Harry Turtledove - Opening Atlantis

They'd picked this spot not least because it was as close as they could come to New Hastings without being seen from the settlement. All the same, Bartholomew Smith sounded worried when he said, "What if they spy it?"

"Then we run," Henry answered. "In the darkness, we'll lose them." They would probably lose each other, too, but they could find each other after they'd shaken off Warwick's men: after daylight, if need be. He went on, "But Warwick's eyes should be on the north-that's where Richard is." He hoped that was where his brother was. That was where Richard was supposed to be.

Smith peered out to sea. "Where's the bloody boat? The longer we have to wait here-"

"Don't worry," Henry said. "They have to see the fire. They have to put men into the boat. They have to row ashore. They-"

Sand grated under a keel. "Come on," someone called. "What are you waiting for?" Bartholomew Smith and Henry both laughed, in relief as much as for any other reason. They hurried to the boat and scrambled in.

As soon as Henry had a shifting deck under his feet again instead of the dull, unmoving dirt, he felt like himself. Richard was welcome to the woods and the oil thrushes and the mountains. Henry came alive on the ocean. Clambering up from the boat and over the Rose's gunwale made him feel ten years younger.

"Where now, skipper?" a sailor asked.

"North," Henry answered at once. "North past the lights of New Hastings." He could see them from the Rose, where a swell of land had blocked his view from shore. "Then we anchor till we see just where we have to go."

"Better we sail a little too far now, while the wind will let us," Bartholomew Smith said. "If it swings around and blows out of the north-and it's likely to do that, this season of the year-we don't want it to leave us stuck where we can't do anything."

"You're right, and we'll do it," Henry said at once. He set his hand on a swivel gun. The iron was cold, almost cold enough to make his flesh stick to it. He raised his voice to a shout: "Are we ready, lads?"

"Ready!" the fishermen shouted-the ones, that is, who didn't shout, "Yes!"

"Then let's do what we can do," Henry said. "Let's do what free Englishmen can do."

Their cheers put heart into him, the way sweet French wine would have. His father had been the same way: more truly himself when magnified in the eyes of others. Richard didn't have that-didn't want it. Henry wondered why not. He also hoped his brother could find some of it in the days ahead. If he couldn't, whatever the Rose did might not matter at all.

Richard Radcliffe didn't know how many times he'd eaten honker half burnt, half raw. Here he was, doing it again. Grease from someone else's oil thrush made the fire sizzle and sputter.

"We can beat them," he said. "We can, and by God we will!"

Most of the men sitting by the fire nodded. They wouldn't have been there if they didn't think they could beat Warwick's soldiers. All the same, one of them said, "Wish I had me a byrnie."

"Sure need one on a fishing boat, don't you, Carl?" another one said. "You fall in, you go straight to the bottom."

"Wouldn't make much difference to me," Carl replied. "I can't swim anyway."

Surprisingly few sailors knew how. Richard was no great shakes in the water himself, though he could keep his head above water for a while-long enough to be rescued, if he was lucky. One more reason to be glad I don't put to sea any more, he thought.

"Throw more wood on the fire," he called to his men. "We want Warwick's buggers to know we're here."

If Warwick's men didn't know their foes were encamped north of New Hastings, they were blind as well as stupid. Richard's rebels had fed the fire on the beach all night long. They wanted the soldiers to come out against them. Richard thought they would get what they wanted, too. And when they did, they would find out whether they'd been wise to want it in the first place.

Richard looked out to sea. The Rose lay about where she ought to. How much difference she'd make…again, they would find out. When the plan spilled out of Henry, it sounded brilliant. But all sorts of things that seemed brilliant turned out not to be. You didn't know till you tried them, which was liable to be too late.

Carl, sensibly, was looking toward New Hastings. He crossed himself. "They're coming out," he said.

Warwick's forces advanced slowly and deliberately. Since the soldiers who'd come from England with him wore mailshirts, they couldn't advance any other way. The earl himself had a fine suit of plate. He rode a horse big enough to bear him and the heavy armor. The rising sun struck fire from his lancehead.

Accompanying his troopers were men as bare of mail as Richard's followers. Radcliffe ground his teeth. Those were settlers, men like the ones he led-except they'd chosen the other side.

"They have more men than we do," Carl said quietly.

"I know," Richard answered.

"They have armor, and we don't," the other man went on.

"I know," Richard repeated.

"If they beat us, they'll kill most of us-maybe all of us."

"I know," Richard said one more time.

"If it doesn't work, I won't forgive you."

"If it doesn't work, you'll be too dead to forgive me, or I'll be too dead to need forgiving, or else we'll both be dead and things will even out."

Carl gravely considered that. To Richard's surprise, he chuckled under his breath. Richard clasped his hand. They took their places and waited.

One of Warwick's men came up the beach toward them. He had no flag of truce, but held both hands out before him so Richard and his men could see they were empty. When he got within hailing distance, Richard shouted, "That's close enough. Say your say." The brisk northerly breeze flung his words toward the trooper. It would aid his side's arrows, too-not a great deal, but some.

The trooper cupped his hands to his mouth. "Give it up!" he bawled. "You can't hope to win."

"Be damned to you," Richard answered. His men raised a defiant cheer.

"My lord says, if you yield now, he will let you go into exile: go where you will, so long as it's far from here, with your families, with whatever you can carry, and with one beast and one fowl for each person. Think on what you do. After this fight is won, you won't find him so generous, those of you who don't burn in hell."

"Be damned to your lord, too." Richard spat on the sand. All things considered, the offer was generous-so generous that Richard didn't trust the Earl of Warwick to honor it once he'd got his way bloodlessly. He looked at his men. None of them seemed inclined to give in. That heartened him.

Warwick's trooper shrugged mailed shoulders. "On your heads be it-and on your heads it will be." He turned and walked down the strand. Richard was tempted to put an arrow through his kidneys. One more man he wouldn't have to kill later. But no. The advantage wasn't worth the risk. If he broke a truce, the enemy would show no mercy if they won. They might-not to him, surely, but to his comrades-if he stayed within the rules. The soldier reached his own line unpunctured.

Richard watched him shake his head and spread his hands. A moment later, Warwick's lance swung down so that it pointed straight at the men who dared defy him. He didn't charge, though, not yet. Richard's men would have pincushioned him and his horse if he had. Longbowmen could stand against knights. They'd proved that time and again on the fields of France. Against a lone knight, they could have proved it with ease here in Atlantis.

Slowly, Warwick's men advanced almost to the edge of archery range. His bowmen formed a line behind his troopers. What he had in mind was easy enough to see. The archers would keep Richard's men busy while the troopers-and, presumably, Warwick himself-advanced against them. If Richard's men fought the archers, the regular soldiers would close and slaughter them. If they aimed at the troopers, the bowmen would cut them down from long range.