It was time to try the hind legs. He would try and lure Alish's army in between the pyramid and the burial mound, then crush it between those two strongpoints. He had massed archers lurking out of sight behind the burial mound which would give him a fist to use against infantry; wet ground in front of the mound would protect against a cavalry charge.
'Smoke!' yelled Hearst, to the men manning blazing bonfires. 'Blue – '
But someone had already thrown a bag of chemicals onto a fire. Red smoke billowed up.
'Blue smoke!' yelled Hearst. 'And – trumpets! -sound the retreat!'
A bag of chemicals was thrown onto the fire – this time for blue smoke. A pillar of green and yellow flames shot up into the sky as chemicals mixed. Some of the trumpets sounded the advance, and some the retreat. Wind blew the smoke this way and that, obscuring the battlefield completely.
Then someone threw on black smoke.
'Who threw black smoke!' screamed Hearst. 'I'll kill the man responsible!'
Black smoke was the signal which would summon ships Hearst had waiting upriver. The ships were his reserve force, and this, to his mind, was hardly the time to employ them. He was well aware of the fact that the general who wins a battle is often the one who has the last reserves to commit to the fight; the black smoke, calling in the ships prematurely, might have cost him victory.
Still, it would be a little while yet before the ships got here.
As the smoke cleared, Hearst was able to see that his men were retreating. A few came scrambling up the burial mound; most fell back toward the pyramid, or went mobbing back through the gap between the pyramid and the mound. They were retreating, obviously, not because of the totally incoherent signals, but because they were losing.
Alish managed to stop his men from following.
Hearst saw Alish's battle-standard, the blood-red banner of Rovac, moving to the northern flank.-Alish's cavalry began to mass on that flank. Hearst's plan, to lure Alish's men in between two strongpoints then crush them, had failed. Alish was obviously going to attack the burial mound, the strongpoint guarding Hearst's right flank, hoping, by seizing it, to win the battle.
"Well then,' muttered Hearst, 'Come on!'
Then, in a loud clear voice, he shouted orders. On his command, a scattering of soldiers down in front of the burial mound retreated to its heights, their legs boggy with mud.
There were dead bodies on the ground between the two armies – dead men, dead horses, broken spears, fallen banners. As dust settled through sunlight, both sweating, panting armies were silent but for the screams and groans of the wounded.
'What happens now?' said Farfalla.
'Alish is gathering his cavalry for a charge,' said Hearst.
He could hear the unintelligible tail-end of shouted orders from the enemy army. Riders were galloping up and down the ranks, distributing orders. Alish was planning something. What? 'Are we winning?' said Farfalla.
'We're alive,' said Hearst.
He could not look at her: he could not take his eyes off the battlefield. His gut was knotted up. His muscles were trembling with tension. He had felt like this in other battles, but had always been able to release the tension by expending it in the fury of a battle-rage, his sword sweeping to slaughter, a shout in his throat as he gave himself to combat. Now he could only stand and wait.
'What does the enemy hope to do?'
'To storm this mound,' said Hearst.
And took his eyes off the field of battle just for a moment to glance behind him. There, sheltering out of sight of Alish's army, hidden by the rise of the burial mound that was six hundred paces long, were his archers, ten ranks of old men, children, women, servants, slaves and cripples. They had moved into position during the night; they waited patiently, gazing at the banners on the burial mound.
Hearst knew that if Alish's army gained the mound, there would be fearful slaughter amongst those rag-tag ranks. There were five thousand people there; perhaps all would die. He had been forced to argue long and hard with Farfalla to get her permission to bring them here; if they died, the responsibility would be all his.
Hearst turned back to the field of battle. Alish's blood-red banner advanced to the head of the cavalry. So Alish would lead the attack himself.
Hearst waited.
Farfalla's green and gold banner rippled in the wind. Hearst's battle-standard snapped this way and that with a crisp, clean sound. The wind stirred dust from the dry, trampled ground; Hearst smelt the dust. The sun, shining into the eyes of Alish's army, was warm on his back.
Alish's cavalry advanced at a trot on a front six hundred paces wide, facing the burial mound. The horses slowed their pace as the men walked them through the lines of potholes and sharpened stakes that were a hundred paces in front of the mound, then they formed up again for a charge to send them sweeping up to the top of the burial mound.
Hearst glanced anxiously at the ground in front of the mound. Part had been trampled into mud by stray soldiers, but most was covered with dead brown grass. However, a little water still remained at the bottom of the shallow irrigation ditch. Would the riders notice? He hoped not. Their charge, after all, would take them into the sun.
The cavalry were moving forward. At a trot. At a canter. Sunlight glittered on the sharp points of spears. They gained to a gallop. Thunder. Thunder of hooves.
The honour guard and the other soldiers on the mound wavered.
'Stand fast!' shouted Hearst.
And they answered his shout: 'Wa – wa – Watashi! Wa – wa – Watashi!'
Blood. Fear. Death.
The first riders hit the waterlogged ground. It was soft as a knee-deep bog, the same as it would be after the winter rains. Horses went down, legs breaking, riders thrown. The cavalry behind crashed into the wreckage of flesh at full gallop. The ground shook: flesh screamed. The blood-red banner of Rovac went down. Hearst wheeled, faced the sun: 'Fire!'
The nearest archers in the waiting ranks unleashed their missiles. Others saw them, and followed suit. The air hummed and sang as if vast energies had set the sky itself vibrating. High soared the arrows, then fell, a lethal, hissing rain, bringing death to those struggling in the mud; death to those few who had managed to rein in their horses short of disaster.
Against that death, courage was useless, skill no protection. Those horsemen who could escape did so, turning their mounts and fleeing. A shout of dismay rose from the ranks of Alish's army. Many of Alish's soldiers, too distant to see the mud and arrows, had seen the cavalry charge broken as if by magic, and there were shouts of 'death-stone! death-stone!' loud within their ranks.
'Red smoke!' shouted Hearst.
He would attack, and see what happened.
Red smoke whirled up into the air. The flights of arrows ceased: the honour guard charged down the mound, attacking the survivors of the cavalry charge. The rest of Hearst's army began, tentatively, to advance.
Then, Hearst's men raised a great shout. He heard the sullen thump of oar-timing drums, and, looking to left and to right, saw Ohio's galleys sweeping down the rivers flanking the battlefield, crammed with warriors and archers.
The enemy wavered.
Now was the moment!
Hearst turned to face the thousands of bowmen hiding behind the mound. Their missiles exhausted, they stood silent, fearful, waiting. He waved them forward: 'Charge!' shouted Hearst.
They wavered, unsure, uncertain.
He waved them forward again: 'Charge! Charge!'
Slowly, they began to move. Up the burial mound they came. Then, reaching the top, they saw the enemy army starting to break up as men began to flee before the remorselessly advancing infantry, spurred by rumours of the death-stone and the unknown terrors of the ships now outflanking them.
With a great shout, Hearst's archers surged forward: 'Wa – wa – Watashi! Wa – wa – Watashi!'