"In the name of Marselius Caesar," Rick replied. "You will have heard of his amnesty for all who follow an enthroned Caesar. This I too swear. I am Rick Galloway, Colonel of Mercenaries, Eqeta of Chelm, War Leader of Tamaerthon, War Lord of Drantos, Ally and Friend to Marselius Caesar."
The Roman seemed to think that one over.
"Archers!" Drumold shouted from behind him. "Prepare the gulls."
A group of Guardsmen dismounted. They drew their long bows from bowcases.
"You know what Tamaerthan archers can do," Rick shouted. "You will die to no purpose. How can it serve Rome to have her finest soldiers slaughtered? Lay down your arms."
"Way! Way there!" someone called from behind.
A group of Guardsmen and acolytes of Yatar came out toward Rick. They carried the Roman officer in a blanket.
"Your tribune lives," Rick shouted. "We tend his wounds. He bids you lay down your arms."
The Roman decurion looked back at his companions. Then slowly he rode forward. A few yards away he halted, drew his sword, and dismounted. Silently he came forward and presented it hilt first. Then he knelt in submission.
Drumold led the Tamaerthan heavy cavalry across the bridge and down the road, as Guardsmen collected the Roman weapons. Half an hour later, the first blocks of pikemen arrived. Rick sent them across the bridge to secure their foothold on the other side.
And now there was nothing to do but wait. And hurt. His clothes were stuck to him with blood from the arrow wounds, his ankle was starting to swell, and his thumb and whole right hand were already swollen. He'd forgotten to take off his ring; they would have to cut that off, and soon, too, or he'd lose the finger. There were other bumps and bruises he felt now that the adrenalin was no longer flowing.
But we won, he thought. "Twas a famous victory…"
Caradoc rode up with the rest of the Guard.
"You'll be personally responsible for the Roman prisoners," Rick said. "I have promised them safety. They keep all their property except weapons, and they're to be well treated. All of them. And guarded by enough troops that they won't try to escape. I don't want a single one of them harmed. Is this understood?"
"Yes, lord," Caradoc said.
And there aren't a hell of a lot of people I can give that order to and be sure it will be carried out.
"Can you come now?" Caradoc asked. "There is a man you must see."
Rick sighed wearily. "It is urgent?"
"Very urgent, lord. It is Tethryn."
"He lives?"
"For the moment. The priests did not think he should be moved, but he was determined to speak to you, and has come." Caradoc paused for a moment. "I think it makes little difference whether we move him or not."
"I'll come," Rick said. "I owe him my life."
Tethryn lay on a horse litter at the edge of the clearing. His brother Dwyfyd bent over him. They look so much alike, Rick thought. Alike, and young and- Dwyfyd's eyes were wet with tears.
"Lord Rick." The dying boy's voice was almost inaudible.
"Hail, my friend and companion-"
"Thank you."
"You must rest."
"There is no time, lord. Vothan One-eye has chosen me to guest in his hail this day. But I hope-you will not believe you see only enemies-in Clan Calder now. Some-some of the lesser chiefs…"
"Some of them would rather I did, so they can continue to plot against me?"
The boy was silent so long that Rick thought he'd fainted or died. Then he nodded. "Aye. Couldn't let you die-to make them happy. Not-when-they lied. My father was wrong. You are-no coward."
Tethryn's eyes closed, and Rick moved away to leave Dwyfyd alone with his brother.
Damn. Hell and damn. The kid wasn't eighteen yet.
"It is done?" Rick asked.
Dwyfyd nodded silently.
"He was a brave companion," Rick said. "He will have no minor place in Vothan's hall."
"Lord-"
"Yes?"
"May-may I ask a boon in Tethryn's name?"
"Yes."
Dwyfyd didn't hesitate. "Corgarff's life, lord."
"Why?"
"He is my clansman. And-there are reasons."
Aha. So you know that your father was involved in the plot against the balloon. Probably ordered Corgarff 's part in it. And you want to make that up.
"You do him no great service," Rick said. "He will be a cripple-"
"None the less, I owe him. And his family."
And you've probably paid off that crofter's family, too. "Clan Calder has a worthy chief," Rick said.
"Caradoc, have messengers ride swiftly. Carry my orders to Lady Gwen that Corgarff is to be pardoned. Tell her that a writ will come soon. She is to stay the headsman's ax."
"Aye," Caradoc said.
And you don't approve. But you'll send the fastest man anyway, won't you? There's real loyalty. If there's time to save Corgarff, you'll save him, though you'd rather watch him die.
Pity we don't have working radios. A couple of sets would make a lot of difference. Semaphore? Heliograph? Telegraph towers? We could put those up. Have to think about it. Certainly we could link key points to share messages within a few hours…
And there were a thousand other details, and meetings to hold tonight, now that he'd located the edges of at least one legion. Battles to plan and kingdoms to govern and he hadn't even planted the first stick of surinomaz and Lord how every joint and muscle ached!
But some problems were solved. They held the bridge. There would be no difficulty in linking up with Marselius-indeed, Flaminius might be caught between them. He'd have to fight.
And there were political victories. Clan Calder an ally. Or at least its chief is. The Romans I killed today haven't died to no purpose. There'll be fewer knives aimed at my back, and the longer I live the more I can do on this world- How many get the chance to change the destiny of a whole world? I've been given that chance. Every man who died today will save hundreds over the next few years.
He told himself this as he swung up into the saddle. He would go on telling himself this, until perhaps someday he would believe it. And through it all, he could still hear the small voice in his mind which said, "Rick Galloway, are you sure you're not a coward?"
15
The monontonous beat of the kettledrums ceased. Second Pike Regiment spread forward to stand guard, while Third Pikes began construction of a temporary camp. Roman engineers supervised as the pikemen, assisted by archers, drove stakes and dug ditches.
"Bloody waste of effort," someone muttered behind Rick. One of the Tamaerthan knights.
"It will not be your effort wasted," said another knight. Dwyfyd, Rick thought. Better, though, to pretend he hadn't heard at all.
At least none of the knights was arguing that they ought to dismount and take their ease while the foot soldiers built their camp.
"Aye. We hae learned from the Romans to sleep well at night, knowing we will no be surprised. And that, my lords, is no small thing."
Drumold, of course, Rick thought. But the voice seemed to come from a very long way away. Suddenly he swayed in the saddle***
"My lord."
Rick didn't want to open his eyes. There was a hot smell. Lamp oil. Why would they be burning lamps in the afternoon? He opened one eye. Yellow light. Brown walls. He tried to sit up.
"Stay easy, my lord."
His eyes focussed at last. A young acolyte of Yatar. And Rick was on a cot, in his own tent. It was late enough that lamps were lit.
"Is he awake?" Drumold's voice came from outside.
"Yes, lord. I will go for the priest."
"Do that." Drumold came in to sit next to Rick. "Are ye well, lad?"
"Certainly." He tried to sit up, but his head felt light. "I don't understand what happened-"