3
3
The steel tide broke forward into a walk, then a trot. The lances came down in unison, and the armored horsemen poured toward them, spurring to a canter. Rick felt a final twinge of fear, swallowed hard, and gained control of his nerves.
They came in a single wave four ranks deep, riding almost knee to knee, their line stretching nearly from woods to lake. “They mean to roll right over us,” Rick said. He wondered what he’d do if he were the enemy commander. A hard charge carried home? That would certainly be a more effective tactic than the French used at Crécy, where they’d come in small driblets of undisciplined feudal lords. These troops were a lot better than anything Philip had with him that August day.
They were almost within extreme archery range. Rick could be certain of the exact line because he’d had it marked with stakes. The archers lifted their bows and drew back. One or two released arrows. Rick hoped their noncoms got their names. The time of release had been carefully calculated: assume heavy cavalry moves at fifteen miles an hour, and time the flight of an arrow to longest range—
“Let the gulls fly!” someone called. The arrows flocked upward in a volley, arced high, and fell among the charging horsemen.
The effect was instantaneous. The lines in front of the archers lost their geometric precision and dissolved into a wave of rearing wounded horses. There were screams as horses and men felt the bite of the iron-tipped shafts.
English longbowmen could get off a flight every ten seconds. The Tamaerthon archers were just about as good. As the Roman cavalrymen—Rick still couldn’t bring himself to call a formation of armored men on horseback a “legion”— covered the final two hundred fifty yards, the Tamaerthon gulls flew three more times. Then the archers skipped back among their stakes and fired at point-blank range.
What struck the archer’s line wasn’t an orderly formation at all. The horsemen were moving too fast to stop when they saw the angled stakes, and tried to guide their mounts around them, but the horses got in each others’ way, while wounded and riderless mounts dashed randomly among them.
Meanwhile, the First Pikes had taken the initial shock—only there wasn’t one. The first rank of pikemen knelt and held their weapons butt grounded, angled at the eyes of the horses. The next three ranks held theirs high, points outthrust over the heads of the kneeling first rank. They presented a wall of pointed steel, and the horses wouldn’t stand it. They swerved about, or halted, some with a shock that dismounted their riders. Not a single lance struck home among the pikemen.
“This would be the time for a charge,” Rick muttered. “But I can’t. They’re not disciplined enough to stay in formation.”
The first line of Romans dismounted to attack the pikes with swords. They were braver than their horses, and several got in among the pikemen, although most were thrust down by the heavy points. The few who managed to close slaughtered several of the front rank, but the rear files thrust forward to strike them down. The pikemen shouted triumph, and the cheer ran down the ranks.
It was all happening at once, and far too fast for anything Rick could do to influence the battle. The battle on Rick’s left wing was nearly over before the Roman horse could reach the much larger block of archers and pikemen close under the villa.
As the leading wave of Roman cavalry approached the broad face of the Second Pike Regiment, the horses shied away from the steady wall of points edging to their left so that they clumped in front of the archers. The wagons and downed trees and other obstacles concentrated the enemy ever tighter as each horseman tried to go down one of the cleared lanes.
The grey gulls flew down the cleared lanes to strike down horses and riders alike. The charge came on, deeper into the pocket. The line of archers here was much thinner than that between First and Second Pikes; it had to be because there was three times the front to cover. The arrows flew less thickly, and the comparative safety of that front, compared to the solid wall of pikepoints, drew more and more of the steel-armored Romans like a magnet.
Those stopped by ditches and trees dismounted and continued forward shouting war cries.
“Now!” Tylara shouted. “Use your star weapons! Now!”
“Not yet.” Rick watched the situation develop. The Romans on foot were dangerous. Their armor partly protected them from arrows. But they were also much slower, and the archers had more opportunities to shoot. The Roman wave came forward ponderously, past the wagons, around the abatis of felled trees, around and over the ditches, onward toward the archers who now had no protection but their stakes. The archers fell back involuntarily, back again—
To be stopped by backing against the heavy cavalry and Drumold’s banner. They held for a moment, resolutely firing another volley of arrows point-blank at the Romans among the stakes that had been their final defense line.
“Now,” Rick said. He shouted to a mounted messenger below. “Now!” He ran for the stairs, shouting for his orderlies and his messengers. It was time to get into the battle.
* * *
Tylara watched the opening charge of the terrible Romans without fear. She had confidence in Rick, if not in her clansmen. When she saw the Roman wave break against archers and pikemen alike, she was certain they had won.
But the Romans pressed on. When they dismounted to charge headlong toward the archers and her father’s banner behind the archery line, Tylara took fear again. Did Rick not understand that if that banner fell, half the clansmen would try to save themselves any way they could? Why did not Rick kill them with his thunder weapons?
He seemed to have forgotten that he was armed. He was far more concerned with shouting orders to messengers. Now he ran for the stairs. Tylara followed, wondering.
The din of battle filled her ears. She heard Rick shout again, but she could not understand him. Just below, not thirty yards from the steps of the villa, there was desperate fighting, with the Romans marching forward into the hail of arrows. The archers retreated, still in an orderly line, but here and there a man broke and ran—
The Romans had to be stopped. Her light-cavalry escort stood near the villa. It would not be much use against armored men, even armored men on foot. But her brother’s heavier-armed men might be thrown in now—Rick was running there, and his orderly was holding a horse for him. Was Rick going to lead them himself against the Romans?
That was Rick’s affair. The light cavalry was hers. She shouted to them to dismount and led them forward to stiffen the retreating line of archers. The archers let them through gladly, and she rushed forward swinging her battle-axe. She knew she was not skilled with it, but the only way to be certain the others would attack was to lead them herself.
A Roman thrust at her with his lance. She parried with the axe, stepped inside his reach, brought the axe around to cleave at him. It struck his helmet but did not cut through, and while the man was staggered by the blow, an archer ran forward and struck the Roman again with the mallet used to place stakes. The armored man fell.
Other Romans advanced. Many of the archers had no more arrows, and although a few drew swords and stood resolutely, others melted back. They would all run soon—
The Roman line halted. There were screams and shouts, and the Romans faced about, bewildered—
The Third Pike Regiment had faced left and charged the Romans. They formed an irresistible battering ram of steel points, and they pressed onward, catching the Romans from the side and from behind.
There were more shouts. The rear ranks of Second Pikes had also joined the battle, wheeling to form a block thirty men square and bearing down on the Romans, mounted and dismounted alike.
Now the Romans thought of nothing but retreat. Those still on horseback tried to get back out through the narrow lanes between the ditches, while those afoot tried desperately both to catch their horses and avoid the pikes coming from either side. Another volley of arrows fired point-blank struck among the Romans caught in the pocket.
They were still dangerous. A Roman charged at Tylara and she swung her axe furiously, missing him but causing him to flinch away. Then the pikemen came on again, and the Roman threw down his sword and fell at her knees.
Tylara turned from the battle to look for Rick, just in time to see him lead the heavy cavalry off to the right.
* * *
Rick shouted orders as he ran. “Third Pikes to face left and charge.” He saw that messenger off and called to another. “Second battalion of Second Pikes form square, face right, and charge.” Now I hope to God all that drilling we did during the summer has an effect. We’ve got them! By God, we’ve got them.
There was one weak point. When Third Pikes moved into the battle, they’d leave a gap between them and the lake, while what used to be their front would become their fully exposed right flank. A charge there or through the gap would be disastrous.
It wasn’t likely. The Romans hadn’t kept back a reserve. Poor tactics. It was always worthwhile keeping a reserve.
Without reserves you couldn’t exploit the enemy’s mistakes, and victory generally went to the side that made the fewest errors—
He found his horse and threw himself into the saddle, waving to the heavy cavalrymen to follow. He cursed when he saw Drumold and his son leading. He didn’t want the banner exposed. But then he saw why. The others hadn’t moved, but now reluctantly followed their chief and banner. Of course. They wanted to get in on the fight, and here Rick was leading them away from it. Drumold had worked a miracle in holding them as it was.
Okay, the banner came too. Now he didn’t dare commit this reserve until he was certain of victory. He wished he could see what was happening out in front of First Pikes. That charge had shattered them, and it would take damned good work to re-form for another—but the Romans had shown they were steady, and he had no right to assume their commander was a fool.
They rounded the right—now the rear—of Third Pikes, shouting battle cries to reassure the infantry. He didn’t want them panicked by hearing strange hoofbeats behind them.
Out in front, things were quiet for a moment. The right wing of the Roman army had pulled back and was milling around. There’d be a little more time before they could get into any formation for another charge.
First Pikes were standing at ease, looking curiously back toward the main battle. Balquhain raised the clan banner high. A cheer ran up and down the ranks.
The archers linking First and Second had returned to their stakes, and a few more were out in front of them stripping bodies and making sure what they stripped were bodies. There didn’t seem to be any way to stop that.
Inside the pocket, the slaughter continued. The escape lanes were piled with bodies, and some enterprising officer of the Second had pushed a knot of pikemen into each one. The pikemen stood behind heaps of dead and faced the villa, preventing anyone from escaping. The Romans inside that caldron were pressed so close together that they couldn’t use their weapons. They’d be tiring now, too. That was the trouble with armor. The protection it provided came at a high cost.
Ha. The Roman right wing had got itself into formation. Rick used the binoculars to pick out their commander’s scarlet cloak and gold bracelets. The man stood in his stirrups to study the battle. It was obvious that he didn’t know where to charge. The best place—Third Pike’s flank—was covered by Rick’s heavy cavalrymen; hit Third and the Romans would expose their flank to a cavalry charge. Meanwhile the Roman commander was losing half his army down in the pocket.
Aha. He was going to have another go at the junction between Second Pikes and the archers linking First and Second. If they got through there, they’d cut Rick’s forces in two, and they’d have an excellent chance to crush his main force as well as relieve the pressure on the troops caught in the caldron. It was good tactics, but stupid. If they couldn’t break the archers with their first charge, why think they could do it now when the horses were getting winded?
But what else could he do? Pouring men into the caldron would be worse than useless. What would I do if—
“We stand like cowards!” Dughuilas, chief of the largest of the subclans, drew his sword. “I will not have it said that I watched this battle without taking part.”
Oh, God dammit. That’s all I need. “Hold!” Rick shouted. Half the cavalrymen had drawn weapons, and even Drumold was looking anxious. “We protect our men here. If we leave this place, the Romans will strike—”
No good. They weren’t listening. Rick drew his Mark IV .45 automatic and aimed it just past Dughuilas’ left ear. He fired.
The clan leader winced. At four feet, the muzzle blast would be enough to take off hide. “Another step forward and I strike you from the saddle,” Rick said. “You and any other who desert.”
“Desert? We want to fight!” someone shouted. “You’ll get the chance to fight. Hah! They’re going to try
it.” He pointed. The Roman line swept forward again, this time in a thick column, aimed like an arrow between First and Second Pikes.
Again three flights of arrows struck among them before they could reach the stakes. This time they pressed forward, heedless of losses, walking the horses into the staked area now hastily abandoned by the archers—
It was the last of the Roman reserve. Rick spurred forward, riding hard toward the First Pike Regiment. He had no thought that the others would follow him, and they didn’t; they made straight for the Romans. Well, that would be all right now. The important thing was to get First Pikes to face right oblique rear and charge. They’d finish the Romans a lot more thoroughly than these ironheads.
But at least the chiefs would get a chance to fight.
They do, I don’t, Rick thought. Not that I particularly want to. But this battle’s all over except the cleaning up, and I haven’t fired a shot.
Then he grinned when he remembered that he had fired exactly once.