"They took a long chance here, provoking battle with their backs to the river," Sarkis said. "Let's make them pay for it."
More and more of the Thanasioi gained the safety of the far bank. Yet another valiant stand by a few kept the imperial soldiers away from the bridge. Just when they were about to gain it in spite of everything the heretics could do to stop them, the wooden structure exploded into flame in spite of the downpour.
"Magic?" Krispos said, staring in dismay at the heavy black smoke that poured from the bridge.
"It could be, your Majesty," Sarkis answered judiciously. "More likely, though, they painted it with liquid fire and just now touched it off. That stuff doesn't care about water when it gets to burning."
"Aye, you're right, worse luck," Krispos said. Made from naphtha, sulfur, the foul-smelling oil that seeped up between rocks here and there in the Empire, and other ingredients— several of them secret—liquid fire was the most potent incendiary Videssos' arsenal boasted. A floating skin of it would even burn on top of water. No wonder it took no notice of the rain.
The last handful of Thanasioi still on the eastern side of the stream went down. "Come on!" Evripos shouted to the impromptu force he led. "To the ice with this fire! We'll go across anyhow."
Not all the men followed him, and not only men but also horses failed him. His own mount squealed and reared in fright when he forced it near the soddenly crackling flames. He fought the animal back under control, but did not try again to make it cross.
That proved as well, for the bridge collapsed on itself a couple of minutes later. Charred timbers splashed into the river and, some, still burning, were swept away downstream. The Thanasioi jeered from the far bank, then began vanishing behind the curtain of rain.
Krispos sat glumly on his horse, listening to the splash and tinkle of the storm and, through it, the cries of wounded men. He squared his shoulders and did his best to rally. Turning to Sarkis he said, "Send companies out at once to seize any nearby routes east that remain open."
"Aye, your Majesty, I'll see to it at once." After a moment, Sarkis said, "We have a victory here, your Majesty."
"So we do." Krispos' voice was hollow. As a matter of fact, Sarkis' voice was hollow, too. Each seemed to be doing his best to convince the other everything was really all right, but neither appeared to believe it. Krispos put worry into words: "If we don't find another route soon, we'll have a hard time going forward."
"That's true." Sarkis seemed to deflate like a pig's bladder poked with a pin. "A victory that gets us nothing is scarcely worth the having."
"My thought exactly," Krispos said. "Better we should have stayed in Videssos the city and started this campaign in the spring than be forced to cut it off in the middle like this." He forced himself away from recrimination. "Let's make camp, do what we can for our hurt, and decide what we try next."
"A lot of that will depend on what the scouting parties turn up," Sarkis said.
"I know." Krispos did his best to stay optimistic. "Maybe the Thanasioi won't have knocked down every bridge for miles around."
"Maybe." Sarkis sounded dubious. Krispos was dubious, too. Against a revolt made up simply of rebellious peasants, he would have had more hope. But Livanios had already proved himself a thoroughgoing professional. You couldn't count on him to miss an obvious maneuver.
Krispos put the future out of his mind. He couldn't even plan until the scouts came back and gave him the information he needed. He rode slowly through the army, praising his men for fighting well, and congratulating them on the victory. They were not stupid; they could see for themselves that they hadn't accomplished as much as they might have. But he put the best face he could on the fight. "We've driven the bastards back, showed them they can't stand against us. They won't come yapping round our heels again like little scavenger dogs any time soon."
"A cheer for his Majesty!" one of the captians called. The cheer rang out. It was not one to make the hillsides echo, but it was not dispirited or sardonic, either. All things considered, it satisfied Krispos.
He rode up close to the bridge. Some of its smoldering support timbers still stood. Evripos looked across the river toward the now-vanished Thanasioi. He turned his head to see who approached, then nodded, one soldier to another. "I'm sorry, Father. I did my best to get over, but my stupid horse wouldn't obey."
"Maybe it's for the best," Krispos answered. "You would have been trapped on the far side when the bridge went down. I can't afford to lose sons so prodigally." He hesitated, then reached out to whack Evripos on his mailed back. "You fought very well—better than I'd looked for you to do."
"It was—different from what I expected." A grin lightened Evripos' face. "And I wasn't afraid, the way I thought I'd be."
"That's good. I was, my first time in battle. I puked up my guts afterward, as a matter of fact, and I'm not ashamed to admit it." Krispos studied his son in some bemusement. "Have I gone and spawned a new Stavrakios? I've always expected good things from you, but not that you'd prove a fearsome warrior."
"Fearsome?" Evripos' grin got wider; all at once, in spite of his beard and the mud that streaked his face, he reminded Krispos of the little boy he'd been. "Fearsome, you say? By the good god, I like it."
"Don't like it too well," Krispos said. "A taste for blood is more expensive than even an emperor can afford." He realized he laid that on too thick and tried to take some of it off: "But I was glad to see you at the fore. And if you go through the encampments tonight, you'll find out I wasn't the only one who noticed."
"Really?" Krispos could see Evripos wasn't used to the idea of being a hero. By the way the young man straightened up, though, the notion sat well. "Maybe I'll do that."
"Try not to let them get you too drunk," Krispos warned. "You're an officer, you need to keep your head clear when you're in the field." Evripos nodded. Remembering himself at the same age, Krispos doubted his son would pay the admonition too much heed. But he'd planted it in Evripos' mind, which was as much as he could do.
He went off to see how Katakolon had fared in his first big fight. His youngest son had already disappeared among the tents of the camp followers, so Krispos silently shelved the lecture on the virtues of moderation. He did seek out a couple of officers who had seen Katakolon in action. By their accounts, he'd fought well enough, though without his brother's flair. Reassured by that, Krispos decided not to rout him from his pleasures. He'd earned them.
Krispos had urged Evripos to go through the camp to soak up adulation. He made his own second tour for a more pragmatic reason: to gauge the feel of the men after the indecisive fight. He knew a certain amount of relief that none of the regiments had tried to go over to the foe.
A fellow who had his back turned and so did not know the Avtokrator was close by said to his mates, "I tell you, boys, at this rate it's gonna take us about three days less'n forever to make it to Pityos. If the mud don't hold us back, mixing it with the cursed heretics will." His friends nodded in agreement.
Krispos walked away from them less happy than he might have been. He breathed a silent prayer up to Phos that the scouting parties could discover an undefended river crossing. If his men didn't think they could do what he wanted from them, they were all too likely to prove themselves right.
Even though he'd not fought, himself, the battle left him worn. He fell asleep as soon as he lay down on his cot and did not wake until the gray dawn of another wet day. When he came out of the tent, he wished he'd stayed in bed, for Sarkis greeted him with unwelcome news: "Latest count is, we've lost, ah, thirty-seven men, your Majesty."