The young man stepped forward. He was tall and slim, his hair close cropped and raven black. ‘It is a difficult quote to remember, for all of Getius’ work is wordy and grammatically indigestible. However I believe he wrote: “The importance of fortifying night camps appears not only from the danger to which troops are exposed who camp without such precautions, but also from the distressful situation of an army which, after receiving a check in the field, finds itself without a retreat and consequently at the mercy of the enemy.”‘
‘Almost perfect,’ said Jasaray. ‘The correct quote is “to which troops are perpetually exposed”. Perpetually. That is the nature of war. Now you can go and find the idiot I just sent away. You can spend the night teaching him. If he fails my test tomorrow I shall consider sending you home also.’
‘Yes, sir,’ answered the youngster, giving a crisp salute.
‘And Barus, pay particular attention to the topography required for marching camps.’
‘I will, sir,’ said Barus. As he walked away the two remaining junior officers relaxed. Surely, they thought, two victims would be enough. Jasaray allowed them a few moments as he scanned the defensive ditch and the new rampart wall. The native scout he had seen before came walking into the compound, leading his pony. Jasaray gazed at the man, noting the way he moved, perfectly in balance. The man glanced at him and Jasaray saw he had odd-coloured eyes. One was green, the other tawny brown, and his handsome face was badly scarred on the left side.
‘Do you speak any Turgon?’ asked the general.
‘A little,’answered the warrior.
‘What happened to your pony?’
‘Stepped in a rabbit hole. He’s lucky not to have broken his leg.’
Swinging away from the tribesman Jasaray returned his attention to the two junior officers. ‘How wide should the ditch be?’ he snapped.
‘Eight feet,’ they answered in unison. ‘And three feet deep,’ added the first, earning a withering glance from his companion. Jasaray smiled at their discomfort. His good humour was returning now.
‘And what is the one priceless commodity a general can never replace?’
Both the officers stood mystified, their minds racing. Jasaray noticed that the young tribesman was still standing close by, a smile on his face. ‘You find their predicament amusing?’ he asked the man.
‘No,’ answered the warrior, ‘but if I were you I’d find their ignorance worrying.’ Taking the pony’s reins he started to walk away.
‘Perhaps you would like to answer the question for them,’ said Jasaray.
‘Time,’ said the young man. ‘And, if I quote you correctly, General, “You can replace men and horses, swords and arrows. But never lost time.”‘
‘You have read my work?’ The question was asked in a flat, bored voice, but the general’s eyes had narrowed and he was watching the tribesman closely.
‘No, General, I do not read. I had a friend who taught me your words. If you will excuse me, I must tend to my pony.’
Jasaray watched him go, then turned to his officers. ‘Find out who he is and have him attend my tent tonight following the briefing.’
‘I can tell you who he is, sir,’ said the first of the officers. ‘His name is Connavar, and he was recruited by Valanus. He is not of the Ostro or the Gath, but a tribesman from across the water. According to rumour, he saved the life of Valanus back in Goriasa.’
‘And he has pledged to kill Carac,’ said the second man, not to be outdone. ‘He was the warrior who fought his way across the land after the murder of his friend, the merchant, Banouin.’
‘Which tribe is he from?’
‘I believe it is the Rigante, sir,’ the first officer told him. ‘Do you still wish him to attend your tent?’
‘Have I said otherwise?’
Jasaray moved away to inspect the ramparts. The sun was falling behind the western hills, and storm clouds were moving in from the sea.
‘If the Scholar has asked to see you it means you will either be flogged or promoted,’ said Valanus, cheerfully. Conn tugged his cloak tighter about him as the rain dripped through the canvas wall of the tent. The candle stub guttered, but before it could die completely Valanus held a second candle over it. For a few moments two flames lit the damp interior, making it seem marginally more homely. The tent was six feet long, four feet wide, and five feet high at the centre. It was supported by a thin wooden frame. Attached to the frame were hooks, from which hung two sacks containing clothing. There were four folding, canvas-topped stools that could be linked together to form a narrow bed. One of these was burdened by a breastplate, helm, wrist guards and greaves, balanced precariously above the wet ground.