by Sam Barone
“Well, Gatus, you survived another fight.”
Gatus smiled. “Yes, Captain. And you can put away your sword. Better clean it first, though. How did it strike?”
Esk kar still held his bloodied sword in his hand. “Smoothly. Any problems at your end?”
“None to speak of. Most of the attack was here. Shall we go check at the gate?”
That was good advice. But first Esk kar raised his voice. “Silence!” It took three times before the men realized who’d given the order and the celebrations died down.
“You men did well.” That brought another cheer and this time Esk kar raised his hand for quiet. “But this was only a little test, just a push to see what we’re made of. The next attack will be worse, much worse, so stop all this noise and get to work. Where are the ditch men?”
Everyone looked around, but no one answered. “Get them moving. You know what to do.”
The ditch men, mostly young men and older boys, would climb down ropes into the ditch, to recover arrows and weapons, and loot the dead. In a few moments thirty men and boys began sliding into the ditch, armed only with long knives to fi nish off the wounded. Each carried an empty quiver or sack to recover anything usable.
Each shaft was precious. Most arrows would be broken, damaged beyond use, or simply lost. As every person who’d ever drawn a bow knew, nothing could disappear right before your eyes as completely as an arrow falling to earth. You could mark its fall and yet the shaft would burrow itself under the grass or earth, never to be found. But every arrow point was forged of precious bronze and mustn’t be wasted.
Esk kar and Gatus strode quickly to the gate, where they found a smiling Bantor and Sisuthros waiting for them. Sisuthros had a small cut on his cheek that still trailed blood.
“It’s only a scratch, Captain. But we held them off here easily enough.
Most of the attack was at your end.”
“You both did well, Bantor… Sisuthros. How many did you kill? How many did you lose?”
The two men exchanged glances before Bantor said sheepishly,
“Uhm… I don’t know, Captain. We haven’t counted them yet.”
Esk kar’s orders had been plain enough. Immediately after the attack, send the ditch men out to retrieve weapons and count the enemy dead.
“Get to it, then,” he said quietly, managing to get more emphasis in his tone than his words. “Use the shaduf to get the dead horses inside. We can use the fresh meat.”
The shaduf was a long pole mounted to a beam buried in the earth, used to lift heavy objects or water from the river. One end of the pole was weighted with stones, so that the laborers could add their weight to the stones and use the pole as a lever to raise heavy objects. Builders used the shaduf when building houses, as did traders at the wharf to lift heavy cargoes onto or off the ships.
He turned to Gatus. “Let’s climb the tower and see what’s happening.”
The tower had become the tallest structure in Orak. From its top Eskkar could clearly see the Alur Meriki leaders about three — quarters of a mile away, talking things over. They’d dismounted, as they argued their cases. “I’ll bet some of them are for trying again.”
“They’d better change their tactics, then,” Gatus answered.
“Let’s hope they don’t.” Esk kar shaded his eyes with his hand as he looked out over the plain. The Alur Meriki had attacked Orak as though the wall wasn’t there, using their usual tactics of launching a hailstorm of arrows followed up by lance and sword. They must have expected the villagers to break and run. But the wall deflected their arrows, and the defenders had stood the first test of fire. Meanwhile the barbarians had no cover at all.
“They have no more ladders,” his second in command offered. “They’d be fools to try without more ladders.”
Esk kar leaned out over the tower wall, where men had already begun the gathering. “You men down there! First pick up all the ladders and climbing poles, and throw them up over the wall. Pass the word!” He turned to Gatus. “You’re right. They never had enough ladders and now they’ll have to make more, many more. So we’re probably through for the day, maybe tomorrow as well.”
“There isn’t much wood in the countryside, either,” Gatus noted.
“They’ll have to ride quite a few miles to gather new supplies.”
Every stick of wood the barbarians could use had been taken down.
No houses, no carts, no corrals, nothing. Even the barbarians’ horses would need to travel for fodder. The Alur Meriki knew how to live off the land, but the countryside around Orak was going to give them very little.
“Well, Gatus, when they come again, they’ll have plenty of ladders, ropes, ramps, and anything else they can think of.”
Gatus scratched his chin, rasping his beard in the process. “They’ll not try to match arrows with us from horseback, either.”
“No, they won’t try that again,” Esk kar agreed. “They’ll look for an easy way and they’ll wait a few days, expecting the war party to arrive from across the river. If I were them, I would try to burn the gate next time-really go at it with fire and axes.”
“Or maybe they’ll try at night.”
It was the old soldier’s primary worry, though Esk kar didn’t think it very likely. Night fighting didn’t stand high on the list of warrior skills.
You couldn’t use your bow very well, the horses would have to be left behind, and even more important, no one could see your bravery, which meant quite a bit to their way of thinking.
“That’s why you’re in charge at night,” Esk kar said cheerfully, “because I know you’ll keep the men alert and watchful. But I think they’ll try the gate first. They know how to use fire, so I expect we’ll see plenty of fire arrows next time they come.”
Shouts made them look north, where a small party of Alur Meriki had ridden back, angered by the sight of village men scampering around their dead. But a few flights of arrows from the nearest defenders drove them off, leaving another body lying on the blackened grass.
Esk kar and Gatus left the tower and descended to the ground, where they found Bantor coming to meet them.
“Captain, there are sixty — nine bodies that we can see, plus at least that many horses. We had eight killed and seventeen wounded, but only two badly hurt.”
The barbarians probably had another fifty or sixty wounded men, a third of whom could be expected to die, as well as many injured horses.
So it had been a good exchange, eight for more than seventy. As for the wounded soldiers, if you took an arrow in the face or neck, you were either dead or dying. Wounds to the arms would be much less dangerous and the leather vests and caps worn by the men might stop an arrow, except one striking head — on or at close range. But now wasn’t the time for the men to be patting themselves on the back.
“Only seventy barbarians! Gatus! Did you see how many arrows missed in the first few flights? Hardly any warriors were brought down at all. Tell the men that they’d better start aiming better, or I’ll toss them over the wall.”
Bantor and Gatus looked at each other but said nothing.
“We just killed off their weakest and most foolish warriors,” Esk kar explained, raising his voice so that as many as possible could hear his words. “The next lot will be tougher and stronger and will know what to expect. So tell the men to stop bragging and get ready. And Gatus, as soon as the ditch men are back inside the walls, tell Corio to start pump-ing. Make sure the wells and water wheels are fully manned until the ditch is turned into mud.”
Corio estimated that it would take at least two days to soften the earth properly in the entire ditch, longer for the area in front of the gate where the trench was twice its normal width.
“I want that ditch turned into a swamp by tomorrow.” That would give the men something to do besides cheer and pound their own chests, Eskkar decided. He walked off, well satisfied with the day’s results in spite of his harsh words to his men.
Two hours later Esk kar met with his commanders at the courtyard table. The late afternoon shadows had lengthened, providing a little relief to the partly shaded table.
“The wells are being worked to bring water up for the ditch, as are the water wheels,” Gatus reported when they were all seated. “We’ve brought in thirteen dead horses and they’re roasting on fires made from barbarian ladders.” He laughed at the irony.
“Let’s hope we have more wood and meat after the next attack,” Eskkar said with a smile. “We’ll have plenty of fire next time. They’ll bring branches and grasses soaked in oil. They’ll charge the walls at the same time and every section will be under attack. Many of them will be dismounted to provide cover for those who rush the walls and gate. And this time they’ll send all of their warriors, not just a part of them.”
He turned to Corio. “Now is your time, Master Builder. They’ll heap firewood at the gate, try to burn it, or pull it down, while they try to shoot our men off the walls and towers.”
Corio shifted uneasily on the bench. “The gate will stand, Captain, and it will not burn easily. If the men stand at the walls, the gate will hold.”
Eyes turned toward Sisuthros, then to Bantor. The two men had worked closely in the last two months, building and guarding the walls and gate, training their men. “Captain, we’ll hold the gate,” Bantor said. “Many will die, but we can hold it.”
Esk kar considered that for a moment. “We’ll add half of the Hawk Clan to the towers and the gate, except for a few to scatter along the rest of the wall. Keep the experienced men in reserve for reinforcements.” He turned toward Nicar. “We’ll need the best villagers as well. And we’ll need water, stones, weapons, arrows, and the men to help repel any who scale the wall.”
“This is what we’ve trained for, Captain,” Nicar answered calmly. “We understand the risks.”
Looking around the table, there didn’t seem to be anything else to say.
Months of preparation resolved many decisions. “Now, what else do we need to talk about?”
Darkness had fallen hours ago before a weary Esk kar decided to get some sleep. He’d taken one last turn around the walls, making sure the men were fed. Food would be in short supply for the next few months and had to be carefully guarded and rationed. Now he slipped past the soldiers and villagers who continued to labor under torchlight in the courtyard.
Stopping by the well, he washed the dirt of the day from his face and chest.
From today until the barbarians departed, the walls would be heavily manned day and night, with extra vigilance after dark. Fires would burn each night, with torches nearby ready to be raised over the walls, while men with bows in their hands watched ceaselessly. Gatus would sleep little this night, as he planned to inspect the men throughout the darkness. Ten lashes awaited any man found not fully awake.
Upstairs he found Trella waiting, sitting at the big table in the outer room. When she looked up, she seemed different. It took him a moment to realize that she looked tired, almost exhausted, a look he hadn’t seen on her before. A wan smile crossed her face as she saw him. He went over to her and bent down to give her a kiss. “Have you eaten?”
“No, not since this morning. I was going to, but then the attack started and everyone was rushing around.” She looked up at him. “I saw you on the wall, and suddenly I was afraid that you would die.”
He sat beside her. Annok — sur called out from the door, though it stood open, then entered without waiting for acknowledgment. She carried a tray holding strips of roasted horsemeat, bread, and warm oil. She put the tray on the big table, then went to the smaller side table and filled two cups with wine.
“You should be tending to your husband, Annok — sur,” Esk kar commented as he gratefully took one of the cups from her hand. The smell of the roasted meat reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since before the attack.
“I already have,” Annok — sur answered. “He returned an hour ago and is already asleep.” She looked at him sternly. “You should be more concerned with your wife. She worked twice as hard today as anyone. Make sure she eats and drinks some wine. She’ll need her strength.” Her hand rested on Trella’s shoulder for a moment before she left the room.
Trella smiled again, a little brighter this time. “Annok — sur is like the older sister I never had. She worries about me all the time. But I’ll eat a little.”
“No, you’ll eat your share and drink some wine as well,” Esk kar said as he reached for a strip of meat. “As I will, before Annok — sur returns and takes a stick to us both.” They ate in silence. Esk kar finished his portion and took a deep draft of the wine. Sitting back in the chair, he watched Trella until she finished. “Now, what’s troubling you?”
Trella drank more of her wine, though she usually limited herself to only a few sips. “When the attack started, I was watching from the roofs across the street. I saw you standing there, saw arrows flying past your head. So many flew over the wall.” She looked away. “I thought I might see you die, right before my eyes. If not today, then tomorrow, or the day after.” Her eyes met his. “What would happen to me if you die, Esk kar.
What would become of me?”
The question took him by surprise. “If the village falls, Trella..”
“No, that’s not what I mean. What happens to me if you die and the barbarians are driven off?”
His mouth opened in dismay. So now this frightened her. Not the thought that she might die, but that she might live. He hadn’t bothered to think about the consequences of his death. He’d risked his life too many times to be much concerned about it. In battle you either lived or died, and those who spent too much time worrying about their fate often ended up dead.
If the village fell Trella would become a slave in some barbarian’s tent, beaten at will, traded regularly among the male warriors who enjoyed new slaves, the property of anyone her new master might offer her to, and abused by her master’s regular wives and children. Many women killed themselves rather than endure such a hard, brutal existence.
Tonight that fate didn’t hold her thoughts. She would probably be one of those who killed themselves rather than endure captivity. For Trella, no torture could be worse than not being able to think, to use her mind, and to have no control over her fate.
He raised the wine cup and drained it. The wine jug tempted him, but he refilled his cup with water instead, using the time to think.
Trella waited patiently, as she always did, never prodding or rushing him, knowing that he needed more time to work things out than she did.
“If I die, you have the house and the gold. Gatus and Bantor would protect you, until…” His voice ran down. The soldiers could be killed as easily as he, and they had their own wives to consider. Trella had no relatives to turn to. With some property would come the pressure to remarry, and the Families might select a new husband for her, their duty for any widow with no family.
“A new husband would be found for you, or you might be able to select one for yourself, since so many know you and respect you. You’re young and there are many sons from the Families…”
“So I would be sold once again,” she answered harshly, “this time for my gold and my reputation, to be put on display until my new husband gets tired of me or grows angry with my words.”
Esk kar tried to think about what he could say, suddenly wanting more wine and wishing that she’d brought this up some other time. “I can’t say what the future brings. Let’s talk about this tomorrow, when we’re both rested.”
She said nothing, just sat there, eyes downcast. When the silence dragged on, he stood and went into the bedroom. He stripped off his tunic and threw himself down on the bed, longing for sleep, but his mind thinking about Trella. What made it worse was knowing that she couldn’t find any good solution to her problem. Otherwise she would have suggested it already.
He tried to think but his body, weary as only those who have fought in a battle could be, betrayed him an
d he fell into a deep sleep. Nor did he awaken when Trella, after a long wait, put out the lamps and slipped under the blanket with him, put her arm across his shoulder and silently cried herself to sleep.
23
Four days passed with little sleep or time to talk, as all attention turned to the spectacle beyond Orak’s walls. The main body of Alur Meriki arrived late in the afternoon on the second day after the attack. They spent the rest of that day and the next establishing a semi-permanent camp. Hundreds of women and children soon filled the hilltops, staring at Orak and its wall. The villagers, equally curious, stared back at their counterparts, and Esk kar had to set aside a section of wall so gawkers could see the barbarian encampment without disturbing the soldiers.
Even Esk kar felt impressed as he watched the traveling village re — create itself, as it did almost every day. Most of the encampment remained hidden behind the low hills, about two miles from Orak, but he knew a broad, open expanse would divide the camp into two parts. The warriors would pitch their tents, forges, corrals, and anything else needed for the battle on the side closest to Orak, while the families, their carts, herds, and animals settled in on the other side. At the extreme limits of his vision, Esk kar saw herders tending the flocks of cattle and goats that provided milk, cheese, meat, and hides. The horses grazed close by the river, more than two thousand of them, in three separate herds.
Nicar had scribes try to estimate the numbers of Alur Meriki. It took most of the day, accompanied by much squabbling and arguing, before they agreed upon an estimate of more than fifty — seven hundred. Nicar shook his head in despair at the total, while Esk kar swore under his breath.
On the fourth day Esk kar invited Trella to the tower. They sat there for most of the day, while he explained Alur Meriki ways and how everything functioned for the good of the clan. Smoke from hundreds of fires trailed up into the sky and they caught the smell of burning dung mixed with wood chips whenever the wind changed direction. They watched as slave crews working under the whip built ladders and climbing poles. Another group constructed a battering ram, using a tree trunk dragged up by a team of horses. Carts arrived and departed, carrying lumber that would be used to form shields for their archers.