'You know, your excellency, I wish I could say stuff like that.'
Toscana A command rang across the parade ground and Will watched the roof of shields disappear as the legionnaires lowered them back to their normal position.
Then, in response to another command, the second and third ranks took a pace backwards. Each man carried a long javelin in addition to the short sword he wore on his right side. Now the men in the rear rank reversed their grip, turned side on and raised the javelins to the throwing position, right arms extended back, the javelins balanced over their right shoulders, aiming upwards at an angle of about forty degrees.
'Azione!'
Thirty-three right arms came forward, thirty-three right legs stepped into the cast and the flight of javelins arced away towards the wooden targets. They were still on their way when the second rank repeated the action, sending another thirty-three projectiles soaring.
There was no individual aim – each man simply cast his weapon at the mass of targets in front of him. Will realised that in a real battle, the optimum distance would be decided by the century commander, who was calling the orders.
The first volley arced up, then pitched down as the heavy iron heads of the javelins overcame the force of the throw. There was a rolling, splintering crash as the javelins hit home. Half of them struck the ground harmlessly. The other half smashed into the light wooden targets, knocking them to the ground. A few seconds later, the second flight arrived, with similar results. Within the space of a few seconds, nearly a third of the hundred targets had been splintered and demolished.
'Interesting,' Halt said softly. Will glanced quickly at him. Halt's face was impassive but Will knew him well. Halt was impressed.
'The first blow is often decisive,' Sapristi told them. 'Warriors who have never fought our legions before are shaken by this sudden devastation.'
'I can imagine,' Selethen said. He was watching keenly and Will guessed that he was imagining those lethal javelins crashing into a company of his light cavalry at full gallop.
'But today, for the sake of demonstration, our "enemy" will be overcome with rage and will go on with the attack,' the general continued.
As he spoke, the wild mass of enemy warriors moved up to the point where the targets had been savaged and splintered. Now they brandished their swords and charged at the wall of shields.
The solid crash as they hit the wall carried clearly to the observers. The front rank swayed a little under the initial impact. Then it steadied and held fast. Looking carefully, Will could see that the second row had closed up and were actually pushing their comrades forward, supporting them against the initial impact of the charge.
The tribesmen's swords flailed in swinging arcs at the big square shields. But for the most part they were ineffective – and they were getting in each other's way. By contrast, the short wooden practice swords of the legionnaires began to flicker in and out like serpents' tongues through narrow gaps in the shield wall, and the observers could hear the shouts of rage and pain from the attackers. The demonstration might be using blunt wooden weapons, but those jabbing impacts would be painful and the legionnaires weren't holding back.
'How can they see?' Will asked. The men in the front rank were crouched low behind the barrier formed by their shields.
'They can't see very well,' Sapristi told him. 'They see an occasional leg or arm or torso through the gaps and they stab out at them. After all, a man hit on the thigh or arm is rendered as ineffective as much as a man stabbed through the chest. Our troops just plough forward, jabbing and stabbing at anything they see on the other side of their shields.'
'That's why your men don't need to be expert swordsmen,' Will said.
The general smiled appreciatively at him. 'That's right. They don't have to learn any advanced techniques of strike and parry and riposte. They just stab and jab with the point of the sword. It's a simple technique to learn and a few centimetres of the point does just as much damage as a wide sweeping blow. Now watch as the second rank add their weight to the advance.'
The perfectly aligned front rank was edging slowly forward, crowding the enemy and forcing them back. Now the second rank suddenly rushed forward, once more adding their weight and impetus to those of the men in front of them, and the extra drive sent the enemy staggering back, buffeted and shoved by the huge shields, jabbed and harassed by the darting short swords. Then, having gained a brief respite, the formation stopped. A long whistle blast rang out and the second rank turned in place so that they stood back-to-back with the front rank. Another signal on the whistle and the front rank pivoted to their left, while the second rank pivoted right. Each pair of men stepped in a small half-circle. Within a few seconds, the front rank had been replaced, all at once, by the fresh men from the second rank. The former front rankers passed back through the third rank, who took their place behind the new front row. The attackers now faced totally fresh opponents, while the former front rank had a chance to recover and redress their losses.
'That's brilliant,' Will said.
Sapristi nodded at him. 'It's drill and co-ordination,' he said. 'Our men don't need to be expert swordmasters. That takes a lifetime of training. They need to be drilled and to work as a team. Even a relatively unskilled warrior can be effective in these conditions. And it doesn't take long to learn.'
'Which is why you can maintain such a large army,' Halt said.
Sapristi switched his gaze to the older Ranger. 'Exactly,' he replied. Most countries maintained a relatively small standing force of expert warriors as the core of their army, calling on less-skilled men at arms to fill out the numbers in time of war. The Toscans, however, needing to maintain order in their spreading empire, had to have a large permanent army on call at all times.
Selethen fingered his chin thoughtfully. His left hand had strayed unconsciously to the hilt of his sabre as he watched. Sapristi glanced at him, pleased to see that the demonstration had had a sobering effect on the Arridi leader. It didn't hurt, Sapristi thought, for Toscana's new ally to appreciate the might of the Toscan legions.
'Let's go and take a look at the results,' Sapristi said. He rose and led the way down from the reviewing platform to the parade ground, where the two forces, the demonstration now complete, had drawn apart. The legionnaires still stood in their measured rows. The attacking force milled about in a loose group.
'We had the practice swords dipped in fresh paint, so we could measure results,' Sapristi told them. He led the way to the enemy group. As they drew closer, Halt and Will could see arms, legs, torsos, necks spattered with red blotches. The marks were testimony to the number of times the legionnaires' wooden swords had found their mark.
The attackers' longer swords had been coated with white paint. Looking now, the Araluans could see only occasional evidence that these swords had struck home. There were criss-cross patterns and random splotches of white on the shields and some of the brass helmets of the legionnaires, but the majority of men in the century were unscathed.
'Very effective,' Selethen told the general. 'Very effective indeed.' Already, his agile mind was at work, figuring ways to counteract a force of heavy infantry such as this.
Halt was obviously having similar thoughts. 'Of course, you've chosen perfect conditions for heavy infantry here,' he said, sweeping an arm around the flat, open parade ground. 'In more constricted country, like forest land, you wouldn't be able to manoeuvre so efficiently.'
Sapristi nodded in acknowledgement. 'True,' he said. 'But we choose our battlefields and let the enemy come to us. If they don't, we simply invade their lands. Sooner or later, they have to face us in battle.'
Will had wandered away from the group and was studying one of the javelins. It was a crude weapon, he saw. The square wooden shaft was only roughly shaped – just a very ordinary, minimally dressed piece of hardwood. The point was equally utilitarian. It was a thick rod of soft iron, about half a metre long, hammered flat at the end and sharpened into a barbed point. A groove had been cut down one side of the shaft and the head had been slotted into it and bound in place with brass wire.