Part 163 (2/2)
Thomas Tydder shoved through to her, panting, to grip her stirrup. He gasped, ”Troops up ahead. About a thousand, boss.”
Ash said crisply, ”Whose banners?”
”Some of the rag-heads?” His young voice cracked, hesitant. ”Mostly Germans. Main banner's an eagle, boss. It's the Holy Roman Emperor. It's Frederick.”
”On his way home,” Robert Anselm remarked.
”Oh, yeah, I guess he'd have to come by this road . . .” Ash sat up high in her saddle, looking ahead, and back down the winding track. Snow-shrouded woods tightly flanked the road where they were. ”We'll ride on to where it widens out, pull off, and let him through.”
”Didn't take him long to abandon the rag-heads, did it?” Robert Anselm rumbled.
”Rats fleeing from a s.h.i.+p, madonna.” Angelotti walked his own Visigoth mare up beside her. ”He'll be no favourite with Amir Leofric. He'll be off home to settle politics in his own court.”
”Robert, go back and make sure Bajezet understands we're giving him the road - I don't want brawls starting.”
A hundred yards further on, Ash halted, waiting among her men; John de Vere's household and the Janissary escort drawn up either side of the track that pa.s.sed as a road.
”Boss!” Anselm galloped back, breath huffing out into the cold air. ”We've got a problem. No scouts back. n.o.body's reported in for the last fifteen minutes.”
”Aw, s.h.i.+t. Okay, hit the panic b.u.t.ton-” Standing up in her stirrups, Ash squinted back down the hoof-trodden snow to the point where the woods closed in tight against the road behind them. Two or three dark figures dropped down off the banks as she looked. ”They've got outriders round behind us! Sound full alert!”
The trumpet snarked a long yowl across the snow-covered valley; she heard horses s.h.i.+fting behind her, units forming up, men calling orders, and Robert Anselm jerked a thumb, pointing ahead.
”They're stopping. Sending a herald.”
Break and run? No: they've got the woods covered behind us. Straight on through? It's the only way. But Florian!
Paralysed, she watched a herald ride forward from among the German troops. There was not enough wind in this rose-mist, frozen morning to stir the drooping wet banners. She recognised the man's face vaguely - wasn't he at Frederick's court, outside Neuss? - but not the Visigoth qa'id officer riding with him.
”Give up the woman,” the herald demanded, without preamble.
”Which woman would that be?” Ash spoke without taking her eye off the other troops. Between a thousand and fifteen hundred men. Cavalry: European riders in heavy plate, and Visigoth cataphracts in overlapping scale-armour. The Visigoths, at least, had the look of veterans. She saw the eagles.
Those are men from the new legions, III Caralis and I Carthago, Gelimer's legions-as-were.
With them, a black ma.s.s of serf-troops, and a solid block of German men-at-arms; not much in the way of archers- ”The woman calling herself d.u.c.h.ess of Burgundy,” the herald called, voice shrill. ”Whom my master Frederick, Emperor of the Romans, Lord of the Germanies, will now take into his custody.”
”He what?” Ash yelped. ”Who the f.u.c.k does he think he is!”
Exasperation and fear made her speak, but the Visigoth officer looked at her sharply. The qa'id brought his bay mare around with a s.h.i.+ft of his weight. ”He is my master Frederick - who was loyal va.s.sal to King-Caliph Gelimer, late of glorious name; and who now takes upon himself the caliphate of the empire of the Visigoths.”
Oh f.u.c.k, Ash thought blankly.
”Frederick of Hapsburg?” Florian said incredulously. She stifled a cough in her hand. ”Frederick's standing for election to King-Caliph?”
”He's a foreigner!” Robert Anselm protested to the Visigoth officer, but Ash paid no attention.
Yes, he can probably do it, she a.s.sessed.
Back in Dijon, the army's split into yes, no and maybe. 'Yes' - those for Leofric. 'No' - those who were loyal to Gelimer; but a dead man has few friends. And 'maybe': the ones who are waiting to see which way it all jumps.
These guys here will be ex-Gelimer's clients that he put in as officers in his legions. And the reason they're following Frederick is- ”Hand over the woman!” the Visigoth legionary qa'id snapped. ”Do not mistake Lord Frederick for Leofric. Leofric is a weak man who wished nothing more than to make peace with you, when we stand on the brink of victory. My lord Frederick, who will be Caliph, is determined to carry out that which was the will of Gelimer, before Gelimer was treacherously killed. My lord Frederick will execute this woman, Floria, calling herself d.u.c.h.ess of Burgundy, to make our victory over Burgundy complete.”
Anselm said, ”Son of a b.i.t.c.h,” in an awed rumble.
The rose-mist on the hills whitened, with the sun's rise. Churned snow glinted. Ash's breath drifted white from her mouth. She checked positions: Bajezet on her left, now, at the head of his troops; de Vere's Blue Boar banner to her right. She narrowed her eyes, staring across the five hundred yards between them and Frederick and his troops.
'”King-Caliph Frederick' . . .” she said. ”Yeah. If he kills the d.u.c.h.ess, turns this into the defeat of Burgundy, then he's the hero of the Visigoth Empire, he probably is Caliph - and he gets a big chunk of Burgundy for himself. Louis of France probably gets some of it, but Frederick gets a lot. And when the Turks come howling over the borders - his borders - he's got control of his forces, and the Visigoth armies, and he's safe: he can give them one h.e.l.l of a run for his money. Holy Roman Emperor and King-Caliph. And all he has to do to get it is come out here, and kill the d.u.c.h.ess of Burgundy.”
”I don't believe-” Florian's voice exploded with a cough. She wiped her streaming eyes, nose perceptibly pink; and Ash had a split second of complete tenderness for her, this doctor-d.u.c.h.ess with the beginnings of a cold. ”This is a petty political struggle! Frederick must know what the Wild Machines will do!”
Ash said, ”Evidently he doesn't believe it.”
”You beat the Visigoth legions! It can't end in some ambus.h.!.+”
”No one's so special they can't die in some grotty little sc.r.a.p after the war's won,” Ash said grimly, and to Robert Anselm, in the camp patois, ”We'll a.s.sault through them. My lord Oxford, you and Bajezet take Florian - break through and keep going. Send help when you get to Dijon.”
”When we've established who's in command at Dijon,” John de Vere corrected her grimly. He turned in his saddle to give orders to the Janissaries.
Covering him, Ash nudged the mare's flanks, riding closer to the German and Visigoth heralds. ”Go back and tell Frederick he's barking. The d.u.c.h.ess is under our protection, and he can just sod off.”
The Visigoth officer lifted his arm and dropped it down. The blurred, buzzing tw.a.n.g of bows came from ahead. Ash's head ducked automatically: arrows struck among the horses: the heralds set spurs and sprinted at the gallop back down the track.
The Janissaries charged without hesitation. Hooves of upwards of five hundred horses kicked dirt, rocks and snow into the air. A clot of wet slush hit Ash's helmet. She shoved her sallet back, wiped her face clear, shouted, ”Form up!” to Anselm; and the Janissary mounted archers drew bows and shot as they rode, de Vere's banner and Florian del Guiz in the centre of them. Surely they can't reach her! Ash thought, and the charge ahead of her dissolved into a ma.s.s of screaming beasts, falling men, toppling banners.
In a chaos of screaming horses, Ash saw the ranks of the troops ahead part.
Figures taller than a man walked through the trampled snow. Their motion slow, they nonetheless covered the ground frighteningly fast, stone feet digging in with such weight that they did not slip or fall. The red sunrise light glowed on their torsos, limbs, and sightless eyes.
One of them reached up and took a man off his horse. Holding the flailing Turk by his ankle, with one stone hand it cracked his body like a whip.
Twenty or more messenger-golems of Carthage strode heavily across the earth towards her, hands outstretched.
Backing the mare in a flurry of slush, she found Rickard and the banner at her side. Her whole body cringed, waiting for the flare of Greek Fire- One golem, bra.s.s harness glinting against the snow, sent a coughing jet of fire roaring into the middle of the Turkish riders. Their formation dissolved.
Only one: are they short of Greek Fire: where did the golem come from?
A ma.s.s of riders bolted across in front of her, hiding the golems momentarily; a second roar of flame sounded, and horses screamed. Her command group opened up; she received Bajezet, a dozen Turkish riders, and John de Vere with the rein of Florian's mare gripped in his gauntlet.
”They come through, Woman Bey!”
”Robert! Scout reports! Where can we hole up until we can send a rider for help?”
Anselm pointed. ”Buildings, edge of the woods, up on that slope to our right. They're ruined, but they're cover.”
”Florian, that's where you're going. Don't argue.” Ash threw herself out of the saddle, off the panicking mare, landing hard but on her feet. She ripped her sword out of its scabbard and pointed, screaming to the Lion Azure standard-bearer, ”Fall back to the woods!”
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