."

  My heart had begun to pound as he spoke, and now my excitement was unbearable, so that I rose to my feet and began pacing the room. From the corner of my eye, I saw one of the lamps gutter and go out, and so I knew that time had passed quickly. Ambrose was watching, making no attempt to hurry me. I forced myself to stop pacing and faced him.

  "No fault in your logic, Brother, none at all. But are you sure you won't have need of the Scouts?"

  "Of course I will, but we have a thousand, and I'll need no more than half of them. I'll have two thousand heavy troopers and three thousand infantry to back them up, remember. You won't, but you'll be carrying surprise with you all the way. No one will oppose you on the road to Northumbria. "

  "What about spare horses? Do we have enough?"

  Ambrose laughed aloud. "Enough? There are more horses in this colony than there are people, Caius. How many will you require?"

  "A spare for every man. That should do it. "