Jack Whyte - The Eagles' Brood

"Aye, there could be." His voice was taut and rough with his own rage. "But the whoresons will never expect to find a thousand of us smashing at their ears. Let's hit them now."

I was strongly tempted to agree with him, but then I remembered we had scouts out there in the darkness and became freshly aware of the silent army at our backs. They had been warned under pain of court martial to make no noise that might betray our presence. I realized that throwing our men into a night attack would be wasteful for several reasons. I jerked my head in a negative. "No, Uther. If we move against them now, we lose our initiative. They won't see our strength, and I want them to see us—a thousand fresh horsemen. Fresh to this fight, at least. Fresh to them. We have to wait for daylight and for our scouts to come back."

"Come back? They may all be dead, Cay! That's Camulod burning up there! Your father is up there, so is my grandmother."

"Uther, I know that." I wanted to scream at him, but managed to keep my voice low and urgent. "Do you think me blind and a fool? But the choice is simple: either we attack now in anger, in darkness, as a blind rabble, and risk achieving nothing, or we wait for an hour and attack in daylight when our strength can be seen by Lot's people and by our own. Lot obviously thinks he has the battle in his hand, or he would not have his men fighting through the night. He is trying to wear our people down, but he is wearing his own down, too. Come daylight, they will not be ready to withstand the sight of a fresh army of cavalry at their backs. Our people, on the other hand, will take new heart at the sight of us."

He was unconvinced. "But what about the fort? It's burning, Cay. They must be fighting up there, too. " "I hope not," I responded, showing my own uncertainty. "But if they are, there is nothing we can do to help them. There are two armies between us and them."

"Damnation," he exploded, "There must be something we can do!"

I reached across and grasped his shoulder forcefully, trying to make him accept the truth of my words. "Nothing right now, Uther! Accept it. Nothing useful. Not before daylight. In the meantime, we can try to draw up a plan of attack." As I said this I heard the sound of a low-pitched challenge, answered immediately, off to my right, and then a small group of figures came towards us out of the stifling blackness. All were on foot and all save one were ours. The exception was a young squadron leader who had remained in Camulod with my father and Titus when we left. Uther and I swung down from our horses and went to meet him, Uther reaching him a fraction ahead of me and greeting him with the question that had sprung into my own mind. "How did you find us? How did you come here?"

The young man saluted both of us. "Commander Uther, Commander Merlyn, the Legate Titus sent me out of the camp at nightfall to wait for you here. I had to make my way along the side of the hill towards the villa and then circle the enemy to get here."

"Alone?" I interrupted him. "You came alone? What if you had missed us in the dark?"

"No, Commander," he interrupted me without being aware of it, "not alone. There were three of us. One stayed to the north of the villa to await you there in case you had not already passed. A second stayed half-way between there and here, and I came on alone. The Legate had no knowledge of the time of your arrival, but we all hoped that it would be tonight."

"Where is the Legate now?" This was Uther. "What happened up at the fort?"

The messenger shook his head. "I have no idea, Commander. I was with the force the Legate brought down the hill to reinforce the camp on the plain yesterday, but whatever is going on up there only began tonight, after we left to look for you. There was nothing amiss before that."

"How strong is the camp on the plain?" I asked, only too aware of how little we knew of the true state of things. "Can they hold out?"

His answer was immediate and positive. "Yes, Commander. We have over a thousand men there now, perhaps closer to fifteen hundred. They are well supplied and under the command of the Legate Titus and Popilius, the primus pilus. They can hold out for one more day at least, although they have been under constant attack since early yesterday. The Legate's reinforcements had to fight their way through."

I snapped my fingers impatiently, seething with frustration. "What can you tell us of the enemy? How many? How strong? Do they have cavalry? How are they disposed? Are they using poisoned arrows?"

He forestalled me by raising a hand, palm towards me, and I subsided in surprise. "Please, Commander Merlyn," he said, "I have all that."

"Good," barked Uther, smothering a laugh. "Spit it out then."

The soldier turned towards Camulod, placing himself between Uther on his right and me on his left, and gestured with his left hand towards the south. "The enemy's main camp lies over there at the base of the hill, about two miles from where we stand. The fires are all out, otherwise we could see them from here. We have estimated their full strength as somewhere between five and eight thousand men, although it has been difficult to judge because of the constant stream of new arrivals, always from the southwest. Many of them are on horseback, but they hardly qualify as cavalry. They show no sign of discipline or training. We saw no evidence of organized manoeuvring. They are mounted, but most of their beasts are mountain ponies." He paused, and then went on, "On our way out here earlier, my companions and I tried to gauge the number of campfires. We estimated half, perhaps more, of the enemy are in their main camp, asleep. The remainder are attacking our camp on the plain, trying to wear our people out and, we think, trying to distract their attention from whatever is happening above in the fort. And no, Commander Merlyn, no poisoned arrows have been used as far as we know."

He stopped again, to let us digest what he had told us, but it was clear that he had more to say. Uther and I said nothing, waiting for him to resume. When he began to * speak again his voice was different, dropping, now that he had finished speculating, into the trained, familiar monotone of the soldier repeating a dispatch.

"The Legate Titus will be prepared to bring his men out from behind the wall at daybreak, but he will not emerge until you have shown yourselves to the enemy and distracted them enough to allow him to attempt a safe and disciplined exit. He suggests that you might wish to launch your attack along a staggered front, committing your left in strength first. The Legate has observed that the enemy's main camp effectively blocks the exit from the plain to the south. His suggestion is that your opening attack, with your left, will begin to force the enemy northward in strength. By reserving your strength and committing it in staggered waves, the Legate feels that you could compress that northward movement into a rout, since he and his infantry will leave our camp by the south and east entrances and attack the enemy from the side and rear as you complete your advance, effectively cutting them off from their camp completely.

"Once their northward movement has started, the Legate suggests that our combined forces work together to increase its momentum. He suggests further that you withhold your extreme right in deep concealment in the forest to the northeast until the time comes to commit it. As the press of the enemy begins to clear the north-east corner of our camp, a third contingent of our troops, a cohort strong, will issue from the north gate in a new flank attack, supported from your side by the last squadron you have that is visible and uncommitted, charging them directly from the east, their right. No great need for discipline here, the Legate feels, merely timing. Then, at the correct moment, which will be signalled to you by a charge from the fort itself by the Legate Flavius and his four hundred cavalry, you will produce your uncommitted reserves on the right, in strength, out of their concealment to the north-east."