The Crown of the Conqueror (22 page)

  The four of them were tested officers, brought in by Jutaar's father from other legions to help him run the legion. To stiffen the resolve of the Magilnadans – a mixture of men descended from Salphors, Hillmen and Ersuans – the captains had brought their companies with them, forming a core of legionnaires that had fought across the empire and who Jutaar knew were loyal Askhans. Their presence served as an example to the other companies to live up to, and Jutaar, taking the advice of his father, had been forthright in his praise and reward of them in the hope that it would persuade the newer companies to come up to the level expected.

  Legionnaires and Third Captains barely paid any heed to the officers in their midst as the captains made their way towards the main gate. Jutaar looked for anything out of place or badly done, and knew that his subordinates were doing the same. There was no cause for complaint; no poorly stacked supplies, no errant legionnaires slacking off, no discarded gear or slovenly behaviour.

  "Have any of you seen… that filthy chieftain?" Jutaar asked his companions. He used the epithet rather than make a mangled attempt at pronouncing Kubridias's name, an issue that had caused the chieftain umbrage several times since coming to the camp.

  "He left last night," said Kasod. "I think he's gone ahead to make sure there's a suitable welcome celebration for our arrival."

  Jutaar grunted with displeasure.

  "We are not here for feasting and drinking," said the First Captain. "There is no cause for celebrations yet. When my father stands in the hall of Carantathi we can break out the wine."

  "Of course, prince," said Kasod. Jutaar detected an unusual surliness to the Second Captain's tone.

  "You have something to say about the situation, Kasod?"

  "Just a little frustration, prince," the captain replied. He looked at the others before continuing. "I speak for us all when I say we wish we had something more to do. Ever since the legion was raised, these men have done nothing except march to Maasra and back, and guard a few roads. I would be happier once we've seen them in proper action."

  "I understand," said Jutaar. He smiled at the group. "I will let you into a small secret. Although Anglhan has given gold to that bestial man to bribe the other chieftains, it is my intent that we do not spend it. I am not happy about paying off tribesmen with gold that could be spent paying legionnaires and building towns. My standing order to the legion is to attack any Salphorian settlement we come across. If they want to surrender, we will give them the chance, but nothing more."

  "A good decision, prince," said Daariun. "If word gets around that the chieftains can earn themselves some coin by playing hard to get, it will only make matters worse. I'm surprised Anglhan would be so generous, he's not usually that free with his money."

  The group had reached the gatehouse, which was being quickly dismantled as they passed out of the camp. Clouds filled the sky and Jutaar could barely see half a mile in the pre-dawn gloom; the fog around the base of the hill swathed everything in grey. Sounds of shouted orders, axes, hammers and the jangle of abada harnesses emanated from the camp behind.

  Jutaar stretched to ease the ache in his shoulders. After the previous day's full march he had been a mess of sore feet and cramped muscles, unfit from the long days of inactivity. He had longed for a hot bath, but the lack of lava fuel made such a thing impractical on the move.

  "I reckon it's going to be a fine day," said Jutaar. "Once this cloud has been burned away, it'll be good marching weather."

  "Campaigning in the spring, you can't beat it," said Bariilin. "Warm days, cool nights, dry ground underfoot."

  "It'll be nice to get an early test of the men," said Kasod. "Drill is all good, but it's only proper battle that sorts out the best."

  Jutaar cast a glance at Kasod, wondering if the captain's comment was somehow directed at him. Kasod was looking down the hillside, nonchalant with one hand on his sword hilt, the other on his hip. The prince said nothing, but knew that his ability to command was as untested as the fighting skills of the legion he led. He was under no delusion about his own talents; everything he knew about battle tactics he had learned from treatises or his father. He was also aware that he was not blessed with the active imagination and far-sighted vision of the truly great commanders.

  Such deficiencies did not worry Jutaar too much; his father had assured him that winning a battle was more about doing things properly and efficiently than extravagant manoeuvres and wild plans. And, considering all things. Jutaar did not believe his father would put him in charge of the legion if the king did not think he was capable.

  Knowing that he could lead an army on the field was one thing, showing it to his men was another. A victory, however gained, would be of benefit to everybody.

  "Let us hope that some stupid warlord decides to make a stand," said the prince. "Nothing too dangerous; like a spar before a wrestling bout to get loosened up, work out the stiffness."

  "There are half a dozen tribes within three days' march," said Luusin. "It would be easy enough to go and pick a fight with one of them."

  "I would be all for it, captain, but those are not our orders," Jutaar replied with a sigh. "Not yet, at least. I hope that my father loosens the leash with new orders soon."

  The group stood for a while in silence, each man enjoying the view and weighing the prospects of the future. A shout from a sentry patrolling outside the wall to their right broke the reverie. Looking to where the legionnaire was pointing through the thinning mist, Jutaar saw a lone outrider heading towards the camp at some speed, urging on his sluggish kolubrid.

  In the clearing haze, the officers did not need the outrider to tell them what he had seen; a dark mass was coming into view across the crest of a ridge to hotwards, above the trail leading to Arondunda. Several thousand tribesmen were assembling on the hillside, no more than two miles away.

  "It looks like our Salphorian allies have decided to join us," said Jutaar. He watched for a little longer. "Why are they stopping on the hill?"

  "Why are they here at all?" said Kasod. "I don't think they are allies, prince."

  Jutaar considered this. It seemed odd that the Salphors would attack now, when the legion had been camped only another day to dawnwards for the whole of the winter. On the other hand, there did seem to be quite a lot of them, several thousand at a rough guess; more than would be accounted for if Kubridias had brought just his own tribe.

  "I'll have the men stand to arms," said Kasod, taking a step towards the gate.

  "Yes, do that," said Jutaar, eyes on the expanding crowd of warriors extending along the ridge. "Surely they realise I am not going to simply march down there and let them attack? And I do not think they are foolish enough to come at us. What are they hoping to gain?"

  The Second Captains offered no suggestions as horns sounded around the camp. The legionnaires dropped what they were doing – literally in the case of those men pulling down the walls – and gathered in ranks behind their company icons. The clatter of a breaking camp was replaced by the drum of sandaled feet, the clatter of spears and shields and a general murmur of confusion and suspicion. Bellows from the sergeants and Third Captains silenced the rowdier soldiers and harangued the slowest. Kasod prowled amongst the companies, sword in hand, shouting orders to the other Second Captains.

  Watching the Salphors, Jutaar confirmed that they were massing on the hill but coming no closer.

  "Do you think they are waiting for something?" he said.

  "It looks like it, but waiting for what?" said Luusin.

  Jutaar headed back into the camp, assessing the situation. Half of the wall had been brought down already. To stay within would be more of a hindrance than a help.

  "I find the Salphors' timing remarkable," said Luusin, trailing behind the prince with the others. "It seems more than coincidence that they turn up right when we're in the middle of breaking camp."

  Jutaar said nothing, but the thought put in his mind by Luusin did not sit comfortably. The timing was too neat, and contrary to what he had learned in general about the Salphors from the reports of the other legion commanders; their warriors took considerable time to prepare for battle and were rarely ready to fight before mid-morning. Thinking along this line in his own plodding way, Jutaar added in the fact that there was obviously more than one tribe gathering on the ridge. Only rarely had the Salphors been able to put aside their traditional differences even in the face of the Askhan advance.

  Making pretence of looking over his army, the prince tried to put together the pieces he had at hand. It felt like one of those sums his tutors had tested him with as a child, but with some of the numbers missing; what he knew just did not add up to any plausible answer.

  "Move the legion to a defensive position on the slope facing the enemy," he told his subordinates. "Leave three companies as rearguard in the camp."

  The Second Captains thumped fists to their chests in salute and headed off to spread the word. Horns and drums signalled the orders to the army as Jutaar pondered the possible outcomes. He always found things worked out better if he had time to think them through in advance rather than make hasty decisions.

  If the Salphors remained where they were, Jutaar decided he would force their bluff with an attack. If they moved away, he would order a pursuit; such aggressive behaviour could not be ignored. If they attacked, that would be the simplest solution of all; the army would hold the hillside and repel the tribesmen from the position of advantage.

  Happy that he had all eventualities covered, Jutaar joined the front rank of the first company as they headed for the gate at the head of the march. They led the legion out of the camp and turned coldwards towards the enemy, taking up position on the far left of the line at a place a third of the way down the slope. More companies fell into position to their right, stretching around the hill for a quarter of a mile, each phalanx arranged ten wide and sixteen ranks deep, spears piercing the sky like a bronze-tipped thicket with large, round blue-and-black leaves.

  Having been brought back from the picket by the clarions, the kolubrid company positioned themselves just behind the centre, ready to sweep around either flank as necessary. The thump of mallets on wooden pegs announced the war machine crews setting up the spear throwers and catapults a hundred paces behind the legionnaires, from where they would be able to fire over the phalanxes. Flames crackled and smoke climbed into the clouds as the rearguard set fire to the remaining camp defences. With this job attended to, the guard companies emerged alongside lines of abada wagons; they filed away slowly to hotwards, carrying essential supplies of food, ammunition, weapons and water, as well as the heavy bound chests holding the paymaster's coins. Everything else was left in the camp, to be taken by the flames or recovered after victory as fate decided.

  The weather was warming quickly, as Jutaar had predicted. The clouds and mist that had obscured the approach of the Salphors were now all but gone, leaving the air chill but clear. The spring sun was not quite hot enough to make things comfortable, but the wind was light and there was no sign of worse weather on the horizon. If the Salphors wanted to wait out the patience of the Askhans, Jutaar was content to oblige them.

  The morning dragged on laboriously, each hour of the passing watches called out by the timekeepers with their shuttered watch candle lanterns. Dawnwatch crept into Low Watch, when Jutaar issued the order for the army to take a water break. On the opposite side of the shallow valley, the Salphors seemed to be in no hurry to move either. Though it was hard to be sure, it looked to Jutaar as if many of them were sitting down, enjoying the sun and fresh air. It certainly was not the build up to a battle he expected.

  It was impossible to keep the legionnaires at full focus for any length of time, and the Salphors were in plain view and thus unable to launch a sudden attack. As the second hour of Low Watch passed, Jutaar sent word to the Second Captains to stand down from battle formations. Staying in their companies, the legionnaires stacked their spears, piled their shields and gratefully took off their helmets. Conversation drifted along the hillside; Jutaar ignored the usual mix of boasts, complaints and tall stories as he left the First Company and walked the line, signalling for his council of Seconds to gather.

  "Perhaps they are waiting for us to send an embassy," Jutaar suggested, as the five of them sat down on a clutch of rocks, water canteens in hand.

  "If they wanted to talk, they would've sent someone to us," replied Daariun. "I think they are just fucking about with us. As soon as we make a move on them, they'll be off into the plains quicker than a run to the latrines after a night of bad beer."

  "I just don't see what they think they can gain," said Luusin. "Do you think it's a feint? Maybe they've got a whole bunch more tribes hiding behind that ridge and they want to lure us into an attack before springing them on us."

  "Maybe something is happening to duskwards, and this lot are just here to delay us," suggested Kasod. "Could be that Kubridias's neighbours have got bored of him playing whore and they've attacked his town."

  "Which is it?" snapped Jutaar. "If it is a trap, we should not attack; if it is a diversion or delay, we should drive them off as soon as we can and head after Kubridias."

  "You can rule out a trap by sending some scouts over that ridge," said Kasod.

  Jutaar looked at the lay of the land. The ridgeline was bare of anything larger than bushes and rocks; any scouts would be easily spotted as they tried to cross it. The closest woods were at least four or five miles away to hotwards.