"He will burn the crops," Rick said.
"How can he?" Marselius demanded. "His own troops won't let him. Nor will Flaminius. Nor will the Church. He can't burn himself out. No. We march on, and when he attacks, we've got him."
Or he's got us, Rick thought, but there was no point in saying that. How did it go?
On foot shuld all Scottis weire,
By hyll and mosse themselffs to reare.
Let wood for walls be bow and spear,
That enemies do them na dare.
In strait places gar keep all store,
And hymen ye planeland them before,
Then shall they pass away in haist,
What that they find na thing but waist.
With wiles and waykings in the night,
And meikill noyse maid on hyte,
Them shall ye turnen with great affrai,
As they were chassit with sword away.
This is the counsel and intent
Of gud King Robert's testiment.
But Flaminius couldn't possibly have heard of Robert the Bruce. Or could he?
Two days march were two days of agony for Rick. His ankle remained swollen, so that he could not stand in the stirrups. He recalled the ancient joke, a cavalry manuaclass="underline" Forty Miles in the Saddle, by Major Assburns. It took on new meaning with each mile.
But I can't lead from a wagon, he thought. Though I'm going to have to, if this keeps up.
They marched onward into Flaminius's territory; and the deeper they went, the hungrier they were. Despite Marselius's certainties, the land had been laid waste; there was little or nothing to eat. All food and stores had been carried away, and the fields burned.
They grew weaker in other ways, too. For every recruit they collected, they had to leave two men behind as garrison. They had, when they began, three legions of cataphracti, two veteran and one militia, and two cohorts of Roman pikemen, nowhere near the standards of Rick's veterans. Now one of the legions was under strength, and there was only one cohort of Roman pikes.
They had also begun with three cohorts of cohortes equitatae, a mixed force of two light-armed infantrymen for each light cavalryman. The infantrymen ran alongside the cavalry, supporting themselves by holding the horse's mane so that they could keep up. An excellent idea in theory; Rick wondered how well trained they were. However good, there were only two cohorts of those now; the third was left to guard the crossing of the River Pydnae.
The whole Roman army wasn't much larger than Rick's force; while Flaminius was said to have five legions, three of them veterans, as well as numerous militia and auxiliaries.
"My lord."
Rick looked up to see one of his cavalry officers. "Yes?"
"Five stadia ahead, lord. There is a villa. It will not open its gates to us."
Rick frowned. "Yes?"
"My lord, Balquhain wished to batter down the gates, but Lord Drumold sent me to find you. Lord, the villa is defended only by women and loyal slaves. Balquhain told them to surrender or they would be given to the soldiers. They slammed the gates in his face. Then Lords Drumold and Caradoc came."
"I see. Go and tell Drumold I'll be there as soon as I can." He looked back down the road. Art Mason and Jamiy were close behind. Jamiy's arm was bound in a tight sling against his chest. Wearily Rick waved them forward and spurred his horse to a fast trot. The result was agony.
And I can't tell anyone what my problem is…
"Surrender in the name of Marselius Caesar," Rick shouted.
"My lady says that she will never open her gates to barbarians."
Was that an intentional pun? The double meaning was obvious, but it certainly wasn't intended to be humorous. And undoubtedly it expressed the deepest fears of the matron who guarded that villa.
"We need Tylara here," Rick said.
Drumold nodded. "Aye. You see now why I sent for you."
"Yes. There's little honor in victory over women. But a damn good chance of an incident worth more to Flaminius than a new legion."
"So I have told my son," Drumold muttered.
Baiquhain bowed his head. "Aye. I see that now. I was a fool."
First damn sign of wisdom I've seen from you, Rick thought. But no time for that now. "Mason, bring up the one-oh-six."
"You have a plan?" Balquhain asked.
"Yes. You're part of it." Part of it now, anyway. "Listen…"
"Fire in the hole!" Reznick shouted. The 106 recoilless blasted in fire; the shell smashed against the stout gates of the villa.
The instant the larger weapon fired, Rick and Mason fired concussion grenades from the grenade launchers on their H amp;K rifles. The grenades went over the wall to explode inside the courtyard beyond.
At the same moment, Baiquhain, Caradoc, and ten other picked Guardsmen rode to the gate. They flung themselves off their mounts. The gates sagged on their hinges; four men hit them at once, and the topmost hinge of one gave way. They scrambled into the villa.
Rick rode up behind them, and painfully climbed inside the ruined gate. "My ladies!" he shouted. "You see we have broached your defense. Yet only officers stand in your courtyard. My army stays outside. You will not be harmed. Come out, in the name of Marselius Caesar-"
Caradoc and two Guardsmen brought over prisoners from the outer wall; two young men, obviously slaves, and another, no more than ten. The boy struggled, but could not move in Caradoc's grip.
The villa door opened, and a woman about thirty-five ran out. "Rutilius!" she screamed.
Rick nodded in satisfaction. That's one victory I can be proud of. Why can't they all be like that?
It was late in the day, and Rick made camp at the villa. Only his officers were permitted inside; and before they entered, Rick asked formal permission from the mistress of the household.
"You will be paid for what we consume," Rick told her. "We are allies to a lawful Caesar, not conquerors."
She shrugged and gave a bitter laugh. "There's little enough to consume."
Her name was Aemelia, and her husband, Marcus Trebius, was an officer in Flaminius's army. She didn't know if he was alive or dead; but three days before, Titus Frugi's soldiers had stripped her villa of every able-bodied slave and freedman. They had also taken nearly all her food, and burned what was left.
"You seem to bear little love for Flaminius," Rick said.
"I have little."
"Then why did you not surrender to Marselius?"
"You are not Marselius," she said.
"Ah. My barbarians-"
She blushed. "We were told-told that it would be far better to fall into the hands of Publius than among the barbarians."
"Ah. Meaning-"
"That Publius asks," she said. "But I wronged you. I-thank you. For saving my son. For sparing my home." She came and stood near him. "Welcome, to my home and hearth…"
"Captain…"
What the hell? Aemelia moved next to him in the dark. She was tense with fear.
"Captain."
The voice was Mason's. Out in the hall. Quickly Rick rose and went through the connecting door to the other room. He pulled on a robe and opened the door. "Here. What is it?"
"Messenger, Captain. From Marselius. Said it was too important to wait until morning."
"I'll come-"
"Armor, Captain. I'll help you-"
"Give me five minutes," Rick said wearily. "Then come help." And just how close a friend to Tylara are you?
Lucius, Marselius's trusted freedman, stood in the library of the villa. Drumold, Elliot, Balquhain, Caradoc, and a dozen other officers waited with him.
"Hail, Lord Rick."
"Hail, Lucius. You bring a message from Caesar. It must be that you have found Flaminius's main army."
"Yes. No more than forty stadia. Some march toward us. Their light cavalry are everywhere-"
Rick bent over the maps. "Good territory for it. They'll be trying to circle past us, get some behind and some ahead. With more troops strung along this ridge above our line of march."