And Rick thought he could see dust rising far down the road across the river. Flaminius? Or imagination? Whatever, it was time.
"Guardsmen, mount up! Elliot, stand ready to fire!"
"Sir." He bent over the sights.
"Mind your mounts!" Rick called. "Shoot!"
"Fire in the hole!" Elliot shouted. The recoilless blasted leaves off trees in a triangle behind it. Horses reared.
The shell exploded among the Romans just at the bridge. Horses reared and plunged, and one whole section of Roman cavalry bolted away. A number of Romans were down.
"Got the range first shot," Elliot said proudly.
The Roman troops milled in disorganization. Their officer shouted at them.
"Fire!" Eliot shouted.
This time the round struck near the Roman officer. More of their cavalry went down.
"Ride!" Rick ordered. "Sound the charge."
Trumpets blared, and they were riding forward at the gallop. There was no time to shoot at anyone, and nothing to shoot at either. Rick had drawn his saber; he held it point forward as he rode hunkered down to the horse's neck. He hoped someone was behind him.
He galloped onto the bridge, then across it. Some of the bridge planking was missing; his horse barely jumped across one gap. Then he was at the other side. He turned to the right and brought the horse up sharply.
Twenty Guardsmen had followed and were on the bridge. Jamiy, his sword arm bound to his chest, was in their lead, mounted on the centaur he favored. He shouted at the beast and it turned to stand next to Rick.
"Dismount!" Rick commanded. "Dismount and hold the bridge!"
The Roman officer saw his danger now, and was trying to rally his troops to charge across. A score made for the bridge approach, then fell as Elliot's light machine gun stuttered. Rick unslung the H amp;K and waited; two Romans made it onto the bridge. He shot them off it, feeling ashamed as he did.
The Roman officer rallied his troops and drew up in column formation fifty yards from the bridge. There was more rifle fire from the woods, and some Romans dropped. By now Rick's Guardsmen were also dismounted and had unlimbered their bows.
"You haven't a chance!" Rick shouted. "Surrender in honor!"
The Roman officer stood in his stirrups and waved forward. The Roman line charged. Lances dipped in unison as they thundered toward the bridge- Elliot's machine gun stuttered again. Rick added to the fire with his H amp;K. He found he had trouble seeing. There was a mist in his eyes. Lord God, what troops! He aimed low, at the mounts, hoping not to kill any more of the Romans.
The charge was broken, but still a half dozen Roman troopers managed to get to the bridge. They rode on, and now there was nothing for it but to shoot them down in a hail of arrows and bullets.
The other Romans withdrew. Their officer was down, lying half under his mount.
A dozen Tamaerthan heavy cavalry burst from the woods. Drumold's banner led the way. More of the chivalry of Tamaerthon followed. They charged toward the Romans.
"No!" Rick screamed. He struggled to get onto his mount. "You! Ischerald! You're in charge. Hold on here. Jamiy, follow me!" Rick spurred back across the bridge.
They reached the other side. "See to their officer," Rick shouted to Jamiy. "Get an acolyte of Yatar. Instantly, damn you! He's too good a man to die like that!"
He rode slantwise until he was between Drumold and the Romans. Then he led the Tamaerthan troopers forward. The Romans rode away until their remnant was brought to bay, the river bank at their backs. A few stripped off armor and dove in. They vanished in the swift, muddy water, and Rick couldn't see what happened to them.
Probably doomed, he thought. One of the more unpleasant life forms on Tran was the hydra, a freshwater squid-like mollusk that could grow to twenty feet in length. The big hydras preferred clear, slow-moving water, but there were smaller forms in nearly all deep streams. One forded Tran rivers with care.
The remaining Romans sat their horses defiantly. There were no more than fifty left, and now they faced fifty Tamaerthan heavies and twice that many Guardsmen. Still they stood proudly.
Rick reined up a hundred yards from the Romans.
Drumold rode up. "I came as soon as possible."
"Thank you. We must get reinforcements over the bridge. We've got to hold the other side."
"That may no' be so easy," Drumold said. "As I topped the rise yonder I saw the flash of armor. Perhaps twenty stadia away. Legionaries, I think."
"All the more reason to hold the bridge," Rick said. He thought for a moment. "We'll need to ride out and show ourselves to the Romans, before they get close enough to see how few we have across the river. That should stop them for the day. Can you get your chaps to let themselves be seen and then retreat back here?"
"Aye, although they will not be pleased to do so. But they will do it-Rick, we have already been told of your charge for the bridge. And earlier, in the clearing. No man will call you coward now."
Yeah. I knew that. And I've killed a lot of good men to make it happen. Ah, hell.
"And what do we do here?" Drumold asked. He pointed at the Romans.
"I go to speak with them."
"And if they shoot you down?"
"Then you're in command." Rick rode forward alone, his hands spread out empty. When he was fifty yards from the Roman line he held his hand up, palm forward. "Hail, soldiers of Rome."
There was a long pause. Finally a Roman soldier rode forward. "Hail, barbarian."
"Lay down your arms," Rick shouted. "You have fought honorably, against star weapons and great odds. Now accept honor and take quarter."
"From whose hand?" the Roman demanded.
"In the name of Marselius Caesar," Rick replied. "You will have heard of his amnesty for all who follow an enthroned Caesar. This I too swear. I am Rick Galloway, Colonel of Mercenaries, Eqeta of Chelm, War Leader of Tamaerthon, War Lord of Drantos, Ally and Friend to Marselius Caesar."
The Roman seemed to think that one over.
"Archers!" Drumold shouted from behind him. "Prepare the gulls."
A group of Guardsmen dismounted. They drew their long bows from bowcases.
"You know what Tamaerthan archers can do," Rick shouted. "You will die to no purpose. How can it serve Rome to have her finest soldiers slaughtered? Lay down your arms."
"Way! Way there!" someone called from behind.
A group of Guardsmen and acolytes of Yatar came out toward Rick. They carried the Roman officer in a blanket.
"Your tribune lives," Rick shouted. "We tend his wounds. He bids you lay down your arms."
The Roman decurion looked back at his companions. Then slowly he rode forward. A few yards away he halted, drew his sword, and dismounted. Silently he came forward and presented it hilt first. Then he knelt in submission.
Drumold led the Tamaerthan heavy cavalry across the bridge and down the road, as Guardsmen collected the Roman weapons. Half an hour later, the first blocks of pikemen arrived. Rick sent them across the bridge to secure their foothold on the other side.
And now there was nothing to do but wait. And hurt. His clothes were stuck to him with blood from the arrow wounds, his ankle was starting to swell, and his thumb and whole right hand were already swollen. He'd forgotten to take off his ring; they would have to cut that off, and soon, too, or he'd lose the finger. There were other bumps and bruises he felt now that the adrenalin was no longer flowing.
But we won, he thought. "Twas a famous victory…"
Caradoc rode up with the rest of the Guard.
"You'll be personally responsible for the Roman prisoners," Rick said. "I have promised them safety. They keep all their property except weapons, and they're to be well treated. All of them. And guarded by enough troops that they won't try to escape. I don't want a single one of them harmed. Is this understood?"