Elizabeth of Donatello Bend (The Colplatschki Chronicles Book 2)

by Alma Boykin

  A hand went up. “What about the gaps, your grace?”

  “That’s what cavalry is for. I want Sarmas, Eulenberg, and your Wandertruppen, Montoya, parallel to our line of march, here.” He indicated the area east of the main army. “You are our screen and defense. The Turkowi have to come through here, unless they come by water, and I want the cavalry moving.” He began drawing new markings on the map. “When we finish, all cavalry will be on the flanks, except yours, Sarmas. They go with Jones as part of my reserves.” She made a note before looking back up. “Light artillery here and here,” just inside the far ends of the infantry. “Heavy artillery, so to speak, here,” concentrated to the right of the army’s center. “Musketeers in the tercios.”

  That caused a susurration of whispers and hisses among the officers. “Problem?”

  Peilov raised a hand, “Your grace, my men are not trained for that. We brought pike and heavy cavalry only, as we were ordered.” He did not whine, quite.

  “Then you will not have to worry about it,” Starland snapped. “Unless the Rajtan has found an archive or a genius, I anticipate the Turkowi will attack abreast, artillery first to break the tercios and open holes in the line, then cavalry at the weak places, and then a mass infantry charge against the center. In that case, bull horns.” He held up one hand, thumb and little finger out, middle three fingers closed. Elizabeth nodded, running through the appropriate signals in her mind.

  “If they go after one wing, as they have once or twice before, then Jones, you will swing around first, reinforcing the wing while the heavy cavalry sweeps to block. Be careful of our artillery,” he reminded everyone. “They prefer to shoot first and identify the remains later, if they have time.” Grim laughter acknowledged the warning.

  “Peilov, you and Sarmas need to watch for a surprise.” Starland tapped the map at the end of the Tongue Sea. “I doubt they have ships or even ferries to bring anything down this way, but don’t assume anything. If they do spring a surprise on us, don’t be heroes. Send word and fall back until we can support you. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, your grace,” Elizabeth agreed, nodding so hard that her wig slipped. “Drat.” The others laughed as she tugged it back into position.

  “Yes, your grace,” she barely heard Peilov murmur.

  “Any other questions?” Several people asked about baggage trains and supplies. “Behind the center, and we’ll have guards on them. If you have noncombatants, get them farther back, even to Plateford if they are pacifists.”

  Well, there goes Krehbiel, unless he volunteers to stay. She couldn’t order him to remain or to fight. That wasn’t their agreement, and she’d keep her word.

  After a few more questions, Starland dismissed them.

  10. Storm from the North

  As usual, Elizabeth woke before dawn. They’d break camp that morning, and she needed to finish quickly, so the men could clear her gear out of the way. She put on her first layers of clothes, drank some water, and put the night soil box out to be collected. After a last pat around the tent to make sure that she’d put all small items away in their boxes or pouches, she knelt to begin the morning office. She felt her eyes watering and nose burning and wondered what the problem was, then set the irritations aside and concentrated on her prayers and devotions, adding a few special requests for St. Gerald. Bridgebuilder, you who show the way over difficulties, you who bring us together in safety, please add your prayers to mine. St. Gerald, hear your children and help us come together, if it is Godown’s will.

  By the time she finished, her nose had begun running and a burning tickle developed in the back of her throat. “What is going on?” She heard coughing and sniffs outside her tent, so she wasn’t alone in her annoyance. Elizabeth pulled on her shirt, making certain to smooth out any wrinkles in the fabric before fastening the padded vest over the soft material. Then she opened the tent flaps, letting in the sickly yellow predawn light. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she made the sign of St. Gerald’s bridge. She heard Sister Amalthea’s voice in her memory, describing the coming of the Great Fires and Godown’s judgment against the Landers, and shuddered. Then she pulled her mind back to the present. “The Fires came by night, not by day,” she reminded herself, speaking aloud.

  “My lady, I’m afraid these fires come by day,” Lt. Bonaventure coughed from outside the flaps. She turned to him and he explained. “Before he left with the other noncombatants, Lt. Krehbiel said that his father told him that if the dry parts of the bog catch fire, they burn until it rains. I think someone lit the bog east of us.”

  She thought about forest fires. “The wind is from the east. If the fire is ahead of the Turkowi, we’re blinded, and the fire runs as fast as the wind. If it’s behind or beside them, they’re in the same position we are.”

  “Yes, my lady. If there’s anything good about it, the smoke is driving the blood suckers away.”

  “That is good,” and she managed a weak smile. “I prefer not to fight three enemies at the same time.”

  She heard a soft “whoof,” behind her and turned to find that her tent had just been pulled down, leaving the table, two chairs, and her armor and weapons. “Your men ready, Bonaventure?”

  “Yes, my lady. We’re moving out now to join Count Jones. The latest messenger reports that everyone else is in place.”

  She reached out and gripped his shoulder. “Good. Godown and St. Michael be with you. Go.”

  He saluted and rushed off to rejoin his men. Elizabeth ate some camp bread, drank more water, and indulged in one cup of tea, grateful that it wasn’t salibark this time. Then she put on most of her armor, starting with the shin and thigh guards, followed by her forearm braces and then the cuirass. By that point Lazlo had appeared and he held the back plate steady while she pulled the straps tight. Next came the pauldrons to protect upper arm and shoulder, and finally the gorget, gauntlets and helmet. She left the helmet off for the moment. Lazlo handed her the swordbelt and harness. She carried the pistols and helmet, since the pistols would go in holsters on her saddle. They began walking to the horse lines.

  “Any word from our northern flank?”

  “No, Colonel.” He sounded more irritated than worried. “I wish we had some way to see past the end of the hills.”

  “Hmm.” They walked a little farther and she noted the decent order in the camp. All the fires had been doused, and she saw a little debris but nothing important. But then they’d only been there a week or so, not long enough to truly sour the land yet. “It is said that you can make a giant cloth or paper bag, put a basket or platform under it with a fire-bowl in the bag, and float high enough to see over the trees.”

  Lazlo gave her a concerned look. She chuckled. “I’ve not lost my mind, nor have I taken too much feverbark tincture. One of the old books talked about it. Perri’s discussion of Sherman’s fast advance I think it was.”

  “Godown gave us legs, not wings, my lady,” he stated with some heat in his words. “Horses have legs, not wings. Trying to fly would be tempting Godown.”

  His words surprised her and she made a quiet noise in reply. Godown let us fly between the stars. He let us put eyes in the heavens to look down on Colplatshki. He let us talk between stars and over land and sea. Why would flying in a fire bag be a sin? Especially if it is to help us defeat the enemies of Godown? But arguing theology before battle would not solve anything or persuade Lazlo to change his mind. “Maybe Lord Peilov has people up in the trees, like the Bergenlanders do,” she hoped.

  “Scouts or snipers, my lady? Either would be helpful.” He glanced up into the branches of the closest tree. Both of them would be glad to get out into the open. Nothing good came from trying to fight a full battle in the woods. “Or that magic smokeless powder of legend.”

  “Your lips to Godown’s ears.” They’d reached the horse lines and found Ricardo and Pretty waiting, impatient, tails swishing. Elizabeth handed her helmet to the groom and inspected the stallion and his gear, makin
g sure that everything fit well and that he was sound. “Quit,” she ordered as he fussed, trying to pull his hoof out of her hand.

  “The smoke bothers him, Colonel,” the groom assured her. “Get on his back and he’ll be fine, won’t you, hairy sir?”

  “That or he’ll buck me off,” she muttered under her breath as she triple checked the girth. “Indeed.” The groom held Ricardo still after she mounted. She slid the pistols into the holsters and adjusted her saber so it wouldn’t dig into his flank, or hers. Once settled in the war saddle, it took a hard blow to knock her loose, but it also made adjustments difficult.

  “My lady, do you want this?” A second horse tender held up the case with her crossbow.

  Did she? “Yes, thank you.” Lazlo fidgeted as much as Pretty did while she checked the mechanism, counted the bolts in the case, and strapped the bow to her back. The bolt case rode behind her right thigh. She took the reins back and with a gentle check reminded Ricardo to pay attention to her. “Right. Thank you.” The grooms stepped back and saluted as she turned Ricardo, riding towards the forest of pikes bristling on the east slope of the next hill.

  “Slope pikes,” she called. The men rested their pikes on their right shoulders. The musketeers did the same. Once everyone had gotten ready, she nodded.

  Lazlo called, “Forward, march!” The first square set out, getting ahead of the second by fifty meters before the sergeant called the second square into motion. Elizabeth and Lazlo followed, trailed by Lt. Sparli and the three young men assigned to messenger duty.

  Wherever the smoke came from, it stayed far enough away that the soldiers spotted their destination in time. Lazlo saw the outermost of Eulenberg’s light artillery at the same time the sergeant leading the southern square did, and the square stopped and opened a little to give the musketeers room and to allow the men to ground their heavy pikes and spears. The soldiers faced east, into the hazy sun. At the sergeants’ command the musketeers moved into position and began loading. Lazlo saluted and took one messenger with him as he rode north, to mark the northern end of the Donatello line for Peilov. Sparli drew up on Elizabeth’s left side, dismounting to rest his horse’s back. Then they waited.

  Elizabeth peered into the early morning sun and reviewed the plan of attack, as described in the last message from Duke Starland. If the Turkowi advanced as anticipated, the Imperial center would hold position while the wings, including Sarmas and Peilov, advanced past the artillery. The guns had been aimed slightly inward and Eulenberg and the others assured the infantry commanders that they would not shoot until the tercios had gotten clear. If all went well, the Turkowi troops would find themselves with no option but to retreat, penned in by infantry and pounded by artillery. Elizabeth felt her lips quirking into a grim little smile. The plan would work perfectly, assuming nothing happened, assuming the Turkowi attacked as they usually did, assuming the fires did not hamper the Imperial troops or drive the Turkowi into a desperation charge, assuming… And everyone knew that assuming had made more asses than had any donkey breeder in the history of humanity.

  The sun grew warmer and Ricardo began fidgeting more, as did the soldiers near him. Then she heard it, the first trumpet calls ringing out. Dull booms followed the harsh blares as the Turkowi cannon fired. Closer, sharper booms heralded the Imperial reply. Unlike at Malfeld, Elizabeth could see the shots kicking up the dirt at least fifty meters ahead of the leading Imperial troopers, torn turf and cannonballs bouncing harmlessly. She heard a few horses calling, and some men cheered. “No,” she whispered, stomach starting to churn. “We have to go through that.”

  The booming stopped, Turkowi trumpets and horns blatted, and the Imperial signal for advance rang out. She could see some Turkowi standards, or what she took for Turkowi standards, and massed troops ahead of the Imperials, right where they were supposed to be. You are brilliant, she thought at Aquila Starland as her men began advancing. She remained in position, trusting her junior officers and sergeants to keep the men in order. The advance crawled forward for what felt like hours before the musketeers fired. Elizabeth saw the ripple as the front rank of musketeers stepped sideways and trotted back through the pike rows to reload while the second rank took their places and the third rank advanced into the ready position. Godown bless my sergeants, she prayed, thankful yet again for their skill.

  Smoke began to obscure the battlefield, drifting up from the flats and stinging her eyes. It smelled like powder smoke and she relaxed a little more, as much as she could relax with trumpet calls, gunfire, screams, and other battle sounds filling the air.

  Hoofbeats pounded up behind her and she turned Ricardo around. “Attack from the north,” the youngster panted, pale as death, eyes wide. “Cavalry and some kind of artillery. Peilov troops are collapsing.” Lazlo’s messenger looked on the verge of tears, panic, or both.

  For long seconds she froze, mind blank. WhatdoIdowhatdoIdo? Then she shook herself. “Tell Destefani to stop the retreat if he can and face the attackers. Form up there,” and she pointed to the west slope of her hill. “Now.”

  “Stop the retreat and form up here,” he repeated, yanking his horse around and running north.

  She turned to her messengers. “You,” she pointed to the one on the grey horse. “Tell Eulenberg to pivot to the north and prepare for cavalry.” He hurried off and she looked at a young man on a bob-tailed beast. “You pass the news to his grace.” As they cantered off, she returned her attention to the squares of men on the battlefield. Should she call the infantry back? Not yet, not unless a true route seemed imminent. Trust Starland and hold your line, she told herself.

  She could see smoke to the north now, and heard a strange, rapid-fire sound, like the new Frankonian carousel guns supposedly made. Then she saw the first fleeing soldiers, Peilov’s mounted messengers and officers. Oh no you don’t, she snarled. “Come on.” She urged Ricardo into a canter, trying to intercept the men.

  “Hold you position,” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Hold your position.”

  One man slowed, calling back, “We’re outnumbered. Lord Peilov’s gone. Run!”

  She heard hoofbeats behind her and found Count Eulenberg himself with his reserve riders. “What?”

  “Flank falling back. Got to stop them. Turkowi cavalry and carousel guns,” she explained.

  “Stop them here. I’ll swing some guns north.” He rode off again, leaving her and Sparli.

  Sparli drew a pistol and fired, scaring one of the fleeing horses into reversing course. “Stand you ground like men,” he bellowed. “Starland and Empire!” That slowed a few men, and a few more called back “Starland and Empire.”

  The messenger returned from Destefani. “Capt’n says he’s slowing them. Need artillery and pikes.”

  “Form here and we’ll have artillery.” Damn they needed the pikes to rally!

  One of the messengers returned and she made her decision. The two northernmost squares had to return. “Call back Sgt. Berg and Sgt. Mikes’s infantry, double time.” He stared at her and she repeated, “Call back the infantry. Now.”

  He blew the call and Sparli rode back up the hill, watching for motion. He waved. She waved back and worked on getting more Eulenberg cavalry into position, forcing the Peilov refugees to slow and giving them a place to regroup. “Stand your ground,” she called. She drew her saber and brandished the blade over her head. “Stand your ground.” Ricardo reared and she rode through it, saber high. “Stand!”

  The flight slowed. The first of the infantry appeared, some still carrying their pikes. The men saw the cavalry standing, and they slowed. A few began turning back north and she rode among them. “Form up you fools. It’s your only protection.” A ragged line of pikes and spears began to fill in ahead of the cavalry.

  Sparli rode up, “They’re on their way and the Eulenberg artillery is swinging.”

  “Good. Find an officer and have him bring half the cavalry to the Eulenberg guns, to protect them. Take the rest east. I’ll se
t the infantry here, protect Eulenberg.” She could see the plan in her mind’s eye, an L-shaped block across the north end of the Imperial formation. She began riding back and forth, grabbing soldiers. “You, form up here. You beside him. You next.” A sergeant joined her and the familiar orders brought more men. The Donatello men appeared and formed up to the east. Another square began forming on the western end of her little line. Men still streamed past, but not as many, and more and more found shelter in the pike ranks. “Tighten up into a wall,” she called.

  Lazlo appeared at last. “They’re behind me. Cavalry and damned carousel guns,” he panted. The horse, not his own, shied and twisted under him, and he checked it.

  “Present pikes,” she yelled. A trumpet echoed the call and the sergeants repeated it. As she watched, a bristling mass of wood and metal took shape ahead of her. Please Godown, please, she begged, throat dry. Quietly, calmly, she ordered, “Captain, go swing the end of the line, in case our cavalry decides to depart again.” Lazlo saluted and rode off. She returned her attention to the disaster from the north.

  She heard hooves and screams of “Selkow! Selkow and her Rajtan!” Now she could see the Turkowi riders. Would they caracole, firing and then riding away to reload and return for another volley? Or would they ride into her wall? She had no idea. She stroked Ricardo’s neck with one hand, saber gripped tight in the other.

  “Pikes down,” she heard, and the forest turned into a spikeback. Steady, steady, please Godown, steady, she thought, fighting to stay calm and suddenly in great need of emptying her bladder. The screams and battle cries grew louder and now she could see the eyes of the Turkowi attackers. Caracole or charge? “Brace” someone called as the first riders charged straight into the bristling formation.