He walked, arms clasped behind his back, the sun glinting from his polished iron breastplate. There was little that was imposing about his physique. Several inches under six feet the general was a slim figure, his face thin and ascetic, his short-cropped hair thinning at the temples and crown. Without the armour he looked like the teacher he had been before discovering his true vocation.
All of his soldiers knew the story of the Scholar. At twenty-eight, during the first civil war, the mathematician and lecturer Jasaray had been hastily commissioned into the Third Army of the Republic, serving under the general, Sobius. His role had been that of quartermaster; it was thought that his logistical skills could best be used in estimating quantities of supplies, numbers of wagons, and the provision and supply of equipment. Despite his lack of military training Jasaray had asked for, and been given, the rank of second general. This, he maintained, was necessary when dealing with other officers. Without this rank his authority as quartermaster would be undermined. He had proved himself more than able in this role, and the Third Army was the best supplied and armed in the Republic.
Unfortunately for the army it was not the best led.
Sobius had been out-thought, out-flanked and outclassed. The army had been crushed, fourteen thousand men slaughtered, a mere four thousand escaping. With most of the senior officers slain, the inexperienced Jasaray was forced to take command. Organizing a fighting rearguard he staved off the rebel force for seventeen days until reinforcements arrived. With the leaders of the Republic in disarray and ready to surrender, Jasaray led a counterattack on the rebel army, routing it and capturing two of their leaders. Three thousand rebel soldiers were crucified, the leaders beheaded. At twenty-nine Jasaray was the undisputed hero of the Republic.
At forty-two he was the greatest general the people of Stone had ever known, respected and feared throughout what was still recognized – despite Republican supremacy – as the empire. One campaign after another had been won with clinical efficiency as the empire expanded. Jasaray became ever more powerful within the Republic.
To his soldiers the Scholar was a godlike figure to be obeyed instantly, and to be feared. He was also a general who always made sure there was hot food for his men, and their wages arrived on time. Added to this he was a careful planner, never putting his men in unnecessary danger. These were qualities common soldiers valued above all others. That his discipline was harsh – floggings and hangings were commonplace – did not concern them unduly. Almost all of the disciplinary actions related to carelessness, and carelessness could cost the lives of soldiers. The men understood this. And they liked the fact that the Scholar never wore embossed armour, nor carried jewel-encrusted weapons. His breastplate was iron, his sword standard issue, his helmet – when he bothered to wear it – a battered bronze without plume or crest. The only sign of his rank was the purple cloak he wore, and the fact that a mosaic stone floor was set out in his tent every night, the numbered stones carried in six huge chests on the lead wagon of the baggage train.
Jasaray watched the construction of the fortress, his gaze roving over the entire area, noting the work rate, the positioning of the coloured flags that signified where tents would be pitched and baggage animals picketed. Behind him walked four junior officers
and six runners, each hoping that nothing would cause the general any irritation.
They had been on the march now for six days, and in that time had constructed six marching camps just like this one, the longest sides twelve hundred feet, the shorter nine hundred, an area of more than a million square feet. There would be two gates, one in the east, the other in the west, constructed from felled trees, their trunks expertly split. Even now horsemen were hauling the timbers from the woods to the south.
Stone armies had long known of the value of fortified camps, but it had taken the genius of Jasaray to refine the process until it was almost an art form.