'Then it was Braefar the king saw as he was dying?'
'Aye, it was.'
Bane rose.
'Have you made your choice?' asked Riamfada.
'I have - as I think you knew I would.'
'Of course,' said Riamfada. 'You are the son of Connavar, and I would expect no less.'
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
In the faint light of the pre-dawn, as the breakfast trumpet sounded, Jasaray awoke from a light sleep. For the first time in years he had suffered bad dreams. He had been walking towards a torchlit parade being held in his honour. As the crowds cheered he saw a shadow above him, and realized it was a falcon, flying through the night sky. He looked up, wondering what would force a sunlight bird of prey to take to the skies in darkness. Then it swooped down towards him, its talons rending at his face.
Jasaray shivered at the memory. He had a slight ache in his back and groaned as he sat up. It had been some years since he had embarked on a campaign and at sixty-five his body was complaining bitterly. His joints had throbbed since arriving at Accia during a thunderstorm, and his mood was sour.
Outside the command tent he could hear men moving about their chores, the stripping down of tents, ready to be rolled and packed, the gathering at food queues for the bowl of hot meat broth and the hunk of bread, the rattling of harnesses, the banter of fighting men who knew that a battle loomed. These were sounds Jasaray had come to love with a passion that had always been missing from every other aspect of his life. He had hoped that the campaign against the Rigante and their allies would lift his spirits, and resurrect the joy of his youth, but that hope seemed doomed now. There was no way that the coming victory would really satisfy either the people of Stone or indeed himself. The citizens were used to victories by Jasaray and his Panthers against overwhelming odds. Invincible Jasaray!
The emperor sighed. Who would have imagined thirty-seven years ago that the spindly lecturer in mathematics would become the greatest military genius of the age? Certainly not the man himself, thought Jasaray, with a wry smile.
The twenty-eight-year-old whose co-ordination was so bad he had never mastered either swordplay or the throwing of spears, who had never attended the military academy, found that his first rank within the army was that of a general. It had been wonderfully bizarre. The civil war was at its height, and the biggest problem facing those trying to save the republic concerned logistics and supply - food for the army, wagons, horses, weapons. In short the Third Army of the Republic, under Sobius, needed a qualified quartermaster. In order for him to negotiate at the highest level Sobius had made Jasaray a general. He had, as they hoped, proved a brilliant quartermaster, and the Third Army was never short of equipment or food. What they were short of, however, was intelligent leadership, which led to the army's being routed by the rebels. In the space of three short days, with Sobius and his staff dead, Jasaray was the only general who could take the field.
And he had, fighting a stunning rearguard action, using tactics no-one had ever encountered, marshalling his troops with a precision previously unheard of. Thus the man known with affectionate contempt as the Scholar won the war and saved the republic.
Within the next few years the increasingly powerful Jasaray wrote three Manuals of Combat which changed the face of war. His armies were well armed, well fed, and superbly disciplined, exchanging personal heroism for unit cohesion, brute strength for tactical brilliance. No Stone army under Jasaray had ever tasted defeat. In fact the only stain on the military history of Stone had come at the hands of Connavar when the idiot Valanus had marched a pitifully small force deep into Rigante territory and been massacred.
Now that reverse was to be expunged from memory by a crushing victory. Yet there would be little joy in it. Jasaray had hoped Connavar would be able to gather an army of at least a hundred thousand. Instead reports suggested less than fifty thousand opposed him.
What a waste of time and energy, thought Jasaray, rising from his bed and pouring himself a goblet of water. He should have sent Barus to subdue the tribes. And he would have done just that - save for the unrelenting and increasing boredom he had suffered since becoming emperor. He could have blessed Nalademus for his treachery, which, at least, had provided a spark of excitement. The truth remained that the only real pleasure still to be had was on the battlefield, and Stone was running out of worthwhile enemies. Jasaray could have invaded the Rigante many times over the years. But he had reserved Connavar as a special treat, the last great opponent in an increasingly dull world.
Jasaray had followed his career with interest, remembering the young Keltoi who had served under him in the battles against the Perdii. A fine young man, brave and intelligent, and yet with the mental strength to curb the wild, reckless excesses of his Keltoi nature. Today's battle - though its outcome was certain - would not be an easy one. And there would be no glory in it. Back in Stone they would hear of his victory and shrug. 'Ah well,' they would say, 'it was only a few tribesmen.'
The tent flap opened and one of his guards looked inside. Seeing the emperor awake he called out, 'The scouts are back, lord.'
'Send them in.'
Two Cenii scouts entered the tent, accompanied by the guards, who watched them warily. Both the Keltoi were rough-looking men, sour-faced and surly. 'Well?' asked Jasaray.
'The Rigante are forming with their backs to the river,' said the first. 'They are manning a line of hills around a mile north of here.'
'How many?'
The scout spread his arms. 'A little more than you have here. I can't count that high.'
The general Heltian ducked under the tent flap. Jasaray dismissed the scouts and told Heltian to have horses saddled.
Minutes later, dressed in a simple tunic and a hooded woollen coat, Jasaray, with Heltian and three junior officers, rode from the night fortress. Jasaray did not take a weapon. There were two reasons for this, the first being that having never mastered the sword he would be useless in any physical encounter. The second reason, however, was far more important. The troops would watch their emperor riding out unarmed to view the enemy and say, 'There goes the Scholar, afraid of no man.' They would chuckle, and much of the pre-battle tension would ease away.
Jasaray and his officers rode out onto the open land to the north until they spied the enemy forces ranged against them. Jasaray reined in. His eyes were not as sharp as once they were, but vanity stopped him from admitting it. He turned to one of the junior officers. 'Maro, describe their formation.'
The young man gazed out over the distant ranks of tribesmen. 'They have massed in the centre, possibly some fifteen thousand men. I can see heavy infantry to the left and right of them, but no cavalry or archers as yet.'
'What does the formation suggest?' asked the emperor.
'I ... do not know, lord,' admitted the young man.
'What about you?' Jasaray asked a second officer.
'They expect us to attack the centre and have reinforced it?' he suggested, without confidence.
As the five riders studied the enemy a long column of heavily armoured riders appeared a half mile to the right, moving slowly along the hilltops. That will be Fiallach and his Iron Wolves,' said Jasaray. 'They will bear watching. Can anyone see Connavar?'
'I see the King's Banner,' said Maro, pointing to the centre of the enemy. Fluttering on the breeze was a pale blue cloth with a white motif.
'What are they doing now?' asked Jasaray, squinting towards the enemy lines.
'They are passing out food, lord,' said Maro.
'A wise general knows that men fight better on a full belly,' said the emperor. 'Well, gentlemen, I think we have seen enough.' Turning his mount awkwardly he heeled it into a canter and rode back to the earth fortress.
Inviting Heltian into his tent he ordered servants to bring them breakfast. While they ate Jasaray pictured the battlefield. The land was flat between the hills, then steadily rising. Beyond the Rigante centre was a wide, deep river, which meant that Connavar had
left himself without a natural line of retreat. 'What do you think?' he asked Heltian.
The normally grim-faced officer smiled. 'I'm glad you didn't ask me in front of the youngsters. I'm probably wrong, but it looks to me like they are preparing for a head-to-head, win-or-die battle. Nothing more.'
'Yes, you are wrong,' said Jasaray. 'Connavar is a little more cunning than that. If that were the true situation he would have placed his heavy infantry at the centre. But no, they are, with the cavalry, on the flanks. Their centre stretches for at least a quarter of a mile. To attack along its length we would normally adopt a Five Formation. It is Connavar's hope we will do just that and launch a major push against his centre. Then his heavy infantry would move against our flanks, compressing our forces, making manoeuvrability difficult. Since his centre is lightly armed he would expect us to use our archers to thin their ranks, using up all their shafts. At this point the Iron Wolves would charge our rear, compressing us further. Surrounded, with no opportunity to adapt our tactics, we would be slaughtered like sheep.'
'Then how do we proceed, lord?' asked Heltian.
'Exactly as they require. We will march in the Five Formation, close ranks ten deep, archers at the rear. As we approach their centre that formation will change into the full open fighting square, six deep, two Panthers in reserve. The archers will not loose a shaft until ordered by me. We will hold them for the charge of the Iron Wolves. Once the open square is fully functional we will advance slowly against their centre and crush them. If possible I want Connavar taken alive. He will be my trophy. We will take him in chains to Stone and execute him in the great arena.'
'You make it sound like an easy day, lord,' said Heltian.
'Oh, I don't doubt Connavar will have a few surprises for us. Either him, or that brother of his - Bran. Clever man. I should have had him killed when he visited Stone.'
'Do you want him taken alive too, lord?'
Jasaray shook his head. 'No. Kill him with the rest. No prisoners today, Heltian. No slave lines. Every Keltoi standing against us must die. When Valanus was defeated the Rigante placed Stone heads upon spears at the border. Today we will plant a forest of heads, so that all who dream of rising against Stone will take heed.'
'Yes, lord.'
Jasaray saw that the man looked troubled. 'What is it, Heltian?'
'You are the Scholar, and I do not have your skills in strategy, lord. Yet it seems to me that to march into their trap is unnecessary. If we storm their right, pushing back their infantry, they will be forced to change their battle plan, and be thrown into disarray.'
'Ah, yes,' said Jasaray, with a smile, 'indeed they would be. But where's the joy in such a simple victory? The enemy will think they
have us, and then, when we show that we know their plan, their hearts will break. Cruel, I know, but emperors must have their pleasures.'
Bendegit Bran stood on the rising ground and watched as the columns of Stone marched out of the morning mist almost a mile to the south. Around him the volunteer forces from Pannone, Norvii and Rigante stood their ground, fierce eyes observing the advancing enemy.
Bran had made no fiery speeches to these men, nor exhorted them to fight hard for their loved ones and their land. There was no need. They knew that today's battle could change for ever the lives of every Keltoi. They knew that if they failed their wives and daughters would be enslaved, their children slaughtered. No, thought Bran, there was no need to inspire these men.
Although, in truth, he wished there was someone who could inspire him.
The death of his first-born son had all but unmanned him, but the news Banouin had given him several hours ago had been crushing.
Connavar was dead, killed by Braefar.
Even now Bran could scarcely believe it. Wing had always been a troubled soul, but Bran had never doubted his love for Conn, or his own people. Yet he had, in one dreadful thrust, destroyed both his brother and the hopes of the Keltoi. Connavar's legend was such that he was worth ten thousand men in battle, for the troops would see him in his golden armour, and their spirits would soar like eagles. Even now Bran could see men scanning the hillsides, wondering when the king would appear.
Ahead, on the flat plain, the army of Stone continued its advance, the columns smoothly melding, the formation changing. Closer now, and Bran could see sunlight glinting on their helms and the great, rectangular shields they carried. Their formation was - as he had hoped - the Classic Five, ten ranks deep along a wide front, their flanks defended by six Panthers, three on either side, stretching back down the plain and creating three sides of a square. Between the defensive lines Bran saw the Stone archers bringing up the rear. He gauged their numbers to be around a thousand.
Scanning the enemy force, Bran calculated their numbers. He reckoned Jasaray had brought ten Panthers, plus his archers - thirty-one thousand fighting men. That meant he had left two Panthers to defend the night fortress, allowing himself room to withdraw to a position of safety should the battle go against him. Against him Bran had marshalled just over forty thousand tribesmen, many of these untried in major battles. Despite the numerical superiority the reality was that Jasaray had the stronger force. The real strength of the Keltoi army lay in the ten thousand Iron Wolves, eight thousand heavy infantry, and three thousand Horse Archers. These were battle-hardened, well-trained and disciplined fighters. The rest were brave tribesmen, who, left to their own devices, would be cut to pieces by the soldiers of Stone within an hour.
The wind changed, and the sound of drumbeats echoed across the field as the Stone army continued its march towards the Keltoi centre. Bran signalled his archers to draw up behind the front lines. Hundreds of Rigante bowmen ran forward.
Three hundred yards away now and a trumpet sounded in the enemy ranks. The soldiers of Stone halted their march, the formation changing again. Bran's heart sank, for the Stone line spread out into the open fighting square. Then they advanced once more. Bran's mind raced. They could still envelop the enemy, but to what advantage? Their only hope had been to compress them, destroying their ability to manoeuvre. This new formation was flexible, and Bran could see two Panthers in reserve at the centre, ready to plug any gaps that might develop.
Two hundred yards and Bran could now see the figure of Jasaray at the centre of the enemy square. The emperor was wearing a simple unadorned breastplate of iron, and an old battered helm. He was walking with his hands clasped behind his back, and chatting to the officer beside him.
One hundred yards, and the drums picked up their beat. The advance quickened. Bran could feel the tension in the men around him, the beginnings of fear.
'Death to Stone!' bellowed Bran, drawing his sword and holding it high. A huge cry went up from the Keltoi, a roaring, releasing wall of sound that swept over the advancing ranks.
Fifty yards. Now Bran could see individual faces. 'Archers!' he shouted.
The Rigante bowmen notched shafts to their bowstrings, drew back and let fly. Bran saw four Stone soldiers run to Jasaray, locking their shields round the emperor. Most of the shafts clattered from shields and helms, but a few found gaps in armour and sliced into unprotected flesh. A score of soldiers in the front line fell. The advance continued. Volley after volley soared through the air.
Twenty yards and Bran signalled a halt to the shooting. They had hit and injured some two hundred enemy soldiers, many of whom continued to march. Then the enemy shouted a battle cry and surged forward. The Keltoi leapt to meet them.
And the killing began.
Following Bran's orders the Gath general, Osta, led his Horse Archers in a flanking attack against the enemy's right. With shields worn on the left arm the right flank of an advancing army was always more vulnerable. But as Osta's five hundred riders bore down on them the men of Stone merely spun on their heels, presenting their shields, and blocking the first volleys.
Osta swung his men and galloped parallel to the enemy line, shooting as he rode. Beyond the shield wall Osta saw the Stone arch
ers. Not one of them loosed a shaft. The attack having proved abortive Osta signalled his men to return to the hillside. Once there the Gath dismounted and walked to where Govannan was waiting with his heavy infantry.
'This doesn't look good,' said Osta. 'If we attack, we'll break on their shield wall like waves against a cliff.'
'We'll wait for the signal from Bran,' said Govannan, 'then we'll smash that wall or die trying.'
'Where in the name of Taranis is Conn?' whispered Osta, leaning in close.
Govannan said nothing. Before the king had ridden out yesterday he had summoned Govannan to his tent. The white-haired infantry leader had expected a conversation about tactics. Instead Conn had poured him a goblet of wine. 'I shall be gone for most of today,' he said. Govannan saw that the king was in full armour.
'Where to?' he asked.
'I cannot say.'
'The battle is tomorrow, Conn. For the sake of us all take no risks!'
'Some risks cannot be avoided.'
An uneasy silence had developed. Govannan broke it.
'What is it that you wished to discuss?'
Conn had smiled. 'You remember the bear?'
'How could I forget?'
'You and I were not friends then, and yet you ran to my aid. I have never forgotten that, Van. As the beast tore into me I saw you attack it, and in that instant I knew what it was to be Rigante. No matter how terrifying the enemy, we stand together and we do not run.'
'Why are you saying this?' asked Govannan, suddenly fearful.
Connavar smiled. 'I wanted to thank you for that day.'
'Damn, Conn, but you are worrying me now. Where are you going?'
'To meet someone I love.' He offered his hand and Govannan shook it. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
The king had left the tent, mounted the grey, Windsong, and ridden off towards the east.
'If he doesn't come we're finished,' said Osta, the words jerking Govannan back to the present. Govannan said nothing.
The fighting on the hillside was ferocious now. Hundreds of Rigante were down. And the Stone advance continued.