Lord of Janissaries (70 page)

“Well, Lord. It give hope to all, that one may rise high if one has talent and is willing.”

And loyal. Let’s not forget that one. “Yes. Well, here’s to Lord Caradoc!” They touched glasses and Rick drained his, then held it out for a refill. “Tell me, Padraic, you were raised in Tamaerthon—what do you know of Bacreugh?”

There was a crash as Padraic dropped the pewter goblet. He bent quickly to pick it up and refill it.

Rick drew his colt and clicked off the safety. He held the pistol concealed below the table. “Sit down,” he said. “I think we’d better talk.”

“Aye, Lord. How did you find out?”

“I have ways.” What the hell have I found out? “Now tell me about it.”

“Lord, there is little to tell. My grandmother is sister to the mother of Mac Bratach Bhreu, and thus I am kin to Bacreugh. It was a kinsman who approached me.”

“What did he offer?”

“He said that a friend to Bacreugh wished to speak with me, and that he would offer me honor and gold,” Padraic said. “I told him that I have honor enough, and it may not be had for gold. Lord, what should I have done? For I cannot betray my kinsman, and indeed he
said
nothing of importance.”

“What did he say?”

“Only that. Only that Bacreugh—he said a friend to Bacreugh, but I surmised that the friend would be Bacreugh himself—wished to speak with me, and it would be much to my interest to do so; that he would offer me honor and gold, and I need do little—but what I would be required to do he did not say.”

Rick thumbed the Colt’s safety on. “But you guessed?”

“No, Lord.”

“Then why did you drop the goblet?”

“I had heard you can hear thoughts, Lord. I had not known it was true until now. For I was at that very moment wishing I knew what Bacreugh wished of me.”

“You can do better,” Rick said. “You must know they intended for you to kill me. Or let one of them get past you and do it.”

“Nay, Lord, I do
not
know it. I know only that Bacreugh wished to make an offer—and that he is a kinsman, as was the man he sent to approach me.”

“What other kinsmen have you within the Mounted Archers?”

“Only Caradoc, Lord.”

“That’s right, Caradoc is your kinsman—he is kin to Bacreugh, then.”

“Aye, Lord. He is related much as I am.”

“Did you tell him about this?”

Padraic laughed. “No, Lord. Lord Caradoc is—quick to defend his honor. I was his chosen under-captain. He might have seen an offer to me as an insult to him, a matter for blood. And I cannot think he would wish blood-feud with his own kin.”

There was a furious knocking on the door. “Captain!” someone shouted. Rick recognized Elliot’s voice.

“Come in, Sergeant Major.”

Elliot was breathless. He held a paper in his hand. “Just decoded this from the semaphore, Captain. They’ve spotted a satellite over Castle Dravan!”

28

Elliot put the decoded message on Rick’s desk. “Just as you told ’em, Cap’n. Right after the True Sun set and while the ’Stealer was low on the horizon, they saw a bright light moving across the sky.”

“Direction?”

“Southwest to northeast.”

“Has to be a satellite,” Rick agreed.

“I checked the shrine,” Elliot said. “Nothing on the radio, and there’s been somebody there all the time.”

“Hmm. They don’t want to talk with us.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

“So the next question is, who is it?
Shalnuksis
or a human? They’re a little early for
surinomaz
, and I’d think they’d know that. They’re making observations they don’t care to have us know about. Any ideas on that?”

“None I like.”

“Me either,” Rick said. He took a blank sheet of paper and began to write. REWARD THE OBSERVER. THEN COME AT ONCE. BRING CHILDREN. IMPERATIVE ARMAGH THOUGHT MAJOR AREA OF INTEREST.

He handed it to Elliot. “Get this coded and see that it goes off to Tylara.”

Elliot glanced at the paper. “Maybe it’d be best for the kids to stay at Dravan.”

“I thought of that, but—If they’re here to drop bombs, I’d rather Tylara stayed at Dravan too. In the caves.”

“Think she’d do it?”

“No.” Rick took the message and crossed through the words BRING CHILDREN.

Elliot nodded agreement. “Not likely anything’ll happen.”

“Not this time,” Rick said. “Not this time.”

* * *

The field stank of too many men and too many horses. Even in the headquarters tent which was carefully placed upwind of the main encampment, the smell was there, despite the moaning hot wind that blew down the Westscarp. Lordy, I want to go home, Art Mason thought.

The adjutant brought in a paper and handed it to Mason. Art examined it and whistled. “If we don’t do something pretty soon,” he said, “we’re not going to have any army left.”

“Surely you exaggerate,” Ganton said.

“Hardly, sire,” Camithon said. “One always loses more men to sickness than the enemy. We have been very fortunate—no. I will not say fortunate, for it is not fortune. Thanks to Major Mason, we have had fewer losses than any army in my memory.”

“Morning report’s pretty bad even so,” Mason said. “Still too many down. Too many flies in camp. The Romans are all right, but I can’t make the others dig the latrines deep enough. And this hot wind gets to them. We’re losing troops to pure funk. Last night a trooper got up at midnight and ran out and started hacking down a tree, shoutin’ that he hated it. Beat it up pretty good, too. Nobody in his company did a damned thing, except one guy yelled out ‘Give it a whack for me, I hate it too.’ That sounds funny, but it’s not, not really. Yesterday we lost two archers to a knife fight.”

“Many of the knights will depart also,” Camithon said. “Their time of service will expire, unless we find ways to pay them.”

“You mean that I summoned them against your advice,” Ganton said. “Do not bother to deny it. You may even be right. Yet my father lost his throne though failure to keep peace with the great lords of Drantos. It is an error I shall not make.”

“Reckon it can’t hurt to have ’em here to keep an eye on ’em,” Mason said. “And even with ’em here, we’re spread pretty thin, keepin’ patrols going everywhere. Reminds me of Vietnam, some.”

“I know not that place,” Camithon said.

“No sir, I don’t reckon you would,” Mason said. “Thing is, we won every damn battle in Vietnam. Troop for troop we had the enemy out-matched every which way. Only one problem. We lost the flippin’ war.”

“Some day you must tell me that story,” Ganton said. “Meanwhile, we have the chivalry here, and some will remain even after their time is expired. Not all are more concerned for rights than for the safety of the realm.”

“Been more like that we wouldn’t have lost ’Nam,” Mason said. “And I reckon we need your heavies. Light horse can’t beat the Westmen. Knights can, if they stay together and fight together.”

“And yet we plow sand,” Ganton said. “The Westmen avoid us. They burn and destroy, and run away when we ride after them. Are they so much better than we, that they lose no men to sickness?”

Mason made an ugly sound, then shrugged. “They’re used to living on short rations.”

Ganton turned to the maps on the table. He used his dirk to trace westward along a river bed. “I would employ the bheromen and knights in some useful endeavor.” He bent over the map. “The Westmen are said to have a great encampment here,” he said. “Will they defend it if we attack?”

“We could ask that Arekor chap that lived with ’em,” Mason said. “But it probably depends on what we attack with.”

Camithon fingered the scar on his cheek and nodded. “Aye, though I do not like to say it. They fear Romans more than us. Romans and Tamaerthan archers.”

“Perhaps we could make them fight us,” Ganton said. “On terms we like.”

“Wouldn’t mind seeing how,” Mason said.

“Star weapons,” Ganton said. “Used against their horses in camp. They will come forth to fight if their horses die.”

“Probably true,” Mason said.

“You do not sound joyful,” Camithon said.

“I keep remembering Vietnam,” Mason said. “The French were there before us. They kept saying that if they could just make the enemy stand up and fight, they’d have it made. Eventually they did just that. At a place called Dien Bien Phu . . .”

* * *

Camithon and Ganton listened as Mason told the story. Later, Ganton summoned a servant to bring wine, and they drank a toast to the brave legionaries and paras who died in the strongpoints with the strange names of Gabrielle and Isabelle and Beatrice.

“Did Lord Rick then name his daughter for that place?” Ganton asked.

Mason shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“There is more to this matter of forcing the enemy to fight than one may think,” Camithon said. “Majesty, it is my counsel that we withdraw. The Westmen will follow, and when they have come far enough we can bring all of our strength against a part of theirs. With the aid of the
balloon
we can find their weak points.”

“The
balloon
is worth much, truly,” Ganton said. “Yet consider. It cannot move across the land like the—the
helicopters
Lord Rick had on his world. And any land the Westmen take they render worthless. If we abandon Lord Rick’s lands, perhaps he will understand—but will Eqetassa Tylara? Tell me, Lord General, do
you
wish to explain this strategy to her?”

Camithon threw up his hands. “Shall we then risk all to avoid the wrath of one Tamaerthan—lady?”

“They are my people,” Ganton said. “I am as sworn to defend them as they are to serve me. Is this not true?”

“Aye—”

“Then let us hear no more of withdrawal.”

Camithon gently stroked his scar. “Then it is Your Majesty’s wish that we attack the camp of the Westmen?”

“It is.”

“I can but obey.” Camithon looked to the map. Mason had put small parchment squares on it, each representing a unit of the Royal and Allied forces. Camithon had never seen such a thing before, but it made planning much easier. “If we are to move westward and attack, it were well to take all our forces,” Camithon said. “All we can feed. And all the star weapons.”

“Need some reserves to guard the supply route,” Mason said. And the ammunition, for that matter. “But we’ll want all the weapons.”

“Let Westrook become the new supply center,” Ganton said. “It is a strong place, and I doubt that Lord Murphy would leave it to his companion’s widow if he were not certain of her abilities.”

Mason nodded sourly. Her abilities my eye, he thought. I had a hell of a job gettin’ Murphy out of there, and even then he wanted to leave the flippin’ one-oh-six. Horse tradin’, with
me
, over what weapons to leave in that castle, just like it was his home. Hell, I guess it is. Murph’s found a home, and I doubt we’ll see much of him if he lives to see the end of the Westmen.

“If Westrook is to be the supply center,” Ganton continued, “then we must advance through
here
.” He pointed on the map. “We will not want the Westmen to know what we are doing, yet we will wish to be certain that our wagons are not delayed at the river crossing.” He looked thoughtful, then nodded. “The Romans are good engineers. Let the
Cohortes equitates
carry timbers and all other things needful for quick construction of bridges here, and here. Our forces can come by many routes. The Westmen will not divine our intent, and we need not be so concerned for supply.”

“An excellent thought,” Camithon said. He looked at the young king with new respect.

“And I think we will not raise the
balloon
until after the attack on the camp,” Ganton continued.

“Sure help the artillery to have it up,” Mason said. “For target spotting—”

“Yes,” Ganton agreed. “And we shall do so. But think, it is too valuable to use as a lure, and when it is raised it will draw all the Westmen toward our main strength. Would it not be better to let them seek us as the star weapons fall among them?”

Camithon frowned. “If the
balloon
is needed, we can guard it with a small band—”

“No,” Ganton said. “Think, my lord. A small band will fall to roving Westmen, and there are sure to be such. If we leave enough men to guard it, we should leave them all—else we divide our strength. That is what the French did at this place, Dien Bien Phu, and we have learned the cost to them.”