Poliorcis thought for a while. ‘One thing I’m sure about,’ he said, ‘you’re an interesting man. And if there’s one thing the Sons of Heaven are interested in, it’s interesting people. But let’s think this through, shall we? With all due respect, we already have all the military resources we need. When we first met, you were talking about archers, how we don’t have enough. The fact is, we do. We have whole nations of archers in the Empire – longbow, short recurve, long recurve, horse archers, crossbowmen, you name it. Our factories can deliver twenty thousand bows and two hundred thousand arrows a week, all made to specification, identical, though the factories might be a thousand miles apart. So really, we don’t need any more archers. Now, you’ve told me why you feel you need to fight this war. Let me tell you why we’re fighting it. We have more regular full-time soldiers than there are men, women and children in all of Shastel and the Island and Colleon and Perimadeia and all the other places you’ve ever heard of put together. We built that army so that nobody – nobody – could ever be a threat to us. Between the Sons of Heaven and the remotest possibility of danger there’s a wall of steel and muscle so thick that nothing on earth could ever break through it. If the ground suddenly opened and swallowed our homeland up, we could fill the hole with human bodies and rebuild our homes on top of them. No, we make war because we need to find our army something to do, to keep them from getting bored and restive and out of shape; so you see, we really don’t want anybody else fighting our battles for us – it’d defeat the whole object of the exercise. I’m sorry, but there it is. I can’t help you.’
Gorgas nodded slowly, as if he’d just had a difficult calculation explained to him. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘And sooner or later you’ll come here, walking the dog, so to speak; and it’d be embarrassing for you to be seen to pick a fight with people you once treated as friends and allies. That’s sound enough reasoning, I can accept that. But it doesn’t solve my problem. Poliorcis, I’m asking you because you’re the expert: how can we arrange it so that you get what you want, this pirate of yours, and I get what I need? There has to be a way. All we’ve got to do is figure out what it is.’
Poliorcis frowned. ‘I must say,’ he said, ‘you’re dealing with the news of your impending conquest and subjugation very well. Most people would probably have got angry, or frightened.’
‘Pointless,’ Gorgas said. ‘You weren’t telling me anything I didn’t know. It’s obvious enough; you said it yourself, that’s one of the reasons I wanted the alliance. But you’re too smart for me, and I accept that; there’s still no reason why we can’t put our heads together and find a way of making the inevitable a little bit less painful than it’ll otherwise be. Flexibility. Realism. That’s what it’s all about.’ He bit his lip, then clapped his hands together so loudly that Poliorcis jumped. ‘I know,’ Gorgas went on. ‘I know exactly what we can do. I hereby surrender the Mesoge to the Empire, and throw myself and my people on your mercy.’ He smiled beautifully. ‘And as a gesture of goodwill, it’d be really appreciated if we could take our place as auxiliary soldiers in your expeditionary force against Temrai. There, doesn’t that cover everything beautifully?’
It had been a long time since Poliorcis had been shocked by anything, and he wasn’t sure he remembered how to deal with it. ‘You’re joking,’ he said.
Gorgas shook his head. ‘No, I’m not,’ he said. ‘I’m practising what I preach. I’m sparing my people the horrors of a war we could never hope to win, and getting to pay my debt off at the same time. If you want me to abdicate, I will – well, look, you can see for yourself, I’m not exactly comfortable as a military dictator. All I want to do once I’ve settled that old score is to live here and work my farm; I’m sure the provincial office won’t mind me doing that. Now then, you think of the advantages; think of Tornoys and the Mesoge as a base for your conquests in this region, how much easier it’ll make it to pick off the neighbouring states one by one. Think of what it’ll mean to you personally – you came here to get a rebel, you succeed, and you take home a new province for the Empire into the bargain. Can you possibly imagine a better outcome? Well?’
It was the enthusiasm, above all; the waggy-tailed-dog boisterousness of the man. It was almost more than Poliorcis could bear. But, ‘No,’ he replied, ‘I can’t say that I can. Well, you’ve certainly given me a lot to think about. Will it be all right if I rest here tonight and start for home in the morning?’
Gorgas gave him a smile as big and bright as sunrise. ‘Whatever you say,’ he replied. ‘After all, you’re the boss.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They woke Temrai up in the middle of the night to tell him the news. The messenger had ridden all the way from the battlefield to the camp beside Perimadeia; he was exhausted, and his boots were full of blood from the halberd cut in his groin. Chances were he’d be dead by morning.
Temrai woke up in a panic, grabbing wildly at the covers and wrenching his damaged knee. They told him it was all right, there was nothing to worry about; then they brought in the messenger, all bloody, hanging off the shoulders of two men. Temrai was still groggy with sleep and shocked by the pain in his leg, and he couldn’t quite make out everything the dying man was saying; he heard words like ambush and seventy per cent casualties and driven back in disorder and hit again before they could regroup. It was only when Kurrai started chattering excitedly about making the most of the opportunity and following up with a massive counter-attack that Temrai realised he’d just been told about a substantial victory, not a catastrophic defeat.
‘We won,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ll be damned. So how did that happen?’
By this time the messenger had passed out; they took him away and wrapped him in blankets, and he died just after dawn. Instead, Temrai heard the story from Kurrai, with the added benefit of the general’s strategic and tactical insights.
It had all started when the Imperial army, carefully mopping up after their victory in which Temrai had been hurt, stumbled across a small party of plains renegades who’d been running from Temrai’s men ever since their side had lost the civil war. To the provincial office, however, plainsmen were plainsmen. Their cavalry chased the renegades, pinned them down in a high-sided canyon and sent for substantial infantry reinforcements.
It was hot and dusty; there was water in the bottom of the canyon, where the renegades were, but not higher up, where the Imperial stakeout was settling in. The messenger sent to the Imperial field HQ made a point of stressing the urgency, and a column of just under two thousand men, led by a Son of Heaven, set out the same day.
Their own remarkable stamina and fitness caught them out. If they’d been slower, or not following the optimum route, it’s unlikely that they’d have run into Temrai’s reserve mounted infantry, who’d broken, run and been cut off from the rest of the army at an early stage in the first battle and had only just managed to find their way out of Imperial territory. The two forces coincided in a valley between a forest and a river, and purely by chance the plainsmen found themselves in a position that gave them an overwhelming tactical advantage. The Imperial infantry were hemmed in by the river, which was in spate and impassable; a bend in the river closed off one of the plainsmen’s flanks, the forest masked the other. The Imperial commander was left with a choice between sitting still and being pecked to death by hit-and-run attacks from the enemy archers or mounting a direct frontal assault against volley fire. Basing his decision on the superior quality of his men’s armour, he opted for the assault.
In his defence, the other option would probably have been equally disastrous. Doubtful, though, that this was much consolation, as he watched his advancing lines crumple up, like flawed metal under the hammer. After four detachments had failed to get within seventy-five yards of the enemy before collapsing in a tangle of metal and bodies, he fell back on the river in the wild hope that he might prompt the plainsmen to charge and give away their advantage. It didn’t work. The plainsmen held their position and sent out small parties to harass and disorganise the men on either flank. Eventually, in spite of all their training and discipline, the Imperial soldiers started to edge away from the attacks towards the perceived safety of the centre, opening gaps between themselves and the river bank wide enough for a sudden encircling rush. With mobile archers now surrounding them on all four sides, all they could do was huddle behind their shields and watch the arrows slant in at them. They made a few half-hearted attempts at sorties to break through the cordon, but it was pointless; the archers in front drew back as they approached, while those behind closed in, and the sortie parties were shot down before they could lumber more than a few yards.