"— come so near men," Foley finished for him. "Except when we make it safe for them by killing each other off."
Which happened fairly often: one reason why it was so easy for land to slip back into barbarism. Once a tipping-point of reduced population was reached the native wildlife was impossible to keep down. How anyone could think that the Spirit of Man was of this Earth was beyond him, when Man was so obviously unsuited to living here. It probably wasn't the time for a theological controversy, though.
"Thank you," the older man said. He inclined his head toward his men, most of them too exhausted even to run when the carnosaur appeared.
"Danad," Foley said in his native tongue: it's nothing.
Witton took a deep breath, coughed, and began: "Ingreid's got about-"
* * *
"Ser," Antin M'lewis said. " 'Bout six thousand of 'em, workin' ter ourn left, through thet swamp."
Raj nodded, looking southeast. The main force of the Brigade host had shaken itself out into battle formation, although that had taken most of the morning. The countryside here was almost tabletop flat, planted in grain where it wasn't marsh. There were still an intimidating number of the enemy, stretching in regular blocks from one end of sight to another, but they were advancing very slowly. Noon sun cast back eye-hurting flickers from edged metal and banners, but there was a tattered look to the enemy formations even at this distance.
"Is it my imagination," Gerrin said, focusing his binoculars, "or are they even slower than usual?"
"One-third of them aren't mounted any more," Raj replied.
They both grimaced; scouts had found charred dog-bones in the Brigaderos' campfires, the last couple of days. That was not quite cannibalism, but fairly close for a nobleman bred to the saddle. The enemy might be barbarians, but they were gentlemen of a sort. It probably came no easier to them than it would to either of the Descotters, or to any Messer.
"Well, we've cost them a day," Gerrin said.
"Indeed. Grammeck, stand ready to give them a quick three-round stonk when they get in range, then pull out.
"Jorg." Raj raised his voice slightly; Menyez was on his long-legged riding steer, and the beast liked dogs no better than its master. "Get the infantry back, mounted and moving."
"We'll backpedal?" Staenbridge said.
Raj shook his head. "Take the cavalry, loop over and have a slap at that flanking column," he said. "M'lewis, you and the Forty Thieves accompany. We'll cover your flank. Don't push unless you take them by surprise; if you do, run them into the marsh."
Gerrin nodded, tapping on his gauntlets and watching the Brigade army. "Maybe it's my classical education," he said, "but don't you get a sort of unfulfilled feeling at winding up a campaign without a grand climactic battle?"
"I certainly think Ingreid would like to go out in a blaze of glory rather than lose to runny guts and no rations," Raj said. "Personally, it's my ambition to set a new standard someday by winning an entire war without ever actually fighting. This one, you'll note, is not over yet."
The five thousand Civil Government troops along the gunline stood, turned and marched smartly to the rear as the trumpets blared. They were not exactly on a ridge, this terrain didn't have anything worthy of the name, but there was a very slight swelling. Enough to hide the fact that they'd mounted and ridden off, rather than just countermarching and ready to reappear as they'd done half a dozen times.
"And it's only another week to Carson Barracks," Raj said.
"Ten days, if Ingreid doesn't speed up," Gerrin replied. "See you at sundown, mi heneral."
Raj stood for a moment, looking at the advancing army. Waste, he thought. What a bloody waste.
He didn't hate Ingreid Manfrond for resisting. Raj Whitehall knew that it was absolutely necessary to reunite Bellevue, but the Brigaderos didn't have his information. You couldn't blame the Brigade's ruler for wanting to defend his people and hang onto his position. It was the man's sheer lack of workmanship that offended Raj.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"General."
Cabot Clerett's salute was precise. Raj returned the gesture.
"Colonel."
They walked into the tent and sat, waiting silently while the orderly set out watered wine.
"A first-class encampment," Raj said.
It was: right at the edge of the causeway that carried road and railway to Carson Barracks, and hence commanding the canal as well. Clerett had dug the usual pentagonal fort with ditch and bastions, but he'd worked a small Brigadero fort into one wall, making the position very strong. It smelled dismally of swamp and the stingbugs were something fierce, but the men and dogs were neatly encamped, drainage ditches and latrines dug, purifying vats set up for drinking water. He'd made it larger than necessary, too; with some outlying breastworks, it would do for the whole force at a pinch and as long as they didn't have to stay too long.
"However, Ingreid should be here in about a day or so," Raj went on.
Cabot leaned forward. The past few months had fined down his face and added wrinkles to it as well; he looked older than his years now, stronger, more certain of himself.
Not without justification, Raj thought grudgingly. It had been a daredevil campaign, but apart from the recklessness of the concept quite skillfully managed. The man could command.
"And we're between him and his capital!" Clerett said, striking the table with his fist. The clay cups skittered on the rough planks of the trestle, which looked as if they'd been salvaged from some local stable. "We've got him trapped."
"Well, that's one way of looking at it," Raj nodded. "Or you might say that he'll have us between his field army and the garrison of Carson Barracks, who together outnumber us by about five to one."
Clerett's hand clenched on the table. "I consider it absolutely essential," he said, his voice a little higher, "to maintain my force in its present position. If Ingreid gets behind the fortifications of Carson Barracks, he can bring supplies in through the swamp channels, or move troops out-it could take years to complete this conquest if we were to allow that."
"Reconquest," Raj said, sipping some of the sour wine and looking out the open flap of the tent. "It's a reconquest."
The sun was setting over the swamps, red light on the clouds along the horizon, shadow on the tall feathery-topped reeds. The milk-white fronds dipped and billowed across the huge marsh, tinged with blood-crimson. Above them the sky was darkening to purple.
"You consider it absolutely essential?" he went on. Clerett nodded curtly, and Raj smiled. "Well, then it's fortunate I agree with you, isn't it, Colonel?"
Clerett nodded again, looking away. He still needed to do that, not experienced enough to hide his expression completely. "I've been in correspondence with Marie Manfrond-Marie Welf, she prefers-since I got here last week," he said neutrally.
"Excellent; so have I. Or rather, so has Lady Whitehall."
"Suz-Lady Whitehall is here?" Clerett asked. His hand tightened on the cup.
"Indeed. So we're aware of the supply situation in Carson Barracks." And I hope she's not aware of dissension in our ranks, Raj added to himself. Maintaining psychological dominance over a proud and intelligent barbarian like Ingreid's unwilling wife was difficult enough.
Clerett cleared his throat. "What about Ingreid? I've got about a week's supplies."
"I've got three days. Ingreid doesn't have a supply situation. . but he's a stubborn fellow, and he may be learning. We wouldn't want to have him move north up the Padan and entrench in Empirhado or one of the riverport towns."