Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (107 page)

The first indication he had of a change in the weather was the wind. Up until now, the wind had blown at his back hurrying his steps toward the east, but his morning it began blowing into his face
from
the east. He could smell winter in the air. He needed to be inside Calvados before the snows hit. Would Turner’s stone thrower work, or would they have to squander even more time building towers? No, it had to work. Once inside, he could billet the men in the houses if he had to, but it wasn’t something he wanted to do. A fort would concentrate his dwindling men into a strong force for any contingency. Spread out in small packets they could be overwhelmed. The thrower had to work.

The days raced by and the march continued. Tikva’s foot-rotted men recovered and others came down with it. Bad food continued to be grumbled about, Corbin led the cavalry then grumbled about handing the horses to Tikva for his turn. Through it all, Navarien marched at the head of his men and worried. At one point he wondered if the God was playing tricks on him and shifting the stars in the heavens—surely they should be there by now? Was he lost? He gauged the sun’s position—he was moving in the right direction.

More days went by.

Duer was again leading the cavalry screen when he and his men rode back early. “We’re here, Sir.”

He frowned. “We’re where?”

“Calvados, Sir. Ah… you can’t see it from here. It surprised me as well. Calvados is sitting in a big… hole? A basin shaped hollow I suppose it is.”

“Any sign of the ship?”

“That’s why I came back, Sir. It’s anchored off-shore waiting for us, but there’s a bit of a problem. The city folk are camped nearby and shooting arrows at it—not that they have the range, but Cragson can’t land with the crafters, Sir.”

“We’ll see about that straight away,” he said looking forward to some action. “How many opposing us?”

“Er… all of them I think.”

His temper flared. “Be clear man! What do you mean all of them?”

“Sorry, Sir. The old folk and children aren’t there, but nigh on every one else is, they must be. There are too many to count, but at a guess I would say there must be thirty thousand.”

Navarien blinked in dismay. He looked back at his six thousand plus men, and then back at Duer. “We’re screwed.”

Duer nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

Navarien crouched with Tikva on one side and Duer on the other. The rest of his men had withdrawn a short distance and made camp while he investigated this wonder. Duer had led him on horseback for a look at the city. The captain had exaggerated the situation somewhat, but not by much. He estimated that he faced an army of twenty thousand at most, still that was almost four times his numbers—too many to attack with any realistic chance of victory.

What by the God, did these people think they were doing sitting outside the walls? Why didn’t they hide inside so he could attack them as he’d planned?

“What about signalling Cragson to sail out of sight? They might wander back inside,” Duer said.

Navarien grunted, they might do that, or they might decide to have a look this way. He shook his head. They couldn’t have done anything worse from his point of view. He couldn’t attack so many and survive; he couldn’t leave either. Food was short, and what they did have was poor. He needed to be inside the city when the snows hit, but the inhabitants weren’t cooperating! He watched another wagon leave the city with supplies for the camps, supplies he desperately needed.

“I think they did this on purpose,” Tikva said.

Well of course!

“What I mean is, they must have heard about Durena, so they took steps to prevent towers being built. Why don’t we wait till dark and sneak in?”

Navarien opened his mouth to rebuke Tikva, now was no time for jests! He closed it with a snap and glared down at the open gates. They were open now, but would they be tonight? Surely they wouldn’t be stupid enough… surely?

“We wait,” he said. He closed his eyes for just a moment, but the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake. “Now what?”

“It’s full dark, Sir,” Tikva said.

Full dark already! He must have been more tired than he’d thought. Half the day had fled while he slept, he didn’t feel any better for the rest either. If anything he felt worse. He took a drink to wash his mouth out, and used a little water to unglue his eyes. By the God, he hated that! He looked over the ridge into a well lit and quiet camp. The gates were open!

Boom! Clunk!

“Ah, curse it! Why did they have to go and do that?” he said to no one in particular. He took another look at the closed and barred gates, and then slid down from the ridge out of sight.

“Now what?” Duer said sliding down to join him.

How should I know?

“Back to camp.”

Upon his return, he was pleased to find that Bannan and Corbin had chosen a good site. The camp was dug in on a reasonably flat section of ground up slope from the beach. Latrines were at the lower end, and fresh water was available from a small stream. He had ordered the water wagons refilled before he left, and he could see that was still being done. The river, though small, was a weak point in their defences, so Bannan had chosen it for the gate. They splashed into the shallows and were challenged at the trestle. They were recognised and allowed in. Navarien handed the reins of his horse to one of the men and ducked into his tent.

“How did you get here?”

Turner laughed. “Nice to see you too, General!”

He smiled and took Turner’s hand. “It is good to see you, but answer the question.”

“We swam of course. Had to wait for dark, but it weren’t too hard.”

Navarien sat on his cot to remove his boots. “We?”

“Me and a couple of my boys. Cragson couldn’t come. He can’t swim!”

He chuckled, he had known that. Cragson must be steaming mad. “Well, we have a fine situation on our hands, don’t we?”

“The way I see it, General, you can’t afford a battle here. Even if you found a way to force them back inside the walls, you would be hard pressed to take the city defended by so many.”

That
had
been an unpleasant surprise. His information made it plain that Durena was the largest of the three coastal cities, and physically that did appear true. The problem arose when considering the strength of arms each city had. Calvados wasn’t supposed to be any stronger than Cantibria, but it obviously was.

“Where
did
they all come from?” he said and threw his boots into a corner.

“Don’t know for sure you understand, but my guess would be Durena. Do you remember Tikva’s report about the exodus from the south gate? Well, here they are.”

“Good thought that,” he said with a nod.

He had lost a great many men at Durena. The Camorins were better than anyone he had fought before. Without Turner’s scaling towers he would have lost a lot more of his precious men.

“General—” Turner hesitated.

“Spit it out, man. If you know a way to pull this off, I’ll promote you to captain!”

“How important is Calvados to you?”

“I don’t care about it personally, but Mortain—may he live forever—wants it. That’s good enough for me.”

Turner hesitated, and then went on in a rush. “I suppose you wouldn’t consider burning it then?”

“Burn it!”

Turner nodded. “While we were waiting for you, we tinkered together a stone thrower. Master Belok was not happy, I can tell you! Cragson shut him up though. I don’t know what Belok’s objection was really; he didn’t need the spare masts for anything.”

Burn Calvados. Was the man insane? “Why burn it? Except in revenge for a buggered campaign, I can’t see why you would want to.”

“I don’t
want
to burn it, but it would solve the problem. They are hardly likely to stay once the city is gone.”

Navarien shook his head. He had hoped Turner would come up with a miracle, but no, he should have realised that miracles only came once per campaign. Durena had used his up. If he burned the city, not only would he kill thousands of innocents, but the supplies he needed for the winter would be destroyed.

“I can’t burn it. Think of the women and children man!” Covering his slip, he hardened his voice. “Besides, we need somewhere to live through the winter.”

Turner smiled, he wasn’t fooled. “I could have a fort built for you in no time. The stone won’t be destroyed, and there will be plenty of it. I could build one twice the size of Durena’s fort.”

“I said no and I meant it! We’ll have to think of something else.” He was angry at the very thought of burning Calvados. He wouldn’t do to these people what they had done to his men at Durena, no matter the provocation.

“Like what, General? I suppose you could convince Belok to take us into the harbour, but what will that get you?”

Nothing much, he thought gloomily. A thousand men might be able to seize the gates, but then they would be attacked from within as well as from without.

What by the God, am I going to do? I can’t burn it…

* * *

14 ~ Final Battle

Navarien was more than ready for the fight to come, but the odds against victory were high. Never had he had such doubts before going into battle. Even at Athione he had been confident—stupidly confident as it turned out—but this time he doubted. This morning might see the end of him and the Fifth Legion.

Their food had run out yesterday and underlined the need for action. He had kept his men away from Calvados and used the time until now to prepare his camp. The wagons were broken up and the wood sharpened to use as stakes. They were bristling outward along the dirt walls of his rampart. The stakes would slow the enemy’s advance but not stop it. So would the ditches that ran parallel to the walls. He had ordered them dug deeper and flooded with water from the stream. The water level was low—the walls were too porous for more than that, but the ditches had become a slippery quagmire providing another obstacle to slow the enemy. The earthen walls had a shallow slope inside, and a much steeper one outside. With luck, he should be able to slow the onslaught enough that his men would take a heavy toll before falling beneath the Camorin swords. He hoped Mortain was watching; it would be nice to think that his last battle had a witness.

“Corbin should be hitting them about now, Sir,” Tikva said in a musing tone.

“Probably,” he replied trying to ignore his rumbling belly. “He’ll take a good many down with him.”

Corbin’s orders were to hit the enemy hard, but then fall back leading them this way. The problem was that with the new water-filled ditches and stakes, he would be unable to re-enter the camp. Once his task was done, Corbin had discretion. It would be his decision whether to attempt escape, or fight on to the death.

“There, Sir!” Bannan called as Corbin’s cavalry galloped toward them pursued by a like number of the enemy.

“Be ready to feather as many as you can!” he shouted to his bowmen as Corbin’s battalion raced by the camp and then away following the beach.

“Good luck to them, they’re going to need it,” Tikva murmured as the last man galloped away.

The bowmen stood and released a storm of arrows. Horses screamed and reared in pain, others fell rolling head over tail killing their riders instantly. Across the entire front, rank upon rank fell dead. The humming of bowstrings was a constant, as thousands of shafts were loosed in moments. The surviving warriors regrouped and charged the camp ignoring the chase they were originally on. More men and horses fell, but not enough. The warriors had seen friends killed and their anger was great. Navarien grinned waiting for the inevitable.

It arrived.

The horse is not a stupid animal. They will charge, and yes, they will ride men down, but charging a mud wall as tall as they are bristling with nasty sharp stakes was something else. They skidded to a stop, bucking the stupid men off their backs and into the slippery ditches. Many of the horses were unable to stop in time and they slid down into the ditch to bury the men. Navarien’s men kept a constant stream of arrows flying, and soon the fighting, if one could really call it fighting, ended. Perhaps a thousand Camorins had died. The legion lost none at all.

“I can’t believe they did that,” he said in wonder. “The fools actually charged a fortified position without scouting the defences.”

Tikva nodded. “They won’t do it again.”

The remnants of the charge had dismounted and seemed to be waiting for something. There was a noise in the air, a rumbling like thunder far away, but this was no thunder. It was the sound of many feet marching to war.

“It worked.”

“Looks like all of them to me,” he said with a snort of laughter.

Tikva turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. The men nearby glanced at each other as if asking what the jest was, others simply shrugged knowing all officers were crazy. No few of the legionnaires were caught up in the insanity, and peals of laughter rose over the camp drifting on the wind to the enemy.

Navarien watched them advance and drew his sword in readiness. His men had their swords in hand, all except those chosen for their skill with the captured bows. They had arrows standing in rows near to hand, and one shaft knocked to fire the instant he gave the word. Javelins had less range than the bows, but the extra elevation of the wall increased this to a hundred and fifty yards or so. The wall narrowed the gap between each of the legion’s ranged weapons considerably. Every one of his men had at least three javelins. Some—those with more skill—had four. He didn’t expect them to be able to score with every throw or shot, but even if they did, there were more men than he had weapons to kill them with.

He watched as the slow and ponderous advance turned into a trot. The trot turned into a run, the run into a screaming mass of charging warriors intent on killing him and all he held dear.

“NOW!” he screamed and the bows sang.

“AEiii!” the woman screamed and tried to gather up her guts as they slopped to the muddy ground.

Navarien finished her with a cut to the neck and kicked both pieces back down the slope. He took a chance to look around. So far there were no breaks in the line. The enemy had again chosen to mass against the south wall where the stream had previously caused a weak point in his defence. Knowing they would attack there, he had strengthened the section with extra dirt to damn the stream so its water overflowed into his ditches. That stretch had more than its fair share of the stakes also, but though they did their job of slowing the advance, they hadn’t been as effective as he had hoped. Many of the stakes had been hacked down now opening a clear path to his wall.