It was a gargantuan task, and it was accompanied by the sustained cursing of the wet, cold men who struggled in waist-deep water to dislodge and roll the obdurate river rocks, which created new chaos as they incessantly changed the force and direction of the waters crashing against them. The job was accomplished in something under three hours, and by shortly after noon the wagons had all been safely manhandled to the opposite bank, each vehicle carefully harnessed by ropes to stop it from tipping or being overturned by the force of the water.
When it was done, Uther allowed his weary workers no respite but harangued them into motion again, regrouping them and marching them out while their clothing was still soaked. The delay had cost them dearly, for the enemy had made good use of the time and was now numerically far stronger and more concentrated than they had been before. Many of them had crossed the stream above or below Uther's crossing point and had circled inward in the hope of gaining an advantage by waiting on the far side. Only the arm-long arrows loosed by the Pendragon bows had kept them safely at a distance.
For the rest of that day, Uther kept his army moving at forced- march pace, hating the necessity of driving them so hard. The infantry had trained for this for years and, if anything, they bore the pace as well as the cavalry, who proceeded constantly at the walk and the trot, easy gaits for the horses to maintain. The sustained trotting, however, was punitive for the mounted troopers, whose bodies were continually jarred by the awkward rhythm of their jogging mounts, and there was loud muttering and cursing among the saddle-sore men each time they paused to rest the horses. It was the draught horses, pulling the heavy commissary wagons, that suffered most on the long haul, for their burdens were enormous and the constant demands of pulling them made serious inroads into their strength and stamina. But as the miles fell steadily behind the column, so too did the Erse enemy, who lacked the discipline necessary for such sustained effort.
Then, when they had travelled almost sixteen miles, they came to another wide stream, this one shallow and sandy-bottomed, offering them little difficulty in crossing. They had seen no signs of hostile activity for several hours by then, and their scouts had been searching actively for more than an hour for a suitable camping spot where the army could spend the coming night. The column was passing between the first two hills, which were low and covered with small trees, when the scouts brought back word that they had found a suitable spot, less than a mile ahead: an enormous, almost flat meadow, close to a mile in length and half as wide, at the base of a shallow bowl formed by the flanks of four hills.
Dedalus was riding at Uther's side, slightly ahead of the main command party, muttering darkly about how he hated hills and hated even more being on the low ground among them, when the narrow valley in which they were riding opened up to the southward and revealed the proposed camping ground. Uther sat up straight as soon as he saw the place, and his eyes went immediately to the flanks of the westernmost hill, which were bare of trees and broken by two long, strangely formed outcrops of craggy stone that arched outward from a common height and stretched all the way to the bottom of the hill on both sides, forming a pair of crude but protective walls that embraced the main width of the valley to the southwest and were at least a hundred paces apart at the base of the hill. Staring at the place, assessing its potential for defence, he saw the distinct line of a plateau of some kind less than a third of the way up the gently sloping hillside, just above the point where the stone outcrops emerged from a common fault. Above the plateau, the trees resumed again, covering the crest.
"There," he said, pointing it out to Dedalus. "If that level area up there is deep enough, we can command the field and fight here. Get the wagons up there somehow, and they'll be safe. It doesn't look too steep. Cavalry halfway up on both sides above those stone cliff outcrops, so they can cover the field wherever they're needed. Bowmen on the plateau there with a wide, clear field of fire. Infantry in front at the bottom, protected by the cliffs on either side."
Dedalus nodded. "Aye, if it's deep enough, as you say. But is it?"
"Looks deep enough from here. If it's as little as thirty paces, front to back, we can use it. If I'm right, then once we're installed there, anyone who wants us will have to come to us. We'll be able to see them coming and greet them properly, on our terms. Those cliff walls are widespread enough at the lower ends to let us attack outward, but they're high enough to stop us being outflanked or raided during the night as we were last night. We'll stand here and face these Ersemen when they reach us. I've done enough running for one campaign."
Dedalus dipped his head in agreement. "It's your decision."
"Aye, it is. Let's get our people up there. Send out your trumpeters to sound the recall and get everyone back here, the bowmen, too. Break off all engagements. We've held the Ersemen back long enough. Time for them to come to us. Do it now!" He swung around in his saddle and waved his arm in a circle, summoning the officers and commanders who rode with his party and barking out his orders even before they had crowded around him.
Uther had the impression that Dedalus had not moved at all when he turned back to him again. The infantry commander was still staring upward to the plateau on the side of the hill. Uther looked from him to the hillside and back again.
"What ? You're still here? What's wrong?"
Dedalus did not even glance at him. "I sent out the trumpeters. They're on their way. But we can't take the wagons up there, Uther. It's too damn steep on the hillsides above those cliffs. They'd have to be manhandled all the way up, and we haven't got the time . . . And I don't even want to think about what might happen if we had to get them down again in a hurry. Besides, the horses are exhausted. It won't work."
The King's eyes flashed in irritation. "Don't tell me what we can 't do, Ded! Find a way to do it."
Dedalus merely shrugged. "Bark as much as you want, but the truth's the truth. We'll be asking for grief if we try to get those wagons up there. Better to mass them, all the wagons, behind the infantry formations in the shelter there at the base of the hill. And we'll probably have the damned Ersemen about our necks before we can even begin to do that. They can't be far behind us."
Uther bit back another angry retort and looked towards the hillside again. He sniffed, and then spoke more temperately. "You're right. It's wishful thinking." He turned to where one of the cavalry commanders sat waiting for orders. "Philip. Take a squadron of your men and carry the women up on to that plateau on the hillside there. One woman to a horse, as many as you need. And one trustworthy man to carry the child they have with them, carefully, without injuring him. They'll need tents and bedding, too. See to it."
As Philip spurred his horse away, Dedalus was already issuing orders to marshall the wagons at the base of the hill and to send men to carry the King's tents up to the plateau.
Night fell slowly, the day's light lingering in the early-summer sky long after the sun had set. Uther spent the first two hours of the night making the rounds of the sentry outposts with Dedalus, exchanging at least a few words of comfort and encouragement with every man on duty. There had been no sign of the pursuing enemy.