Ichiro was now high overhead.
I dismounted, and ran across the plaza of training, toward the observation platform.
In a moment I was at the foot of the platform.
The figure who had been in white, a white of dignity, and a color that stood out amongst the others on the platform, was lying on the platform, his head in the arms of one of the Ashigaru. An arrow was lodged in his shoulder, and the white kimono was spotted there with blood. The missile, of course, as it closes its own wound, does not produce blood in the same way that a wound opened by a knife, or blade or some sort, would. The blood flows when the missile is withdrawn. One of the Pani, a wound dresser, crouched over the fallen figure.
What an admirable target would have been the white kimono on the observation platform!
To be sure, it would have been a difficult target from tarnback, with the short bow, for one of my men, given the distance. It would have been a much more likely target for a stationary archer, armed with the peasant bow. But even then it would not have been a sure kill, across much of the plaza of training.
I heard a cry of misery from the platform, and the wound dresser stood up, the bloodied arrow in his grasp, held with two hands.
There would now be a great deal of blood, which must be stanched.
It was even now on the platform.
I could not well see the features of the fallen figure, for the men crowding about.
They would allow the wound to bleed, briefly, to wash it out.
In a few moments one of the fellows about was pressing the kimono down to the wound.
“He will live,” said the wound dresser. “Bring a panel. Place him upon it. Take him to the barracks.”
“I do not understand,” I said to a fellow beside me. “Should Lord Nishida not be taken to his pavilion?”
“Lord Nishida, of course,” said the fellow, “would be taken to his pavilion.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“It is not Lord Nishida,” said the man.
I looked about. To one side I saw Lord Nishida. He was dressed much as others, who had been on the platform.
“Tal, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida.
“Lord Nishida!” I said.
“The exercise,” he said, “seemed to go well, though my eye is not practiced in such matters. What is your view?”
“The men are raw, but eager,” I said. “But they are growing in discipline, and skill.”
“Excellent,” he said.
“I thought you were struck,” I said.
“He who fled will think so, too,” he said.
“I set two aflight on his track,” I said.
“Not a twenty?” he asked.
“Those two would be sufficient,” I said.
“Excellent,” he said.
“Tajima and Pertinax,” I said.
“Pertinax?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “He is becoming a man.”
“Excellent,” said Lord Nishida. “We will need men.”
I did not inquire further into his remark, but I took it that by men, he meant something beyond mere males, that he meant men.
“But I do not think they will overtake him,” I said.
“Let us hope not,” he said. “For I should like others to believe his mission was successful.”
“I see,” I said.
“It is important, of course, that the assailant believes himself to be earnestly pursued.”
“I understand,” I said.
“I have many spies, in many places,” said Lord Nishida.
“One must have maps, one must have eyes,” I said.
The importance of intelligence cannot be overestimated. It is a quiet business, without drums and trumpets, less apparent to the eye than wagons, bellowing tharlarion, the dust of marching columns, trains of cordaged artillery drawn through mud, and such, but I think it not less essential.
Information is essential to war.
The intellect of battle must guide its brawn.
How much of war is mind, how futile without it is its muscle!
It had not been Lord Nishida on the platform, in the white kimono.
Is not deception another name for war?
There are men, and cities, which gold can buy. Thus it is noted in the “Diaries,” usually attributed to Carl Commenius of Argentum. Similar sayings are not unknown. “The sharpest of swords has an edge of gold.” “More gates answer to a key of gold than one of iron.” “What can be purchased with gold need not be bought with blood.” And so on.
There are always jealousies, resentments, hatreds, and factions in cities, and the clever will exploit them to his own advantage.
Much will be sacrificed by many for position and power.
How often are Home Stones betrayed!
I thought of Ar.
Lord Nishida, I did not doubt, was well aware of the nature of men. I wondered if he were well aware of my nature, perhaps more so than I. One stands close to one’s self. How can the eye see itself, and even in water, or burnished plates, or bright mirrors, it sees but an image of itself, and who knows what lies behind it?
“Tarnsmen,” said Lord Nishida, “have been recruited from better than two dozen cities.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“If the commander of an army had fallen,” said Lord Nishida, “would that not be an ideal time to attack?”
“Surely,” I said, and shuddered.
At that moment, from high above, I heard the war horn of Ichiro, signaling the alarm, and then the signal to mount.
In the distance, far off, coming from the south, it seemed a cloud had formed, obscure, uncertain, at first, and then swift and dark, and then, in a moment or two, it seemed the cloud might be a flight of insects, a dark swarm, a plague of predators.
I did not wait, but raced toward the cavalry. Torgus and Lysander had already marshaled it, and the first birds, in line, were already climbing.
Two tarns, returning, those of Tajima and Pertinax, ahead of the swarm, streaked overhead, and then turned, to take their place in the ascending formation.
Again and again Ichiro sounded the alarm.
I seized the mounting ladder of my tarn, hastened to the saddle, strung the ladder, fastened the safety strap, and yanked back on the one-strap, and, in a moment, the field of the training plaza, with its numerous, riddled targets, was falling away, beneath me.