Yet even if he carried a weapon, he could not defeat Sol in the circle, or even Tyl. It would be fatally unrealistic ever to assume otherwise. To that extent his disarmed state was his protection.
Finally the shrews struck. They boiled over the hillside in mid-afternoon and steamed toward the camp defenses. He was almost glad to see them; at least this would vindicate his elaborate precaütións. They had been gone a long time, as the resurgence of game proved; it would have destroyed his program, paradoxically, if they had not come atall.
"Dump the barrels!" he shouted, and the men assigned to this task and drilled for it repetitively knocked open the containers of alcohol and began pouring them carefully into that shallow moat.
"Women and children to the tents!" Protesting shrilly, now that the excitment had come, the families forded the river and mounted the hillside.
"Stand by with weapons!" And all those not otherwise occupied took up the defensive formation, somewhat shamefaced as they saw the size of their adversaries. There were fifteen men and several of the older boys present; the hunting party happened to be out.
The barrel-dumpers finished their job, not without regretful glances at the good intoxicant going to waste, and stood by the extended wooden handles of the fire-strikers. Sos held off, hoping that the - hunters would appear, but there was no sign of them.
The shrews surged up to the moat and milled about, mistrusting the smell of it. Then, as before, the bolder ones plunged in, and the mass crossing commenced. Sos wondered whether the animals could become intoxicated in the same fashion as men.
"Fire!" he yelled. The assigned drummer beat a slow, regular cadence, and in absolute unison the men struck the igniters and leaped back. This had been one of the really sore spots of the training: grown men dancing to a musical rhythm.
A sheet of flame shot up from the moat, and the stench and smoke of improperly combusted alcohol filled the air. They were fenced in by a rising semicircle of fire. Watching it, the "dancers" shielded their eyes and gaped; now they understood what could have happened to the late man.
Sos had worked this out carefully. He knew from his readings that alcohol in its various forms would float on water and, if ignited, would burn more readily there than on land, where dirt or wood would absorb it. The layer of water in the moat offered a perfect surface for it, and the current would carry it along the entire perimeter. He was glad to have the proof; even he had had his doubts, since common sense encouraged him to believe that water quenched all fires. Why hadn't he thought to spill a few drops of the stuff into a basin of water and experiment?
Some animals had gotten through. The men were busy already beating the ground with sticks and clubs, trying to flatten the savage but elusive creatures. Several warriors cursed as they were bitten. There was no longer any reason to disparage the ferocity of the tiny enemies.
The burning vapors sank; the alcohol volatized too rapidly to last long. At Sos's signal the men rolled up more barrels from the big central tent. Here they stopped-they could not dump more alcohol until the blaze died entirely, or they would be trapped in the midst of the rising fire and possibly blown apart by ignition of the barrels themselves. This was a problem Sos had not anticipated; the main conflagration had subsided, but individual flames would remain for some time at the canal banks where fuel had seeped into the ground.
Tor the sworder came up, his black beard singed. "The upper end is clear," he gasped. "If you dump there-"
Sos cursed himself for not thinking of that before. The current had swept the upriver section of the moat clean, and the shrews were already swarming across to consume their roasted vanguard and climb the breastwork. Alcohol could be dumped there a barrel at a time, and the current would feed it through the entire retrenchment at a reduced rate and enable them to maintain a controlled fire. "Take care of it!" he told Tor, and the man ran off, shouting to those nearby for help.
Everyone was occupied, stamping and striking at the endless supply of miniature appetites. The swarm beyond the moat reminded Sos again of a division of invading ants, except that the mammals lacked the organization of the insects. The flames came up again as Tor put his plan into operation, but somehow the numbers of the enemy did not seem to diminish. Where were they coming from?
He found out. The shrews were swimming out into the river and recurving to land within the protected semicircle! Most of them did not make it, since there was no coherent organization to their advance; they either got caught in the fringe fire or went straight across to land on the opposite shore. Many drowned in the center current, and more died fighting in the water for the corpses, but the supply was such that even five or ten per cent drifting back into the open area behind the parapet was enough. to overrun the area.
Would alcohol dumped directly into the river stop them? Sos ruled it out quickly. There was not enough left, and if it did not do the job the entire human party could be trapped by the lingering fires of its own defense, while the animals inundated the base.
He decided to cut his losses. The shrews had won this battle. "Evacuate!"
The men, once contemptuous of the enemy, had had enough. Shrews decorated arms and legs and wriggled in pantaloons and carpeted the ground, teeth everywhere. Warriors dived into the river and swam for safety, ducking under the surface whenever they could, in full retreat. Sos made a quick check to see that no wounded remained, and followed.
It was now late afternoon. Was there time to move the tents back before nightfall?-Or would the shrews stop before reaching the present encampment? He had to decide in a hurry.
He could not take the risk. "Pick up tents and move back as far as you can before dusk," he shouted. "Single men may camp here and stand guard." He had stored the duplicate packs within the enclosure-in case the shrews attacked from the unexpected side of the river, and those reserves were now inaccessible. Another error in judgment-yet until he was sure of the route and timing of the hordes, such losses would occur.
The shrews did not ascend the hill that night. This species, at least, was a daytime marauder. Perhaps the moths saw to that. In the morning the main body, gorged on its casualties and still numberless, crossed the river and marched downstream. Only a few hardy climbers on the outskirts reached the tents.
Sos looked about. He could not assume that this was a safe location, and it was certainly not as convenient as the valley plain. There was no more wildlife here than below. It might merely mean that the shrews' route was random; obviously they could overrun the hill if they chose to. Most likely they followed the general contours of the land, ascending where there was smoother going, and came down at this point when they came this way.
At least he had learned one thing: the shrews traveled only in the group, and thus were governed by group dynamics. He strained to remember the commentary in a complex text on the subject, that he had not suspected would ever have meaningful application to his life. Groups were shaped by leaders and reflected the personalities and drives of those leaders; divert the key individuals, and you diverted the pack. He would have to think about that, and apply it to this situation.
It would also be wise to spy on the continuing progress of the horde and learn for certain what finally happened to it. And to trace its origin-there might be a restricted breeding ground that could be put to the fire before the next swarm became a menace. He bad been preoccupied with defense, and he saw now that that wouldn't work.
By noon the enemy was gone, and the men were able to recover their campsite. It was a ruin; even nylon was marked by the bite of myriad teeth and fouled by layers of dung.
A committee plunged eagerly into the problem of shrew tracing and diversion, while women and children moved into the main semicircle to clean up and pitch new tents. It seemed as safe a place as any, since the following horde would starve if it followed the identical route of this one. The next shrew foray was more likely to come down the opposite bank. Besides, there was a great deal of laundry to do in the river.
The bones and gear of the missing hunting party were discovered three miles upriver. Suddenly everyone appreciated the menace properly, and no more grumbles about the work were heard. Sos, too, was treated with somewhat more respect than hitherto. He had proved his point.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sol arrived two weeks later with another group of fifty men. He now had a fair-sized tribe of sixty-five warriors, though the majority of these were inexperienced and untrained youths. The best men were still tied up in established tribes, as Sos had pointed out in their discussion but that situation would change in due course.
Sos trotted out the witnesses to the execution of Nar and had them describe to Sol what they had observed. There were only two; the third had been a hunter on the day of warfare. Sos was not certain how the master of the tribe would take it, since his management of the valley group had cost five men. That was a full quarter of the complement put in his charge.
"There were two guards?" Sol inquired.
The witnesses nodded. "Always."
"And the other that night did not report that the first was sleeping?"
Sos clapped his palm to his forehead. For a man who fancied his brain, he had blundered ridiculously. Two had been guilty, not one.
In the end Tyl had another job with the sticks, while Sos and Sol retired for a private consultation. Sos described in detail the events of the past five weeks, and this time Sol's attention never wandered. He had little patience with history or biology, but the practical matters of empire building were of prime interest to him. Sos wondered whether the man had also had some intervening experience with the problems of discipline. It seemed likely.
"And you can form these new men into a group that will conquer other tribes?" Sol inquired, wanting the reassurance.
"I think I can, in six months, now that we have plenty of men and good grounds. Provided they will obey me implicitly."
"They obey Tyl."
Sos looked at him, disturbed. He had expected to have Sol's direct backing for this longer haul. "Aren't you going to stay here?"
"I go out tomorrow to recruit more men. I leave their training to you."
"But sixty-five warriors! There is bound to be trouble."
"With Tyl, you mean? Does he want to be the leader?" Sol was perceptive enough, where his empire was concerned.
"He has never said so, and he has stood by me steadily," Sos admitted, wanting to be fair. "But he would not be human if he did not think in such terms."
"What is your advice?"
Now it was in his own lap again. At times Sol's faith in him was awkward. He could not demand that the master stay with his tribe; Sol evidently liked recruiting. He could ask him to take Tyl with him-but that would only require his replacement as disciplinary leader, and the next man would present much the same problem. "I have no evidence that Tyl lacks honor," he said. "I think it would be best to give him good reason to stay with your tribe. That is, show him that he stands to profit more by remaining with you than by striking out on his own, with or without any of the present group."
"He stands to profit the loss of his head, if he moves against me!"
"Still-you could designate him first warrior, in your absence, and put him in charge of his own group. Give him a title to sport, so to speak."
"But I want you to train my men."
"Put him over me and give him the orders. It will amount to the same thing."
Sol thought it over. "All right," he said. "And what must I give you?"
"Me?" Sos was taken aback. "I agreed to serve you one year, to earn my name. There is nothing else you need to give me." But he saw Sol's point. If Tyl's loyalty required buttressing, what about his own? Sol was well aware that the training was, in the long run, more important-than the discipline of the moment, and ho had less hold on Sos than on the others. Theoretically Sos could renounce the name and leave at any time.
"I like your bird," Sol said surprisingly. "Will you give him to me?"
Sos peeked sidewise at the little fellow snoozing on his shoulder. The bird had become so much a part of his life that he hardly thought about the matter any more. "No one owns Stupid. Certainly you have as much claim on him as I do-you were the one who cut down the hawk and saved him. The bird just happened to fix on me, for some reason nobody understands, even though I did nothing for him and tried to shoo him away. I can't give him to you."
"I lost my bracelet in a similar fashion," Sal said, touching his bare wrist.
Sos looked away uncomfortably.
"Yet if I borrowed your bird, and he mated and fathered an egg, I would return that egg to you," Sol murmured.
Sos stomped away, too angry to speak.
No further words passed between them-but the next morning Sol set out again, alone, and Sola stayed at the camp.
Tyl seemed quite satisfied with his promotion. He summoned Sos as soon as the master was out of sight. "I want you to fashion this bunch into the finest fighting force in the area," he said. "Anyone who malingers will answer to me."
Sos nodded and proceeded with his original plan.
First he watched each man practice in the circle, and assessed his style and strengths and weaknesses, making notes on a pad of paper in the script of the ancient texts. Then he ranked the warriors in order, by weapon: first sword, second sword, first staff, and so on. There were twenty swords in the collection; it was the most popular instrument, though the injury and death rate was high. There were sixteen clubs, twelve staffs, ten sticks (he had never discovered why the misnomer "singlestick" should apply to the pair), five daggers and a solitary star.