Cry of the Newborn

by James Barclay

  Kell smiled. 'Get up behind me, then.'

  Nunan hauled himself up on to her horse. 'Keep the pace up,' he ordered his second. 'Don't take a backward step. New orders coming.'

  Kell pushed her horse hard across the churned ground, shouting soldiers from her path. Behind the lines, the scene was no less chaotic. Messengers and stretcher parties rode and ran in every direction. Light infantry redeploying from the fords were marching to the right flank. Some of Kell's cavalry was heading in the opposite direction, tired horses being walked, blood streaking coats. There was mud everywhere.

  Gesteris saw her coming and cleared a path. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Nunan.

  'I trust the battle is going exceptionally well for you both to leave it to speak to me,' he said.

  Nunan dismounted, uncomfortable on horseback. Kell stayed aboard.

  'We've done as you ordered, General,' said Kell. 'We've got them stepping back and wavering. But we can do more. We can break them. Draw off the right flank reserve and give it to me. Let Nunan commit more principes and even triarii on the far left in the space I make. They can't hold us, they won't have the discipline.'

  'Unless they move and shadow us,' said Gesteris. 'And I think you are making a mistake underestimating the steppe cavalry. They won't break and rout.'

  'I don't underestimate them, sir, there just won't be enough of them if they are forced to defend their infantry. And it's the infantry that will break.' She bit her lip. Gesteris didn't respond. She continued. 'Who will they commit from their reserve? Look along the line. It's mainly archers and light infantry. They aren't heavy enough to get through the principes' gladius line. And the steppe cannot afford to come left or we will have them on the right instead.'

  Kell watched Gesteris scan the battle with minute care. Every muscle in her body tensed in frustration. He stood on his saddle and turned a slow circle, taking in the fords where fighting had all but ceased for the moment it seemed, such was the drop in noise.

  'Nunan, what say you?'

  'They are uncomfortable with the close form of our line and the skill of our soldiers, General,' said Nunan. ‘I agree with Master Kell. We can break them here and now.'

  'And if they have placed reserves below the lip of the river bank and behind the rise ahead that we cannot see?'

  'Then we are in the correct order to counter them,' said Kell. She blew out her cheeks. 'General, the moment is now. The day is already long and if we do nothing more we risk not forcing the breach and having to fight on tomorrow with no surety of securing the same advantage.'

  Gesteris eyed her from beneath his helmet. He appraised her carefully, his grey eyebrows arrowing in.

  ‘I will not risk the army,' said Kell, urging his decision. 'No indeed you will not,' said Gesteris.

  He fell silent. Kell stared at him while the din of battle washed over them. Volleys of arrows whistled through the air. Centurions bellowed orders. Soldiers responded, pushing, defending, withdrawing, engaging. Cavalry charged, wheeled, regrouped and charged again. She didn't understand this caution. The battle was tipped in their favour. One small shove . . .

  But Gesteris was no doubt adding up every citizen he had and their current positions. If nothing else, he was meticulous. No life was ever wasted. Not even one in eighty thousand. His citizens, conscripts and allied legions loved him for it; his commanders less so.

  'They are already strengthening the left,' he said at length. 'And you have them uncertain. Surely a push at the weakened right would bring better result.'

  'They are more competent there,' said Kell. 'They are into the rhythm of the battle. All I need is one more cataphract, two units of sword cavalry and one of archers. Trust me.'

  Gesteris's eyebrows disappeared beneath the brow of his helmet. 'Trust you? Of course I do, Master Kell. That is not at issue.' He fell silent again, a thought having struck him. A maniple of hastati marched past, withdrawn to rest and tend wounds. 'Keep up your pressure. Perhaps we don't need to adjust our lines here at all. There is stalemate at the near ford, after all, plenty of horses standing around idle. We'll try it your way. Await the reserve and engage at will.'

  Kell smiled and nodded but her words were lost in shouts of alarm that swept across the Conquord lines. She snapped her head round. Whining and whistling filled the air.

  'What the—'

  The sky was studded with stones.

  In blank disbelief, Kell watched the artillery rounds fall into the midst of the Conquord legions. Heavy onager rounds smashed down on the rear ranks of the hastati. Thirty or forty of them up to three talents in weight obliterating the soldiers they struck, sending up massive plumes of mud and scattering citizens in all directions. She could see the movement of infantry like waves through the close-ranked maniples and heard sudden uncertainty in the tenor of the noise around her.

  She had sympathy for them. Those stones should be too large to launch, their projectors too heavy to be dragged across the sodden ground. The heavy Conquord onagers were defending the camp for exactly that reason, their wagons not up to the task. Somehow, the Tsardons had solved the problem and the effect was enormous. All they had to counter this were scorpions whose ammunition was all but spent.

  'Back to the lines!' shouted Gesteris. 'I'll get you your reserve. I want those catapults in pieces.'

  He was in a state of some shock. Down at the front, centurions urged a greater push. The legions regrouped and roared their comrades on. Arrows fell more thickly.

  'How under God have they done this?' asked Gesteris.

  'It doesn't matter,' said Kell, though she was equally desperate to know. She helped Nunan back on to her horse. 'Send that reserve, General, I'll do the rest.'

  She saluted him, dragged her horse around and sped off along the back of the lines, hearing the triarii yelling encouragement to those in front of them. Approaching the left flank, she saw the stones arc in again. Their trajectory was high and there was plenty of warning the missiles were coming. But the legions had nowhere to go. Shields were raised; futile defence against the stones that plunged into helpless bodies, driving some into the ground, battering others aside like skittles. This close, the sound of impact was sickening, a bass thud followed by the splintering of shield, armour and bone.

  Nunan slid off her horse and ran into the midst of the growing chaos, calling for order, for a steadying of the standards. Trying to make himself seen and heard. Kell did the same, galloping down to the front of the defensive cavalry lines where riders struggled to calm nervous horses. So far, the artillery was trained on the foot soldiers but the screaming noise was enough.

  'Hold!' she shouted. 'Keep order, keep going forward. Remember we're still winning the day.'

  The scorpions responded, bolts tearing into the Tsardon reserve behind their front line. The Conquord renewed their fight. Out at the battlefront, the cavalry captains were pushing hard, responding with typical courage. She could see the first cataphract deep in combat, flanked on the left by a sword unit and from the rear by archers.

  The Tsardon had steadied and were defending their infantry effectively if not comfortably. Far left towards the river, Tsardon reserves were occupying Conquord forces headed by the second cataphract. They were not engaged, the opposing sides vying for tactical position.

  She sucked in her cheeks. She needed a point to break through and get at the artillery. Her flagmen were waiting by her.

  'Signal the reserve archer and sword units to attack far left. I will lead.'

  'Yes, Master Kell.'

  Kell put her heels to her horse again and the mare sprang forwards. She rode the animal hard across the muddy ground. She could see the reserve answering her orders and moving from their positions outside of missile range and heading in her direction. She raised an arm and waved it forwards along the course of the river.

  Exhilaration flooded through her. Eighty cavalry swept up to her, the sounds of hoofs rattling in her head. Mud flew up around them, spattering her face and
armour. She wiped it away from her eyes and urged her mount on, leading the two units into the fight. The captain of the second cataphract saw her coming. She watched him wheel his forty heavily armoured horses and riders, set lances and charge, knowing she would back him.

  Kell drew her sword and held it up. The slim blade glinted in the sun. Sweat was running down her face and her heart thudded in her chest. To her left, the Tsardon onagers thudded again. This time she could see them and she cursed and spat. They sat atop what looked like wheel-less wagons, their great arms thumping into their stops and sending their deadly missiles high and long, three hundred yards and more.

  These were not field weapons, more like siege artillery. Dragged across the marshy plain on heavy sleds then anchored to rock. Another smart move and one that provided a growing problem for the Conquord. The stones fell on the legions. More died, crushed, broken and hurled aside. The legions would not stand forever without seeing a counterattack. Kell was going to provide just that. 'Claws for the Conquord!'

  She pointed her sword forwards, spurred her horse to full gallop and crashed into the steppe cavalry, feeling the shock of the impact rattle through her. The cataphract had driven a wedge into the enemy and was looking to wheel and reform. There was a confusion of horse flesh and steel. Kell swung right, her sword biting into the arm of a Tsardon rider. He raised a defence and blocked her next thrust but a lance pierced his shoulder and took him from his horse. Kell spurred on deeper into the melee, her cavalry behind her. The cataphract was withdrawing, leaving her clearer vision. Arrows carved through the sky, falling ahead. Tsardon volleys answered, steppe cavalry came at her.

  Kell turned her horse left and struck out right, her sword catching her enemy a glancing blow across his metal-stripped leather helmet. He wobbled in his saddle. She stabbed straight, taking him under the arm, her sword ripping out and carving deep into his horse's shoulder. It reared and threw him. Conquord riders came to her left and right, pushing hard into the enemy. Blood sprayed into the air. One of her riders was driven from his saddle, a spear in his chest. Ahead, the wall of steppe cavalry was deep and dense. Both sides slowed.

  'Wheel!' she yelled, not wanting to lose momentum. 'Archers, keep them back.'

  She turned her horse sharply, hurrying it away and shouting her order again. The archers had spread in front of her, firing quickly and accurately from the saddle, guiding mounts at the canter with thigh and heel. She nodded her approval, rode through their line with Tsardon shafts falling about her, came about, gathered her citizens to her and charged again.

  Herine had just watched a breathless chariot final and had to restrain herself not to jump up and roar the Estorean team on to victory. After all, an Advocate must be even-handed in her approach to her Conquord. But now she stood with the sixty thousand in the crowd to applaud one extraordinary move after another by the ist legion, the Estorean Legends, cavalry and infantry.

  Seamless formation to phalanx, to turtle, to wedge. Shield walls snapped into position as arrows rained down from the platforms all around the arena. Metal-tipped, she was led to believe, but you never could quite tell. It hardly mattered. To see them bounce and snap off the gleaming Conquord green and gold barriers placed against them was utterly thrilling.

  Circling the infantry as it advanced in perfect form towards her position, was the cavalry. The cataphract had skewered moving targets following a charge and break that had drummed in her blood. The horse archers shattered clay discs from galloping horses. The sword cavalry clashed in mock battle with Tsardon-garbed forces, driving at them, scattering them and defeating them.

  They had leaped from horse to horse, stood on their saddles while their mounts chased across the sand. They had somersaulted over horses, jumped into saddles, balanced horizontally at right angles to their animals' motion and leaned out and down to pluck the smallest gleaming coins from the ground, faces inches from hoofs.

  The announcers had been drowned out long ago by cheering citizens and at last the legion was drawn up before her, the dust clearing from the stadium to reveal the standard bearing the rearing white horse and crossed spears of the house of Del Aglios. She bowed to the legion general and the roars of the crowd took up again as the Legends departed the arena. Herine turned to the Chancellor.

  'Can we ever doubt the superiority of our armies?' she said. 'No country can stand against such skill.'

  'Would that every soldier and rider was so well trained,' said Koroyan.

  Herine flapped a hand at her. 'Years of campaigning under my generals and centurions is training enough. What's next to feast upon, I wonder?'

  'The hunting archery finals,' said Adranis, consulting the order of the day.

  His face was flushed with excitement and his whole body was bunched and leaned forward to the edge of the balcony as if he were about to spring down and join in.

  'Oh, wonderful,' said Tuline, rolling her eyes. She was sprawled in her chair, her legs dangling over one arm. 'Grown men crawling through sand and shooting at stuffed animals.'

  Herine smiled at them. 'Thank you for being with me,' she said. 'Roberto would be proud of you both.'

  'I expect Roberto is having much more fun,' said Tuline. 'At least what he sees isn't made up and fake.'

  'You'll let me join the cavalry, won't you, mother?' asked Adranis.

  Herine chuckled. 'Of course. Fine young horseman like you? I'll probably give you to Master Kell. She'll make you great.'

  Adranis beamed.

  Gesteris's words sounded loud in Kell's head. The steppe cavalry were testing her severely. They were excellent horsemen. Quick on the turn and accurate with spear and arrow from the saddle. If anything let them down it was sword work but you had to get close enough to lay a blade on them first.

  Kell's units had seen off the regular Tsardon horse quickly and she had thought the break was hers. But the reserve Gesteris had sent to her had been matched by a large detachment of steppe cavalry, perhaps three hundred strong. And all the while, the stones, each as heavy as a man, still fell. The onagers were so far unchallenged and Kell was aware that Gesteris would be fretting as his infantry died without raising a sword against their foe.

  Trotting towards the enemy, she looked left and right and saw the spread of her forces. They had built one cataphract from the three and it stretched across her vision. Three deep, they would punch into the steppe horsemen. Behind them the swords would come and over their heads the arrows would fly. But it was a formation forced on her by the enemy.

  Facing her, the steppe had broken into units of twenty or so and were weaving in and around each other. Their horses were covered in bright red-trimmed yellow cloth under which light armour was fixed. The riders were dressed in dun-coloured leathers, yellow pennants snapping at the heads of spears, yellow cloth strips from sword pommels and bow tips. All designed to draw the eye and distract. And that wasn't all. Kell could feel it in the air around her. Anxiety brought on by reputation. But the steppe cavalry weren't the only feared riders on this battlefield.

  'Cataphracts, remember who you are!' she shouted from her position just behind them. 'We are the Conquord. We are Estorea. We are the Claws, the Thunder and the Dragons. Never defeated.'

  The cavalry came to a canter, closing to within two hundred yards. The flanking lancers moved up to form a shallow crescent. The steppe cavalry paid them no heed. Kell was concerned at this new tactic. They trotted and cantered in their small units, seemingly at play with one another while their opposition came on. She wondered how they would reveal themselves at the charge.

  Kell urged her horse up to the cataphract captain. He faced her, his full helm obscuring all but his eyes, his armoured fist tight on his reins.

  'Charge at fifty yards. Travel straight. Do not be deflected by them. We are behind you for those that pass you.'

  'Yes, Master,' he said, gruff Goslander tones muffled by his visor. 'God protect you.'

  'And you. For the Conquord and for me.' 'The Conquord and fo
r me.'

  The captain's orders rang across the line, repeated and returned for confirmation. The gap closed. Arrows started to fly from both sides. At seventy yards, and with shafts beginning to find their targets, the pace upped further. Sixty. Fifty.

  'Conquord! Tear their flesh.'

  Horses spurred to the gallop, the cataphracts surged away, lances coming to ready, gripped in both hands. Riders leaned forwards against the expected impact. What a sight they made. Three hundred driving headlong. Kell called her swords and archers to her and galloped after them.

  Through the churning, flying mud and the flanks of the charging cavalry, she saw the steppe cavalry react at last. Every other unit turned and charged, leaving holes in their line. The others scattered, sweeping out to the flanks and further dividing in to threes and fours. Kell shook her head, confused.

  The cataphracts collided with the steppe cavalry. Horses sheared left and right at the final stride, lances smashed Tsardon from their saddles, Tsardon blades slashed into horse and rider. But more than half of the Conquord lancers went through unchallenged. At the flanks, the steppe cavalry had already started to turn.

  'God-surround-us,' breathed Kell. 'Archers! Flanks. Bring those bastards down.'

  The enemy were racing around behind their slower-turning quarries. She should have seen it, she should have seen it. Bows bent, arrows flew. Cataphract cavalry fell, too many and too quickly. Kell galloped into the battle, racing past the fake front and through to the skirmish. In front of her a steppe rider took an arrow in the throat and dropped from his horse. She searched for a target. Arrows whipped around her head. Men fell either side of her.

  She looked left. It was chaos. The steppe had broken the Conquord advance into small units and still they had more out on the flanks. She saw them join and charge in. She saw swords glint and arrows in the sky. Behind her, the onagers sang again. She could hear the fretful noise of dogs barking. Hundreds of dogs. She glanced right and saw the mass of them streaming forwards through the Tsardon army like they were chasing the catapult stones.