“They are overburdened,” said Grendis. “So many of our cavalry are chasing the raiders. We’re going to lose a lot of horses if we keep running them the way we’ve been doing.”
That, Tegestu realized, was like Tastis. Sending out the raiders, realizing that in addition to the damage and confusion he was causing the Arrandalla forces to detach a lot of valuable light cavalry to chase them down; he’d given himself a better chance at an ambush. And so he’d prepared this fixed defense at the ford, hoping to rivet his enemies’ attention on that river crossing, while he did something elsewhere — but what?
“The country,’’ he said. “We need to know the country.’’
“It’s flat,” Grendis said. “Many little canals, yes, but no obstacles till the river. A few little orchards, but no forests.” No place for ambush, then. “The river twists,” Grendis added, illustrating with her hands. “Slow, shallow, but footmen can only cross in this one place. Lots of woods on the river bottom. The west bank is higher than the east, Tastis has that advantage.”
“It doesn’t sound,” Palastinas said, “like good ambush country. Maybe that’s all Tastis could do, hope to delay us at the ford. Or maybe he’s hoping that we’ll divide our forces in order to cross somewhere else, and he can fight us in detail.”
They looked at Tegestu for his answer, but he had none: he could only frown and shake his head. “There’s more in it than we see,” he said. There had been too many small frustrations, he thought; he longed for something clean and straightforward, a battle, a clear challenge. Much of the strategy of the war had been necessitated by political considerations, rather than military ones — the very choice of the country they marched through was dictated by the necessity of cutting Tastis off from such of the country barons as might support him, while Tegestu, for safety’s sake, would rather have embarked the army aboard the fleet and transported it swiftly to the enemy cities by water. Instead there was this ponderous march, Brodaini engineers moving out ahead to bridge rivers and canals, barges having to come by water to bring the army its supplies at prearranged points. Even with all the handicaps they’d been moving quickly, but Tegestu found himself fretted by the delay. It wasn’t the merging of political considerations with military... no, he’d had to deal with those sort of compromises all his life. It was the fact that Tastis was being given time to expand his base of power, to make some kind of accommodation with his new-taken city.
Tastis, he knew, was an intelligent man, and something of an unorthodox thinker. A generation younger than Tegestu, more flexible in adapting to this new continent. Good at improvisation. He had been valuable as an independent commander, and had always shown an ability to act on his own initiative, often with irregular forces, and to do so brilliantly: he’d always kept the enemy off-balance, uncertain how to respond. He could shine in a situation like this. The war could be a long one.
“Bro-demmin, we will keep a good watch,” Grendis said. “He won’t be surprising us; our riders are keeping watch.”
Tegestu nodded, unhappy. Something, he thought, was missing here. He would have to hope that after he’d seen the ford the pattern would somehow would fall into place.
CHAPTER 11
Fiona looked down at the ford, seeing the dark iron of the stakes reflected in the silver waters, an intricate, geometric certainty reflected by the eddying, shifting, fluid medium. Behind, on the bluffs overlooking the river, was a solid black line of torsion engines, ready to smash the placid water into froth at the sign of a crossing. There was an old castle there, its walls torn down, its towers gaping. The white wood of hasty repairs showed clearly. Over it floated the enemy banners, Brodaini, city, baronial, and others that were strange to the invaders, new ensigns describing the new reality in Neda-Calacas.
“It won’t be difficult to get around, they tell me,” said Campas. “We’re having boats sent round behind us by canal, then the boats get portaged over the last twenty miles, and we’ve got a bridge wherever we need one. The scouts are deciding where it’s going to be. Somewhere near a ford that the cavalry can use, so foot and horse can cross at the same time.”
She gave him a look. “You’ve learned a lot about this, all of a sudden,” she said.
“I’m staff,” he said simply. “I see most of the dispatches. And I spent an entire damn day with my eye glued to a long glass set up on a tripod, making notes about what I saw. Deadly work! The headache lasted for hours.”
“And Tegestu?” she asked. “Two days ago he thought it was a trap.”
“He still thinks it,” Campas said. “But he can’t find one.” He hesitated, then spoke. “I have an intuition he’s right, and Grendis and Cascan agree with him, too. But none of us can see how.”
Campas frowned. He glanced downriver, then over his shoulder at Necias’ big pavilion. “Can we move out of sight of Necias?” he asked. “He’s been inundated with dispatches from the city this morning, with barons squalling for help against the raiders — and I don’t want to spend the rest of the day finding diplomatic ways to tell them no. Necias brought half his household with him — let them do a little work for a change.”
“As you like.” They turned their horses’ heads downriver and moved off at a slow jog. The slope gentled down to the thick, tangled underbrush and trees that surrounded the river. They heard the sound of axes: pioneers and assistant cooks were here, getting firewood and cutting brush away in case the enemy made a sally across the river and Arrandalla forces had to be moved through the tangle in a hurry. They rode northward along the slope in silence, keeping out of the tangles.
“Have you been sleeping well?” Campas asked suddenly, turning to her.
A thrust, straight at the heart of vanity. Fiona, suddenly self conscious, glanced up at him in surprise. “Yes,” she said. “Everyone sleeps well after riding horseback half the day.”
“You look tired.” His frowning face seemed concerned.
She shook her hair back out of her eyes. “I’m all right,” she said. Not true, she knew, not entirely. It was the burden of hatred that was draining her, hatred for Kira’s killers, for all that was represented by those fluttering banners on the west bank. She passed a hand over her brow. “I’m all right,” she said again.
They passed out of sight of the camp, seeing two gallopers dashing toward them, each carrying a dispatch: Grendis’ people, heading for the pavilion. “News,” she said. He laughed.
“All I can do is offer thanks that it won’t be me reading it,” he said. “I appreciate your borrowing me for the afternoon.”
“You’re welcome.”
The messengers tore past, one of them, a young woman, raising an arm in greeting as she galloped by. Fiona turned her head to look after her.
“That woman Brodainu,” she said. “That’s one of the things I wanted to ask you about.”
“Ask. I’ll tell you what I can.”
“It seems unusual that the Brodaini grant women equal status — make them officers, even. It’s not what I’d expect from a military culture. The Brodaini are physically large, with the women being built to scale, but they’re not as strong — they can’t pull a bow as far, or strike as hard with a sword. Men have such superior upper-bobyd strength.”
Campas shrugged. “Our people simply think they’re crazy,” he said. Fiona grimaced: no culture that had survived for so many hundreds of years was crazy. Campas spoke on. “I’ve talked to the Brodaini; but they just say it’s always been that way.” He looked up at her, curious. “Do you approve?”
“It’s not important whether I approve or not,” Fiona said, preferring to leave that particular issue unexamined. “I — I and my people — we want to understand them, if we can. And understand the Arrandalla, as well. My questions won’t offend, will they?”