The spoil from the ditch—twenty feet wide, ten feet deep—was mounded inside the enclosure and, held in place by forms made of split logs supported by stakes, tightly packed. And the work went on by day and by night. Other troops spent their days in a forest, half a mile to the north, felling trees and transporting them to . camp, where the artificers topped them and shaped the trunks and larger branches. The tops were denuded of leaves and small twigs by walking-wounded and the tip of-each and every remaining branch was given a sharp point—dumped in embankments or lashed together, these would make quite an effective abatis.
After a week, armed men began to trickle from north, west, and south: some were mounted; most were afoot; a few were disciplined Freefighters; the rest were straggling bands gathered together by one of Zenos’ officers, some noble or a village headman. One and all were immediately attached to one of Milo’s or Zerios’ units and put to work on the fortifications.
When a Freefighter officer grumbled within Milo’s hearing distance that at least some time should be devoted to drills and arms-practice, the High-Lord had the officers and nobles assembled before his pavilion.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “we have perhaps a month until the south bank of the Lumbuh will be aswarm with the largest single army these realms have ever seen. We mean to stop them there, on the south bank; but, if we fail, if those rapacious hordes manage to fight their way onto this side of the river, we must have a stronghold that can be defended by a minimum number of troops, while the bulk of the army withdraws northward. This stronghold must be so situated that the enemy will feel impelled to attack and overwhelm it. Ours is so placed, straddling as it does the eastern trade road, menacing the enemy’s lines of supply. Additionally, the castra must be strong enough to hold off as many troops as possible for every possible second.
“Now, I know that many of you professionals are somewhat incensed at the lack of unit drills, field maneuvering, and arms-training for the volunteers.”
There was a grumble of assent from among his listeners. He raised a hand to still it.
“As for unit drills, I doubt not that every Freefighter and Confederation soldier in this camp could perform them in his sleep … and probably often has.” He added with a grin, drawing answering grins, nods, and a few chuckles from the throng.
“As for training the volunteers, most are ill armed and we have scant equipment to supply them and, even had we mountains of arms and armor, one bare, month is just too short a time to teach plowboys to angle their pikes and stand firm in the face of a cavalry charge.
“As for field maneuvers, they are totally unnecessary, since I have no intention of engaging Zastros’ army in formal battle. Hopefully, by the time his army comes up . to the Lumbuh, we will have sixty thousand troops here. King Zastros will outnumber us by more than two to one—not impossible odds if we wage purely defensive warfare, but sheer suicide for most of us if we allow ourselves to be lured into a formal engagement.
“Do not misunderstand me, gentlemen, I mean to fight! I mean to send the scattered remnants of King Zastros’ army running back southward as fast as their legs can carry them. But, gentlemen, I mean to fight at a time and place of my choosing. The place is here, if we can hold the river line long enough; the time is when the odds are a little more in our favor.
“And they will be, gentlemen, can we but hold our place for a maximum of eight weeks from this day! The Duke of Kumbuhlun is making ready to march with his entire army and that of his cousin, the Count of Mahrtuhnburk. By now, Captain Guhsz Helluh should be ensconced in Salzburk recruiting every uncommitted Freefighter within sight or hearing distance. We are in alliance with the Lord of the Sea Isles and he has agreed to furnish an unspecified number of fighters. And I received, less than an hour ago, a message that the King of Pitzburk is dispatching five hundred picked noblemen and six thousand dragoons, as well. He also assures the Confederation of financial assistance.
“So, you see, we are not alone, we are growing stronger, gaining more allies every day. All that we need is a little more time. I think that what we are doing here will buy us that time. But I must have the active support of you gentlemen to accomplish my plans.”
A short officer shouldered his way to the front, respectfully removed his helm from his grizzled head, and politely asked, “Can I be heard, Lord Milo?”
Milo stepped aside, making room on the earthen dais and the heavily scarred, one-eyed veteran joined him, walking with the rolling gait of an old cavalryman.
“I be Senior Lieutenant Erl Hohmun, of Mai’s Squadrons. I ain’t no gentleman, less you consider the youngest son of a younger son of a younger son such, so don’t nobody expec’ me to talk like one. But I’ve fought for Lord Milo’s gold for more’n thirty year now—I’uz a trooper under ol’ Djeen Mai, a sergeant and senior-sergeant under his son, Bili Mai, and now I’m servin’ Djeen’s grandson. In all that time, I ain’t never seen High-Lord Milo lose a battle, ain’t never had to retreat from any set-to that he himself planned. OP soljers, like me, can feel things in their bones, an’ right now I got me a strong feelin’. If we all stick by the Lord Milo, do ever’thin’ he tells us, an’ do it his way, we’ll still be a-lootin the Southern Kingdom, come this time nex’ year!”
A roar from the Freefighter officers was taken up by the Confederation professionals and, seriously outnumbered, the nobles could only join in. Milo could have hugged the ugly little one-eyed Lieutenant Hohmun, who in a few short, blunt words had saved the day for him and Kehnooryos Ehlahs through assuring him of the overwhelming support of the officer-corps. Milo had tried to appeal to such things as reason, honor and self-sacrifice … and never aroused any real enthusiasm; the gap-toothed dragoon, at least seven hundred years Milo’s junior, had won them with those two basic things for which soldiers fought in this savage world—leadership of a proven and undefeated lord, and loot.
Milo said a few closing words, called forward and introduced some recent arrivals, then dismissed the formation.
Maxos and Beros, both petty nobles of the Karaleenos city of Thalasopolis, who had grudgingly brought in what was to have been a band of anti-Confederation guerrillas, strolled off hand in hand, Maxos hissing, “But, darling, it was so obvious, to an intelligent man, at least. The High-Lord had that disgusting barbarian creature planted … probably spent just days drumming those exact words into the little ape….”
Not being mindspeakera, neither had a mindshield, so Milo was easily able to eavesdrop on their thoughts; those two would possibly bear watching. But their type was a very small minority; most of the departing nobles and officers radiated a new sense of purpose, expressions of dedication and loyalty and dreams of gold and women of the Southern Kingdom.
Milo could but wish that he felt as confident of victory.
5
At his own suggestion, Lord Alexandros had remained in Kehnooryos Atheenahs when his captains and ship re-, turned to the Sea Isles. He informed them that he was hostage to their full -cooperation in the effort to stop King Zastros.
Despite her burning curiosity regarding the young man’s relationship to that man he so closely resembled—his namesake, the late Lord Strahtegos Alexandros of Pahpahspolis—Lady Mara could find no time for her hostage-lord for over a month, so filled were her days with the multitudinous chores engendered by her responsibilities. Nor, despite Milo’s gesture of solicitude, was Aldora of any immediate help. Without even reporting to Mara upon her arrival in the capital, she dismissed most of her guard, ordered a barge, and had herself rowed downriver to Ehlai, not returning until all the Tribe’s fighters had departed and the young and old were being boated up to Kehnooryos Atheenahs.