A headquarters optio rode in at the gallop. “Centurion says it’s the banner of the Fighting Man!” he shouted.
“That’s the Wanax himself!” Geminius exclaimed. “But why has he come? He has come without his royal banner!”
“I am aware of that,” Frugi said impatiently. “Prepare to give him the proper honors and spare me your chatter. We will know soon enough why he has come.”
That didn’t stop the junior officers from making guesses, but at least it kept them from distracting him with them. Meanwhile, Sulpicius had reports from the cohort commanders.
Then the Drantos party rode in.
“Hail, Majesty!” Frugi called.
“Hail, Legate. We must speak, and quickly.” The young Wanax gestured, and one of his squires leaped down to hold his horse as he dismounted.
Frugi noted the others in the royal party. Knights and bheromen, seasoned veterans all, carrying bloody weapons. They had come through much to get here—it was significant that veteran warriors would follow this boy king. Frugi wearily dismounted.
Ganton drew his dagger, knelt, and in the hard ground began to draw a map of the battle. It was not the best map Frugi had ever seen, but it would do. Aye, Titus Frugi thought. A map drawn by a lad who had never thought of maps as a weapon until the starmen came; it will do well enough indeed.
“We have nearly half the Westmen trapped between us,” Ganton said. “As their ranks thin they will begin to escape; but we will kill enough, I think.” He used his dagger to draw a circle around that combat area.
“The rest of the Westmen are here, across the river from us, encircling the Lord Mason. They face only star weapons, but so long as they do not attack the Lord Mason, they have little to fear because of the hills. There are not enough starmen to go seeking them.”
Frugi nodded. “What know you of the balloon?”
“It does not rise,” Ganton said. “I do not know why. But because it does not rise, the Lord Mason knows little of where the Westmen are. Yet they are here, and here, and—”
“I see,” Titus Frugi said.
“The Lord Rick has taught me not to send all my forces into battle at once,” Ganton said. “To hold what he calls reserves. I believe it is also the Roman way.”
“Yes,” Frugi said. He looked thoughtfully at the young Wanax. There were many more years behind the boy’s eyes than there had been when they planned this battle.
“If you will divide your reserves into two parts, and send them here and here, then much can be accomplished,” Ganton said. He drew lines on the map to indicate positions flanking the mass of Westmen facing Mason and Caradoc. “For in no more than a Roman hour the slaughter here will be finished, and the army of Drantos will be able to charge again. If we charge across the river, we will take the remaining Westmen from behind, driving them into sight of the starmen. Your reserve force will prevent them from escaping to the sides, and the star weapons will finish the task, I think.”
“Unless the Westmen dislodge the starmen.”
“No,” Ganton said. “True, I have not spoken with the Lord Mason—but I do not need to do so. I know the Lord Mason and the Lord Caradoc. They will have a strong position. They will not be driven out by Westmen fleeing in panic.”
“Umm,” Frugi said. “Will your horses be able to make a second charge?”
“Aye. I have sent the—support troops—to the river for water. Our horses are well fed, thanks to Lord Rick and the Roman scribes who aid him.”
He has indeed grown, Titus Frugi thought. And would be a formidable enemy to Caesar—
“For I have learned,” Ganton said with a rush. “Neither I nor my knights, nor Lord Camithon himself, ever before dreamed how important it would be that a bushel of oats travel from a farmer’s field to the belly of a war horse on the high plains. But I have learned. Aye, Legate, our horses are strong, and soon they will have water. They will charge truly.”
Titus Frugi shaded his eyes and stared into the dusty valley below. The Wanax is right, he thought. An hour should see the end of that slaughter. Barbarians not fighting under one chief are not known for their readiness to come to the aid of doomed comrades. The reserve will not be needed to meet a rescue attempt. One cohort can hold the rear, and if this lad truly knows the position of the enemy we can yet have a decision this day.
“I suggest further that Drantos take the center,” Ganton said. “The chivalry of Drantos is best employed in a single striking mass; your legionaries are better at maneuver. And we will strike directly here—” He used the dagger to draw a thick arrow.
“You have tested the depth of the river, then?” Frugi asked.
“I have seen the Westmen crossing it,” Ganton said. He held up his binoculars. “With these. At the crucial places the water comes to the bellies of the Westman ponies.”
“Ah.” Titus Frugi straightened from where he had bent over the map. The headquarters officers leaned forward eagerly. Frugi hesitated another moment, then asked, “What think you, Primus Pilus?”
“I think well of it, Legate,” Julius Sulpicius answered.
“And there is no need to ask you, Tribune Geminius. Either you approve or you have adders under your breastplate. Very well. Tribunes, go and ready the cohorts. Wanax, how will you alert your own forces?”
“I will ride with you until we reach them,” Ganton said. “If that is acceptable to you.”
“More than acceptable.” And I am glad enough to have you as Caesar’s friend, for you would be a formidable enemy. Our military handbooks will need revision after this day, for they say that Drantos is a barbarian kingdom—and that is true no more.
33
Pfc. Passovopolous had just finished reporting the LMG back in action when Mason heard war-horns. They grew louder. A hundred Westmen rode at a gallop out of the dust across the river. Then, suddenly, the Royal Banner of Drantos burst from the dust-cloud behind the Westmen. In another moment, the opposite bank of the Hooey was alive with banners.
“Murph!” Art shouted. “Use that one-oh-six! Targets of opportunity—”
“Rog!”
“Ark! Get ready with the LMG. Looks like they’ll drive the bastards right out in front of us.”
“Right,” Passovopolous said.
“Reckon you were right,” Murphy said. “Fire in the hole!” The 106 roared, and a white phosphorus shell burst among a cluster of Westmen trying to organize at the river bank.
“Right about what?”
“Kid knew what he was doing.”
“Yeah,” Mason said. He sure did.
The LMG chattered, joined by the crackle of fire from H&K rifles; the Westmen’s abortive attempt to rally at the river bank dissolved before it was fairly begun.
Then everything happened at once. The dust-cloud erupted warriors, Drantos knights and Roman cataphracts. They charged down the river bank and straight on into the shallow river, slowing for a moment there but building momentum again. By the time they had crossed the river, the Roman and Drantos forces had mixed, clumps of Romans intermingled with the Drantos knights, both groups led by the mixed headquarters troops of both armies. It was hard to tell which crossed the river first: the golden helm of Wanax Ganton, or the scarlet cloak of Titus Frugi.
The Westmen made another attempt to rally, this time at the top of the knoll above the river bank, but a fresh group of Romans, both horsemen and cohortes equitates clinging to their bridles, appeared on their flank. The Roman infantry locked shields and advanced slowly while the cavalry sat their horses and shot down the Westmen. Meanwhile the combined force of Drantos knights and Roman lancers completed their river crossing. They dressed lines, and their officers rode up and down the line shouting. Then the wild war horns sounded, and Romans and knights alike spurred to a canter.
The Westmen couldn’t stand the combination of arrows from the flanks and lances from the front. Their line buckled, then dissolved. The Allied forces charged on, and the whole battle swept out of Mason’s sight into a fold in the hills.
“They’ll be coming over that hill pretty quick,” Mason said. “No shooting at ‘em on the ridge. Wait until they’re just below us. That way we’re sure of what we’re shooting at.” He sent a runner with the same message for Caradoc.
And now we wait, he thought. But this time we know what we’re waiting for. It’s all over but the mopping up.
Mad Bear’s surprise at getting across the river after the first charge of Ironshirts was beginning to wear off when the Ironshirts charged again. Even then he was not afraid. The Horse People could win against the Ironshirts, even Ironshirts with wizard allies.