Down in the courtyard, now, in addition to the drums, there were soundings on the Pani’s conch horns.
I made my way down to the courtyard, to welcome the returning troops, or, I trusted, the vanguard.
The plateau gate, the trail of which led most directly to the largest of the villages below, was swung open. I could then see, beyond it, the other two gates, already opened. I could see the tops of banners, approaching, up the trail, then helmets, then men. Blasts were blown on the conch horns. Drums rolled bravely. We in the courtyard moved to the sides, to clear a passage for the column.
None of the high Pani came to greet the column.
Several men began to cheer, but were then quiet.
The drums were silent; so too, the conch horns, or trumpets.
“Where are the trophies?” asked a man.
“Where are the women?” asked another.
The column, preceded by its bannermen, in rows of four, entered the courtyard.
The marchers were weary.
Given the Ahn, I feared they had marched all night.
They were drawn, and haggard, perhaps thirsting, perhaps hungry. Some men staggered, and some limped. Some men were aided by others. We saw some borne on litters. Many were in soiled, rent garments. Some wore bandages. A number were bloodied.
“How far behind is the column?” I inquired of a marcher.
He looked at me, vacantly, not responding.
Beside me now were Philoctetes, Aeacus, and Tereus.
“How far behind is the column?” I asked a second fellow.
“This is the column,” he said, not looking at me.
“No speaking!” warned a Pani warrior, within, directing the bannermen, and their attendant troops, to follow him, away from the castle.
Turgus now joined me, come down from the parapet.
“There were a hundred Pani,” I said. “I see almost none.”
“Gone,” said Turgus.
“There were four hundred armsmen,” I said. “I do not think more than a hundred returned.”
“The force, obviously,” said Turgus, “was cut to pieces.”
“I saw no Pani officers,” I said.
“Probably most died in battle,” said Turgus. “Others, I suspect, would not return and face Lord Temmu.”
“They fled?” I said.
“That is not likely,” said Turgus.
“Captured?” I said.
“I do not think so,” said Turgus.
“What then?” I asked.
“It has to do with honor,” he said.
“It is no disgrace to be defeated in battle,” I said, “if one is outfought, if one has done one’s best.”
“I agree,” he said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“We are not Pani,” he said.
The first gate was then shut, and then the second, and then that near us.
“I do not think we will soon march,” said Philoctetes.
“The village below,” I said, “has been abandoned.”
“It is likely to be burned,” said Aeacus.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“I spoke to a fellow, who spoke to one, lower on the trail,” said Aeacus. “The enemy is moving toward us.”
“In what strength?” I asked.
“I do not think we know,” said Philoctetes.
“It is speculated,” said Aeacus, “that it is between five and seven thousand ashigaru.”
“I would guess,” said Philoctetes, “that the exploratory force encountered little more than its vanguard.”
“We would then, I conjecture,” I said, “be much outnumbered.”
“Yes,” said Aeacus.
I supposed Lord Temmu, who had furnished the hundred Pani who marched with the exploratory force, had some two thousand troops on which he might rely, most housed within the castle grounds. Lords Nishida and Okimoto, as I estimated their warriors, had some three hundred and fifty men. Of armsmen and mariners, I supposed we retained some eleven hundred men, after the apparent debacle of the exploratory force. All in all, as far as I could estimate these things, we must have something less than thirty-five hundred men at arms. Peasants might be impressed as ashigaru, but, I suspected, from what I had seen earlier, many of the local peasants might have left their villages and fields, and withdrawn to the mountains. We did have some one hundred and forty tarns back in the mountains, with their riders and auxiliary personnel. Whatever might be the initial psychological impact of the tarn on those unfamiliar with its form of life, it would be only a matter of time before it became clear to the enemy that the tarn, however formidable, was a natural creature, limited, and mortal, nothing dreadfully mysterious, no unnatural and inexplicable dragon bird, sprung from the clouds, gifted with the ability to blight fields, towns, and armies. Too, whereas a tarn cavalry can acquire intelligence, strike unexpectedly, cut supply lines, and such, it is of limited value against a distributed land force. In this way it differs from the crashing thunder of a tharlarion charge, or the swift attack of kaiila-mounted lancers.
“How close,” asked Tereus of Aeacus, “is the enemy?”
“One gathers,” said Aeacus, “its sighting may be imminent.”
“Not necessarily,” said Turgus.
“How so?” said Aeacus.
“I have learned,” said Turgus, “from Lord Nishida, that this holding can withstand a siege of thousands, and has done so more than once.”
“So?” said Aeacus.
“Thus I see no rush to be upon us,” said Turgus.
“But the enemy is advancing,” said Tereus.
“Yes,” said Turgus.
“We will be penned here,” said Tereus. “Waiting to be stormed, or to die, of thirst or starvation.”
“The castle is equipped, of course,” said Turgus, “with reservoirs, and supplies.”
“We are muchly outnumbered,” said Tereus. “Many will see little to be gained by huddling together in this place, without prospects.”
“We are not Pani,” said Aeacus.
“There is honor to be satisfied,” I said. “Many of these men have taken fee.”
“This is not our war, and not our country,” said Aeacus.
“Fee has been taken,” I said.
“I smell smoke,” said Philoctetes.
“The village,” said Tereus.
He looked across the courtyard, where Seremides, seeing him, quickly, awkwardly, hobbled away.
Tereus’ hand went to the dagger at his belt.
He doubtless remembered Thoas and Andros, and Aeson.
At this point, a Pani crier began to cry out. A set of feasts were to be prepared, served in dozens of rooms, and barracks, and in the courtyard, at long tables, celebrating the victory of the exploratory force. I heard then the roll of drums once more, and the soundings of conch trumpets.
“It seems,” said Turgus, “victory is ours.”
“What victory?” said Philoctetes.
“The return of the exploratory force, some of it,” laughed Tereus, and then he turned away from us.
I watched, to make certain he did not follow Seremides.
“Slaves will serve the feast, will they not?” asked Aeacus.
“One supposes so,” I said.
“They are likely to know nothing of what has occurred,” said Philoctetes.
“They will see it as a victory feast,” said Aeacus.
“I suppose so,” I said.
“I hope they will have tarsk,” said a man.
I hoped that, too, as I was growing weary of rice and parsit. The Pani do raise tarsk, verr, and, of course, vulos.
“Perhaps they will break out paga,” I said.
Some had been brought to the castle from the ship.
“Let us have a good time,” said Turgus.
“Let us commemorate the beginning of a siege,” laughed Aeacus, lifting his hand, as though it held a goblet.
“And,” said a man, “let us celebrate the inviolability of the holding of dear Lord Temmu, and rejoice in our safety and security.”
“Surely we dare not meet the enemy in the field,” said a fellow.
“No,” said Turgus.
“Excellent,” he said. “So we will feast aplenty, and drink apace, whilst the enemy, should he invest this place, may freeze, wither, and starve.”
“How long might a siege last?” asked Aeacus.