A Battle Scene from your editor's in-progress novel The One World.. For the curious, the 'brigands' are a 1630-period more-or-less French Army, whose marching formations and weapons effectivenesses are lifted from Nosworthy's books. The opposition organization (the working novel title was The New Model Army of the Female Persuasion) is a somewhat modern in attitude but low-tech (actually, the bows are quite good, and you are not reading the electronic warfare chapter segment) culture with the peculiarity that the gender ratio is around ten to one. There are few men, and they are expected to be incompetent. The core formation is a greathand, which is 50-80 women, whose leader is a greatmistress. Unit quality ranges of well-trained (Formed Levy, Sisterhood) to 'may inflict more losses on the enemy than on themselves' (Millersbridge Militia). Evaine is the heroine and competent leader of the piece.
Evaine and her escort stood by their horses. Polly's Hill was only a modest rise, but it was the highest bit of land close and southeast of Millersbridge. From where she waited, she could see the entirety of the Millersbridge Commons, extending east from the town toward the ocean. From the town walls to the woods was a good third of a mile, with the road from Gooseberry entering the Commons at its southern end. That was the road down which the Brigands were slowly advancing, and from which they would deploy into battlefield formation. The most distant two hundred yards of field was torn up. She'd kept every available shovel busy all night, digging deep east-to-west trenches. When the brigands entered the field, they'd find the far parts of the field to be almost impassable. They'd need to deploy five or four hundred yards from the town walls, within the range of the greatbow engines on the city wall. There weren't enough engines to kill the brigands. There were enough engines to discomfit the crews and horses moving the Brigands' large stonethrowers. The brigand hand stonethrowers seemed unimpressive as weapons. Their horsedrawn stonethrowers were at short range a horse of a different color.
The motion down the road had to be the Brigands, maintains their usual lackadaisical walk as they came down the Gooseberry Road. They would be here soon enough, making it three hours and less than six miles they'd travelled since sunrise, and then they would begin their deployment. In the meanwhile, her women had marched to the town, stacked and picketed their gear, been familiarized with the battlefield, taken up positions not in good line of sight of the woods opposite across the battlefield, and been fed. This morning Brigand cavalry had also scouted out the field. They should have seen the Militia, a very few Swordsisters, and been kept well away from line of sight to the Torinsdale forces. The town militia had insisted on deploying in front of the walls. They would at least distract Brigand Scouts. She was not counting on Torinsdale passing unseen, but contradictory scouting reports would be good enough.
There, entering the field from the Gooseberry Road, came first a half-dozen riders with banners and then three dozen men on horseback. There were outriders proceeding them at a fair but not great distance. When they entered the field, there were clearly riders to each side. They were mounted indecently for men, Evaine noted, what with each man's legs straddling the back of his poor horse, but mounted nonetheless, half the party in leather coats and the other half dressed as gaudily as High Priestesses for New Year's Moon-Rites. That was a command group, she decided, sticking its nose in more enthusiastically than was wise, but she really had not prepared for her opponents to do something that foolish.
They stopped and pointed at the trenches. Someone had not told the Brigand Officers that the field had been improved. That said something about their outriders. Several of the Brigands spurred their horses, coming along the road almost at a gallop until they reached the end of the trenches, then heading off north, parallel to the Millersbridge militia's line. Placing those trenches had been an exercise in guesswork. If they were too far from Millersbridge, the enemy could deploy without being subject to harassing fire. If the trenches were too close, they might decide they did not have room to deploy on the field she had chosen for them, and go someplace else. Not to mention, of course, that digging deep trenches was hard and dirty work, a project with which the Millersbridge militia had only given grudging cooperation, and after too much digging her women, rational training or no, would not have been in peak condition for today's battle.
The Brigand officers clustered together. The sisterhood had provided a high-power tripod-mounted farseer, enough to let her see their faces. From the gestures, the Brigands had not expected serious resistance, and were consider what they should do about it. They needed to act quickly. The infantry coming down the road, for all their laggardly ways, was getting fairly close. The most fancily dressed of the brigands began pointing at his fellows with-it looked like a peacock featherduster. When he pointed, officer after officer galloped off, each with an escort or two, riding north across the fields, somewhat on this side of the ends of the trenches. The Brigand commander rode slowly along the road and began waving to his underlings spread out across the field. Once and again, one of them moved closer or farther from Millersbridge. What were they doing? Getting the underlings into a straight line appeared to be the answer.
Now came the infantry in their strange open order. In the front was a knot of marchers carrying odd banners. Following them came rank after rank of men. The first rank reached the senior Brigand officer. The rank pivoted right, the man on the far right stopping while his eleven fellows fast-walked in a quartercircle to wheel their line through ninety degrees. They completed, and began marching forward, getting out of the way just as the next rank of men reached the pivot point. She counted. There had to be a half dozen officers standing on the ground at the corner of the circle, watching the evolution. When you got down to it, not only was it a very cumbersome way to turn a formation, but it was very demanding on timing and spacing, things these people did not do well.
She made herself contemplate the remainder of the battlefield and the spaces beyond. There were no signs of brigand flanking maneuvers through the trees. South of the road, trees soon became first swamp and then river. North of the battlefield, the ground was rough; the scouts she'd deployed would give warning if brigands tried passing through. Her Greatmistresses had grumbled about the number of women she had detached to watch the other approaches to town, especially those to the west and south on the wrong side of the river. None of them had ever heard of a pinning attack. She had remarked that at Millersspa the Brigands had crossed the brook as though it were not there; her Greatmistresses had to have the significance explained to them.
Five ranks of men had pivoted; there was a now an open break in the march order while more men approached the pivot . “Claire? Jane?” She addressed two of the messengers. “Ride to the north and south wings. I want our people brought up to the battlefield first stop line now.” The brigands had committed. Her people needed to be in place when it was time to move. She turned her attention back to the brigands; the women rode off.
Now a Brigand stonethrower, dragged by four horses, rolled into sight. The circle it took was rather wider than that taken by the men. It was dragged north, parallel to the Brigand marchers but closer to Millersbridge. The stonethrower started another circle, turning to head at the town. “Signal,” Evaine ordered. “Orange flag. Wall engines to engage stonethrower.” Flags fluttered in acknowledgement on the city wall. The distant, profoundly bass twang of bolt throwers was heard. Steel shafts sailed out above the battlefield, first bracketing the area around the Brigand stonethrower, then hitting it, its team of horses, and the men walking with them. Some men fell; others crouched in the stonethrower's shadow. One horse, dying, was cut from its traces; others were lashed around, dragging the stonethrower until it faced Millersbridge. The surviving horses were led to the rear. A puff of smoke enveloped the stonethrower; a dull blast as of thunder was heard. A dark object emerged from the stonethrower, flew majestically over the Millersbridge walls, and disappeared into the east. The stone was certainly impressive and the range was considerable, but over the course of several battles the aim had left something to be desired. Now the men around the stonethrower were doing whatever you did to persuade a thrower to toss another stone, while bolts from wall engines landed around them. Millersbridge greatbow crews had more enthusiasm than training, it appeared. Fortunately, they had a fair amount of time on each target, and man after man of the stonethrower crew fell victim to Millersbridge greatbow fire.
She told herself to stay calm. If her women saw she was not worrying, they would take heart. At least, that was what Temple training said. That bit of training was much easier to memorize than to put into practice. She stared at the Brigand column marching across the field. Last night, she had heard grumbles when she had insisted that the backtrenches be spaced so evenly. She had had her reason. Spaced trenches gave her a wonderful and exact measure of how far across the field the Brigands had marched, not to mention how fast they were travelling.
The Torinsdale formed levy was marching up to its stop line, Sisterhood greathands taking flank positions. She had not expected the Sisterhood to have so many women, nor to be so cooperative. Apparently four complete defeats had left them chastened, and open to reason, though not chastened enough to urge the Millersbridge militia to hide within its town walls.
Now another pair of stonethrowers had appeared. They too were dragged along, finally to make right turns and point at the Millersport walls. Once again, Millersbridge greatbows engaged their draft teams and attendant horse handlers, more than one of whom fell dead. Each machine threw a single stone, this time firing low enough that the stones must have fallen to earth or struck the town walls. The men handling the new stonethrowers turned and walked quickly to the rear, leaving none of their fellows on the ground. Someone had adjusted, she noted, rather quickly, to an unfavorable situation. And when they have all the stonethrowers in position, she thought, they will bring out all the crews at the same time, and men with large shields to cover them-if they have men with shields someplace-and the greatbow fire will be much less effective. She wondered if she would have adjusted as quickly to an enemy surprise, yet another odd weapon, and decided that she really did not know.
More and more men started their disorderly saunter across the field. A trio of brigand stonethrowers made their turn, and were taken under fire. One stonethrower lost three horses and was disabled. Two were dragged into position and used to toss single stones cityward. The first stone struck the city wall. The other sailed up and over, visibly passed through the walls of several tall buildings, and was finally lost to sight. Every so often, a Brigand greathand would march parallel to the main group of men, but further to the rear. That, Evaine concluded, could be a second line as a reserve. Pairs and half-hands of Brigand horsemen were being positioned on one flank or the other of the Brigand forces.
The lead of the Brigand column approached the north end of Millersbridge Commons. This was the moment on which she earned her keep. Her plans assumed that the Brigands would fight as they had in the past, that they would march and countermarch so that the leadmost greathand of their column would end to her left. In that case, very soon their parade would execute two quarterwheels, the first to set them marching toward Millersbridge and the second to send them on the return path south. If the Brigands broke their usual custom, they would be about to finish their deployment, and her women would need to move swiftly indeed to respond. Her working plan for that case was to deploy in echelon on each flank. If the Brigands concentrated and attacked one flank, the other flank was supposed to attack, vigorously, what would now be the Brigand rear. She preferred to hope the Brigands would fall on the other flank, so her flank would attack. She'd had to leave Tomas and the Swordmistress commanding the right. Tomas and the Swordmistress might hold a line in place, but neither of them had a particular grasp of how to conduct an attack with a large group of women. The Swordsisters all had to be on the same flank, because only Roxanne had the rank to command a formation that large. She forced herself to smile as she rubbed her hands together. The gathering of Brigand officers at the north end of the field was suggestive of planned turns, but the Brigand columns were still waddling their way through the grass toward them.
There! Exactly what she had envisioned. The first Brigand rank reached the end of the field and began a pivot, the nearest marcher standing still while his fellows to his left walked and ran in quarter circles. They completed the turn, and he stepped off, just as the next Brigand rank was reaching the pivot point. The rank marched ahead, not so very far, and began another pivot. From the number of officers watching the procession, the required timing for two close-spaced turns must have pushed the limits of the men's training. Ever so slowly, the brigand line walked back the way it had come.
“Red flag,” she called. “Two waves.” That was the 'stand ready' command, the warning that in a few moments the Torinsdale forces would begin their deployment. There would be a little delay: one set of flag commands had to be passed across the city walls to Tomas and the Swordmistress. Evaine waited patiently as the brigands continued their stroll.
“Red flag,” she said. “Continuous wave. Drummers. Ready!” She allowed two hands of falls of an apple. That should be long enough for the flag wave to be passed across town. “Drummers! Play forward, quick time. Command group. Mount! Follow me.” Drum rolls on the hill were soon echoed by drum rolls in the distance. She vaulted onto her horse, waited for others to imitate her, and set her horse in a trot down Polly's Hill.
“We are advancing to the planned position,” she said. “But if there's a brigand stonethrower pointed at it, we'll move to the side.” To her right, the beat of drums and the chant of Greatmistresses chanting “Right! Right!” at quick time grew louder. The Torinsdale Formed Levy would deploy in a very shallow crescent, the horns toward the brigands, with half of the greathand at each end deployed perpendicular to the main line to cover the flank. Behind the left flank, placed as reserves against the expected Brigand strike column, were two greathands of walldaughters with pike, two-handed sword, and half-plate, and select volunteers. Half a greathand of cavalry were posted further out from each flank to discourage Brigand cavalry, which mercifully was weak. Two further greathands of Formed Levy and the second cavalry greathand were her reserve. Supposedly the Millersbridge militia would advance on command to reinforce-if they did not rout first.
Whistles to the left marked the Sisterhood's Greathands moving forward. Positioning the Sisterhood, Evaine reflected, had required thought. They had to stay far enough back that the Brigands would not target them with stonethrowers, but close enough to the fight that they were a usable reserve. Unfortunately, Sisterhood bowdaughtership was at best mediocre, and few women in the deployed greathands carried bows. Those who did could be put to the front, but one hand out of a greathand was not enough women to be effective against a large mass of Brigands, especially when the Sisterhood used classical longbows and avoided rational training. The Sisterhood would form in a checkerboard extending out from the left flank forward toward the woods, sufficiently far back from the main line that they were unlikely to draw the thrown stones to which they could not respond, but close enough that they could advance when the Brigand column began its charge. In her observation, brigands only used stone throwers while standing still, and seemed-she hoped--to be reluctant to shoot over the heads of people in front of them. Thus, the charging brigand column would fight with sword and spear, and it would mask the Sisterhood from most of the brigands.
She reined her horse to a stop near the center of the Brigand line. Her escort dropped into place behind her. From her right, Tomas, the Swordmistress, and the reserve cavalry hand were riding toward her. Tomas's skills on horseback were limited; his wing must have started about the same time as hers, but he would be later to reach the center. Brigand stonethrowers had no crews, but were pointed somewhat left or right, not at the center where she stood. Brigand infantry continued to wander back and forth. The Brigand commander, whose title might be God of the Peacocks for all the colors he wore, was holding something up to his face. A glance through the Sisterhood farseer confirmed he held his own farseer, and appeared to be inspecting her cavalry reserve.
“So far,” she said to Tomas, “o good. Your wing cavalry is coming forward.”
“The people on foot are close behind,” Tomas said. “And the brigands are moving as you said, only slower.” A rattle of drums behind him marked the Formed Levy marching from around the town walls, the Torinsdale banner flapping in the breeze, women in mottled grey-green marching four abreast in quick time.
"Timing is good so far,” Evaine remarked, gesturing at the column of women coming onto the field behind her. “They started sooner, had the longer march, and the columns should meet almost at middle. We could have practiced this more, but it's pretty much standard.” She surveyed the Brigand line, whose march shambled forward uninterruptedly. Suddenly the Brigand commander was swarmed with subordinates. What was he planning?
“And now they meet,” Tomas remarked, gesturing at the two converging columns of women. Drums rattled an alert. Pipes sounded briefly. The columns came down to a regular march and a slow march, finally stopping just before they collided. Along the line, women pivoted and faced west. In the first two ranks, polearms dropped level; their bearers dropped to one knee. Behind them, two ranks of bowdaughters came ready.
Evaine scanned the length of her line. The women at the two flanks were marching forward carefully to form the horns of the crescent line. Behind and to the side, reserves and Swordsisters were taking their assigned positions. She had to wait. Her women had almost reached their positions, but once in place they really needed a few minutes to shake down their line before they started moving again. Above her head came the soft whistle of Torinsdale greatbows, engaging the marching Brigands. The range was long. Brigand formations were very open. Only a few bolts struck their targets, though those that did had left a line of bodies along the Brigand's path. And the Brigands? Their senior officers seemed to be locked in conversation.
She had to wait. Moving the formation before it finished deploying would be inadvisable. “Tomas,” she whispered, “Women talk to you. How was your women's morale this morning?”
“Reasonably good,” Tomas answered. “Your breakfast speech this morning fired up most, but frightened a few. The fired up know how terrible a Brigand conquest of Torinsdale would be. Even if they all don't believe that Brigands slice up Priestesses and slaughter everyone else.”
“Good. May it stay that way!” she answered. Soon enough her women would see what remained of Gooseberry and Tayberry, and all those who had not fled in time. “Line riders,” she called, “We will advance to a hundred yards from the enemy stonethrowers. Engage the stonethrowers first. See each Greatmistress knows how far we are moving. And have the reserves follow. Lizelle, when the advance starts you will ride to the pink range stake-that's the next stop line-so people see where they are going. Go!” A half-dozen women rode away.
“And now both horns of our line are deployed,” she observed to Tomas. “And my counterpart is doing something, but I shall not wait to see what. Drummers! Attention to orders!” Drums began a roll, echoed up and down the line. “Prepare to advance.” Drums rolled once and again. “Command pipers. Advance tune, fast march, eight bars!” Pipes blared and stopped. The Band Major raised her staff, waved it twice, and set it down. Along the line, drums began beating out a march. The Torinsdale line began its advance.
Across the field, Brigands began running to their stonethrowers. They're dressed differently, Evaine thought, the Brigands who handle the stonethrowers have different color trim on their clothing. They're not quite their commanding officer, who outshines the maples in full fall foliage, but they certainly not going to pass unseen in the distance.
Now they have to ready their next stones. She realized that the Millersbridge wall engines were still firing at the Brigand infantry. “Signal! Orange flag! And repeat until acknowledged.” Colored flags sent nowhere near the words that a sunspeaker might, but her request that sunspeaker operators be trained would take a considerable while to complete. “Command group. We will advance in open order, staying well behind the main line.”
Her people were moving forward as quickly as they could. The brigands had reached their stonethrowers and were refilling them-or whatever they were doing. As likely as not, the stonethrowers would get off a toss, perhaps two, before her women were in position. She had little to do other than to wait, and survey where the action was not. The brigand infantry was continuing the march. Some were giving nervous glances across their shoulders at her advancing lines. Down the Gooseberry road, a considerable number of men, more than she could readily make out, were forming up in a column. Clumps of Brigand cavalry were beginning to line up on each flank. A scan of the swamp and river revealed no sign of brigand flankers.
Thump! Thump! One and another brigand stonethrower enveloped itself in charcoal-gray smoke. The stones sailed over the Torinsdale line. One struck the town walls, sending rock splinters flying in all directions. Another rolled through the Millersbridge Militia, sending women recoiling from seemingly innocent rolling rocks. The Torinsdale levy forged ahead, closing on their planned stop point. Here and there, the line wavered. Women who had seen a stone-thrower ball pass directly overhead were becoming skittish. That could be very bad, she thought. Once her women closed, the rate of fire of a mass of bowdaughters greatly outweighed what each stonethrower might do, but first her women had to close. More thunderclaps rolled across the field. One stone and then another stuck the Torinsdale line, dropping women in its track.
Perhaps she should have had more infirmerer's aides following the line. Every time a stone dropped one or two women, one or two others would drop out to try to give aid.
You could do so much with training, with a formation none of whose people had ever seen a battle, and then you had to trust to cold reason, you had to trust that people really believed and understood that turning and running was a way to die, not a way to live.
“Don't be so pessimistic,” Tomas said. How he knew what was in her heart was sometimes beyond her. Perhaps he was indeed the mage he claimed to be. “The Millersmills line stood firm, when it could see it was outnumbered three to two, and had no way to fire back. Your women know they are trained, prepared, and are doing that for which they prepared.”
“Easily said, Tomas,” she answered, shifting uncomfortably. “I must anticipate what other tricks the Brigands have under their greatkilts-well, what they would have under their greatkilts, if they had greatkilts.”
“Not much,” the Swordmistress announced, “Not much at all, since they apparently have to carry copies around to play with, to remind themselves of what they are supposed to do as men.” Evaine's escort burst into laughter at the Swordmistress's words. Well, Evaine thought, men reloading their stonethrowers really did appear to be doing that, more or less. “And their aim is terrible!” the Swordmistress continued. “Hardly ever gets in where they intend.” The laughter turned to guffaws.
“Next time, Swordmistress,” Evaine said, “Next time, after we finish slaughtering these boys, next time I want the whole levy to hear that. However, I do believe the line is closing up on Lizelle, and Millersbridge is redirecting their wall engines.” The latter had been accursedly slow, Evaine thought. Wall engine bolts were finally dropping near the stone throwers.
Drums rolled. The Torinsdale line stopped, front line dropping to one knee, polearms coming forward. Bowdaughters pivoted, bows coming up. Some Greathands went to volley fire. In others, women began shooting at the stonethrowers and their crews as soon as they had position.
There were a dozen stonethrowers, Evaine thought, one of which was only now being turned into position. A third or more of the women in the Torinsdale host had bows and a decent line of fire on the stonethrowers. They were at long but not extreme range, with a following breeze. Aimed shots at a single man might be a challenge, but each stonethrower was surrounded by a cluster of men. In the fear of battle, many shots would miss, but so long as they stayed with 'slow fire, aimed fire' they would be somewhat effective. Millersbridge had been slow to respond, but now their wall engines had largely found the range, and if a few bolts had gone too close to her women's heads none had been hit yet.
What was happening elsewhere on the battlefield? Their cavalry, such of it as there was, had spread out in single lines on each flank. If their mistresses-masters?-were competent, they would see that they were outnumbered, Torinsdale was far better placed to receive a cavalry charge that their own infantry was, and therefore they should hold and countercharge if Torinsdale attacked. Her people had those orders, anyhow. The brigands had poor horses, for the most part, not counting the magnificent stallion captured from Rude Mangberg-or whatever his name actually was. They were not poor riders, not at all, just ill-mounted. If she could avoid a cavalry battle, so much the better.
Their infantry was marching and countermarching, slowly. Their procession had advanced further than she would have preferred, but the stonethrowers had to be eliminated first. Their assault column appeared to be forming up. “Danielle,” she said. “Ride to our left flank. The walldaughters should advance until they are twenty yards behind our lines, and centered as best they can to receive the enemy column. They'll have to adjust when the enemy charges. I've been over this with Greatmistress Yvonne once and again. And my compliments to Greatmistress Roxanne, and I believe she should finish advancing her women so soon as she can.”
Less and less often, a Brigand stonethrower growled across the gap between their lines. Evaine peered through her farseer. Stonethrower crews had fled, or lay dead on the ground. “Drummers!” She called. “Beat Attention to Orders! Beat Advance. Pipers, Play Advance, Slow Advance.” Drums and pipes sounded.
“Slow?” the Swordmistress asked.
“Slow,” Evaine answered. “These guys might decide to turn and make a disordered charge, and I want our lines absolutely ready to receive them. And I think, as we'd discussed, it is now time for you and Tomas to move to the right wing reserves,” Evaine added nervously. “That's a big clump of men they have, if they decide to stop following around and start running at us.”
Evaine turned back to the battlefield. Her opposite could not be too pleased with what had just happened. At Millers Mills, the brigand's large stonethrowers had been a potent weapon. However, unless they were truly enchanted, without their crews brigand stonethrowers were inert lumps of wood. What would she do in her opposite's place? Accelerate the procession, she thought, get the brigand host into battle formation sooner rather than later. The assault column, each battle, had been thrown in later rather than earlier, after the Republic lines had begun to fray. Their peacock of a commander might succumb to the need to do something, anything, whether good or bad, in which case he might send them in early. He had not last time, arguing that the Brigands expected that they needed the enemy line to be broken up before the charge could thrust home effectively. Their commander might also wait until his men had deployed, assuming that his men and their discipline and weapons could then carry the day. It was a shame that she wasn't going to give him the time he needed to complete that plan.
She wondered if he had spotted her or not. The messengers riding away from her and back might be a giveaway, but she had not needed that many messengers. Her dress was inconspicuous. His personal formation was bedecked with banners and streamers. The Torinsdale banner to her left was no different than the banner carried by every Greathand. She was at the edge of an idea, but first: “Drummers! Beat Attention to Orders! Pipers! Play Halt!” The roll of drums echoed across the lines as one greathand after the next came to a stop. Tomas had explained to her why voice commands never acted at the same time everywhere, and she now allowed for what was about to happen. Besides, deepening the bow in the Torinsdale lines was not a disadvantage.
Once again, speardaughters dropped to one knee, and archers came to the ready. Hopefully most archers would remember not to fire before they had targets, and then remember to fire when they had targets. She realized what she had been trying to understand. “Michelle,” she said. “Where the road enters the field, there is a large group of men. The ones dressed like peacocks with all the flags. Look through the farseer here, be sure you have the right ones. Ride as swiftly as you can to the Millersbridge wall. Ask that the largest wall engines, the ones with the range, engage that formation, and nothing else, until everyone in it is dead.” Let's see, Evaine thought, how Hostmistress Peacock thinks while he is being shot to pieces.
Once again, her archers had gone to slow aimed fire. They were at hunting ranges, where every arrow fired had a decent chance of striking its target. The women to her left waited patiently. The brigand march and counter march had not yet brought them into range. A few of the tallest women with the heaviest bows were shooting at the more distant enemy procession. That was extreme range, even with the breeze, but one man and then another went down. On the right, the women under Tomas's command had a deep column of targets, at ranges at which hits were not challenging. The brigands continued their march. That bespoke decent discipline, she decided, to be able to continue while men died left, right, and center.
A sharp snapping sound, off to the right. She immediately spotted the dark puff of smoke where some brigand had loosed his hand stonethrower. She could pick him out: He had stopped and was performing the loading spell. Tomas would not be pleased that she knew that the Brigands were using sorcery, but the signs were obvious. Now one and another of the brigand's fellows had also stopped to shoot. Around them, men were continuing their march, which was starting to get disordered. Stopping to shoot was not much of a delay, but the reloading spell was apparently rather slow. While a man stood their reloading, he blocked the path of the marchers behind him. The marchers could deviate their path left or right, but they lost their formation, such as it was. The arrow fire must be truly galling, because one man and then another stopped to throw a stone at her women.
Now brigand officers were trying to unknot their lines of marchers. The peacocks made such fine targets. Even through the black smoke clouds of brigand spellcraft, their officers could readily be identified from their uniforms. They were not as good targets as the deep knot of men making the reverse march, but they were individually more important.
Forward of the confusion the brigands continued forward, with eight brigand greathands marching due south. Every minute, the front of the brigand line came in range of a fresh Torinsdale Greathand, which promptly took it under fire. Aimed slow fire was not nearly as impressive as fast-fire at filling the air with bolts, but it was far deadlier. The lead brigands had a large gap behind them, a gap marked by the bodies of their fallen sisters…perhaps 'brothers' was more appropriate, Evaine thought, given their gender.
The confusion where men had begun throwing stones was even worse. It appeared that one brigand Greathand had stopped its march, while a second had tried to march through the first, thickening the formation to the point that it presented a dense hard-to miss target. There were more clatters and puffs of smoke. Someone was ordering groups of men to turn their stonethrowers on the Torinsdale forces. The confusion was spreading rearward through the brigand ranks, with greathand after greathand stopping or trying to continue their march. When confusion had happened at Northfort, they day she recognized pipe calls as a form of command, the Torinsdale Greathand whose path was blocked had spontaneously executed flank turns to avoid a collision. These men had far worse marching skills.
The enemy command group was breaking up. Rather, it was sending out large numbers of riders, men dressed relatively plainly, with only the gaudiness of a woods duck rather than a peacock or parrot. Sooner or later, the Millersbridge wall engines might take that group under fire. Sooner than now would have been preferred, but did not seem to have happened. She could imagine where a mythical heroine, a Nimue or a Nulla, would decide the chapter had gone on for long enough, and it was time to lead from the front a victorious charge. So far as she could tell, the enemy still outnumbered her people and were still largely in good order. For as long as they were willing to take casualties and lose the limited order they had, she was willing to let them die without killing any of her women.
Finally, an enemy Greatmistress had recognized the folly of marching his unit into the chaos now ahead of him. A brigand unit in the front marching line began executing its highly ponderous turn, pivoting left out of the line of march and straight toward her women. That turn would take a time to execute, and then his boys would be all out by themselves. On the other hand, if he marched far enough his boys would be almost on top of her women, and it had appeared that at very short distances brigand hand stonethrowers could actually hit something.
What was happening in the enemy rear? The rear line of enemy greathands, each turned to face east, that had been waiting patiently. Now it started advancing, one greathand after the next, each group a dozen men wide and five lines deep. If this had been the original plan, those men would have better been started midway between the main enemy line and its countermarching van, but they had instead been left all the way in back, where their advance would force them to thread the gap in the main enemy march. Even in the brigand's highly open order, passing those two lines through each other would be a challenge. Indeed, when they stopped after sixty or eighty yards to reorder their formation, they had stopped just short of the enemy main line marchers. There they waited for gaps, and passed through at a run.
Lizelle tapped Evaine's shoulder. “Cavalry forming up, our right,” she announced. Evaine stared through her farseer. Indeed, the enemy cavalry facing Tomas's women did appear to be sharpening their line. Now they were moving ahead, first at a walk and then at a trot. The response was a bit slow. If the Torinsdale cavalry received that charge while standing still, they would likely break, and then the right flank would be in trouble. Halberds and boar spears or not, a Torinsdale infantry line receiving a cavalry charge might well fall apart; once disordered, they would be easy prey for a general enemy attack. Here, however, came the Torinsdale response. Tomas had sent an entire greathand of cavalry, two solid lines, against the brigands, and was now riding slowly and deliberately in front of the third Torinsdale cavalry line, placing himself to keep that third linefrom advancing.
The Goddess only knew what was about to happen. The Torinsdale women advanced swiftly from a walk toward a slow trot. The cavalry lines had been somewhat back, but they would not reach full speed before they contacted. Evaine glanced across the remainder of the battlefield, seeing only matters proceeding as expected. The enemy reserves might eventually be a difficulty, but they moved slowly, and had already stopped once to redress their lines. The wallbows had been firing on the enemy command group, but some time or dumb luck would be needed for an effect. Now the cavalry lines were closing. A cloud of dark smoke above the enemy cavalry had to be enemy stonethrowers, fired at short range from atop a fast-moving horse. In the Torinsdale lines, women dropped from their saddle. Horses bolted from the noise-but had no place to go other than straight ahead into the enemy lines. Other horses in both lines shied, refusing to run into horses ahead of them. Where gaps had opened in one line or the other, horses dodged sideways, as if they were riding at a gated fence, except that with several horses trying to pass the same narrow gap at the same time they instead bounced off each other and were thrown back into the face of oncoming horses. Animals reared and collided. Riders went sprawling. In the midst of all this, Torinsdale women and brigand men hacked and thrust at each other. The details were hard to see through the smoke, but the outcome was that a diminished and disordered line of Brigands, most moving at no more than a walk, emerged to contact an equally slowly-moving second Torinsdale line.
This time, barely moving horses were prepared to agree with their riders' desires to close with their foes, so that Torinsdale and brigand blades crossed. Brigands were substantially outnumbered. Torinsdale women engaged when possible as pairs, one woman meeting the brigand's sword while the other administered a lethal blow.
Lizelle tapped Evaine's shoulder again. “The enemy command just got mucked up,” she announced. “Looked like their boss's horse took a wall bolt, started to drop over, and their boss tried to dismount. He's now flat on the ground, not moving, with a half-dozen people around him. And their reserves have advanced up to where their first line should be-where their countermarch passed-and are changing their formation, packing up fairly close. Our people are dropping arrows on them. Here they go. Their front rank is kneeling, and they're using their stonethrowers again.” Clouds of smoke obscured the brigand lines. Evaine wondered how well they could aim when they could not see. Screams marked women being struck by stones. Not many, but not only in the forward line. Someone had dropped in the nearest reserve Greathand, and noise behind her spoke of casualties to the Millersbridge militia. Armor didn't appear to offer much protection against enchanted stones, as she'd learned on her ride back from Merecester.
Greathands closest to the enemy were shooting back, sending bolts into unarmored men packed shoulder to shoulder in several ranks. Watching carefully, you could see how long it took a man to reactivate the spells on his stonethrower: quite a while. Even with slow fire, women could draw and aim their bows far faster. The rattle of stonethrowing spells could be heard, once and again, but at the points of contact the brigands were outnumbered, not to mention that bows appeared to be substantially more accurate than stonethrowers. Brigand inaccuracy was not all to the good, Evaine allowed. Brigand stones that totally missed the women being targeted could hit the reserves, the Millersbridge militia, or one Evaine-sa-Orowan. Torinsdale accuracy meant that brigand officers were effectively being targeted. Many were kind enough to distinguish themselves with brilliant uniforms, uniforms that now draped across the ground.
She glanced at the right flank. Tomas had managed to recover his cavalry, which were reforming behind his remaining, fresh cavalry line. The disordered infantry had turned into a large knot of men whose surviving officers were gradually sorting them out. Behind them, someone had finally brought the brigand procession to a stop, so that no fresh units were being fed into the confusion. That was not entirely good: A long line of brigand units would remain in good order. However, those well-ordered units were stuck in the rear, where they were not fighting effectively. Across the field to the left, the Brigand van was marching stubbornly ahead, its numbers appreciably thinned, but it remained in as much order as brigand units ever did. Her women had not trained a great deal against targets moving sideways; that showed in the number of bolts that missed their target.
There was a great deal of shouting off to the left. That was the brigand assault column. The brigand commander was still flat on his back, but someone almost as gaudily dressed was riding his horse along the length of the column, waving a somewhat short sword. He must have been haranguing them, she decided: He would wave his sword, they would wave back, and after a few instants loud shouts could be heard. He had ridden to the far end of the column and now was riding back.
And what was Tomas doing? The formed levy was continuing to pummel the disordered Brigand formation, and the regular cavalry greathand had formed an extended line out to the far right, angling steeply deeper toward the enemy. What were he and the Swordmistress preparing to do? That was a terrible formation for stopping enemy cavalry. Of course, if he had decided there were almost no remaining enemy horsebrothers, he might have other plans.
Across the field, brigand units were making pivot turns in place, rotating until their front faced east. That was a definite change in Brigand formation, not at all the same as what they had done earlier. Their assault column was now marching forward, their chant a loud bellow on every leftward step. Runners were spreading away from Greatmistress Roxanne's command group. Evaine told herself to have confidence in Roxanne. Roxanne might never have seen a battle before, but her theoretical training was perfectly sound, Sisterhood Greathands were adequately drilled in moving as units, and she had discussed carefully her plans with her subordinates.
A shrill of pipes came from the right. Now she understood what Tomas had decided. On the extreme right, the enemy was still in open well-ordered formation; only further to the left had the enemy lost coherent order. It was not clear how their order would take to being hit with horse cavalry, but if they were disordered and driven left their procession and march reversal would be stopped again. In any event Tomas did have a cavalry reserve, on the freshest horses. In front of the charge, bowdaughters were going to rapid fire. Hopefully most of them would stop before they started killing Torinsdale cavalry. On the left flank, a checkerboard of Sisterhood Greathands was moving out to the southwest. The remaining bit of Torinsdale cavalry, accompanied by such Republic women as had horses, saddles, and some idea about fighting on horseback, were screening them against Brigand riders. She hoped the screen would work. The Sisterhood doctrine on fighting horse cavalry: extreme open order, drop low, slash the horses' legs, demanded rigid discipline and extreme self-confidence. Not to mention a willingness to accept casualties.
“Danielle,” Evaine said, “Go to the Millersbridge militia left wing. That's the ones with the pink flags. Ask their officers to bring them forward to about fifty yards behind our lines, where the column is going to hit. They're asked to advance and firm up our line, when it starts to fold under the column's weight.” She hoped she was not timing things too tightly. However, militia walking forward and trying to stay in line was probably steadier than militia standing still with time on their hands. In the center, the brigand plans were apparent. Their officers, whoever was running things while the lord of the peacocks lay unconscious, had decided that they would never get to their planned formation, and was going to try a general forward attack. Their starting position was a bit of a mess. They'd lost the stonethrowers, had the front third of their procession shot up while it marched across the front of the Torinsdale lines, had their second line shot up considerably, and had had their right flank disordered, stopping their processional deployment. Tomas's cavalry charge had gone home while she was watching the rest of the battle. Men had fallen back-or been cut down-until they formed a solid cluster against which horsewomen could make no progress. Then Tomas had recovered his cavalry, and let his bowdaughters pound a mob of men standing shoulder to shoulder, in order so tight that an archer really could not miss.
On the left flank, the assault column had sped up to a slow run. Appreciably in the lead was a trio of older men in shirt sleeves, waving swords, three boys following them carrying their coats. The Greathands facing them went to fast fire with their bows. That couldn't be sustained for long, but very soon the women would be discarding bows for sword and shield. Indeed, after a few moments the greathands directly facing the column began changing weapons, while their speardaughters rose to receive the enemy charge. Greatmistress Roxanne was pivoting her line to parallel the assault column's. How was she getting the control? Careful examination revealed women of Greathand Winterwheat dispersed through the area, forwarding her areas through handtalk.
Evaine looked back to the Brigand center. Their various formations had been brought forward into a single largely regular line, wreathed in smoke wherever brigands had turned stonethrowers on their distant opponents. Each element had an officer disguised as a peacock in front of it. The birds appeared to be warming up the men's enthusiasm for a charge. “Drummers,” she called. “Attention to orders.” She waited while the rattle and boom of snare and kettle traveled along the line. “Pipers! Play 'Fast Fire!'” The brigands had been kind enough to assemble their line the only place they easily could, inside bow range, and would now get a lesson in the disadvantage of their choice. Fast fire could not be sustained, but soon enough there would be a further order.
On the left, a trio of women were standing in front of the spear line, awaiting the imminent arrival of the Brigands. Even at this distance, Deann was immediately recognizable from the axe she carried, an axe that disarmed the lead officer, the arm being separated from the body by cleaving through neck and ribcage. Her companions were modestly less effective, at least until the same axeblow took the second officer in the small of his back. He dropped bonelessly to the ground. The women then backed discretely between the spearpoints, limiting how many men could attack them at once, incidentally making it challenging for any man to thread through the spears and attack their holders.
The Brigand column hit the Torinsdale line, which momentarily held and then sagged as men began to force their ways between the spears and halberds. Walldaughters with polearms and two-handed swords advanced to strengthen the line, while the end of the column broadened as men moved outwards to reach any of their opponents. To the left, the Swordsisters charged, taking the column in its flank. Someone was rolling forward the Millersbridge militia, which might yet reach the Torinsdale line before it folded. Approaching more quickly was the last reserve greathand on that flank, whose officer had decided on her own that this was where her women should engage their foes.
In the center, bow fire was slowing. You could only draw a bow so many times before the muscles tired. The bow fire was doing its work. One and then another Brigand greathand began running at their opponents, all order being lost..
It would be far better to encounter those men while advancing rather than while standing still. “Drummers!” She shouted. “Attention to Orders!” She paused while drums rolled. “Pipers! Play Steel! Continuous play! Slow advance, advance!” That would be a bit of a racket, but the racket might be less heartening to the brigands than the earlier quiet. A hundred and thirty bagpipes began playing the advance tune, not all in the same scale, the racket at least sufficing to drown out the screams of the wounded. Bows were discarded. Swords were drawn. In reasonable unison, the Torinsdale forces began their slow, steady, nearly implacable pace toward their disordered foes. The wail of the pipes was indeed loud, enough that she could no longer hear brigand stonethrower spells being cast. To judge from the smoke, they released a fair number of those spells, but only from the few Brigand units that were standing rather than charging. When the Torinsdale women failed to stop, the standing units broke for the rear.
She had to write two messages: “The Millersbridge Militia is requested to advance at a walk.” “The Reserve Greathands,” all two of them, she thought, “are to move to the right flank and reinforce the line when it sags.” She did a hand count. If brigands could be defeated at all, her forces would win in the center. Indeed, while some brigand units were charging, others were at a standstill, and in their rear men were beginning to leak away from the fight. On the left, the brigand column had been pinned by Roxanne's flank attack. Torinsdale lines had sagged deeply, but masses of reinforcements meant that the lines could stretch. Off in the distance was a cavalry skirmish, a skirmish that looked fairly even. Someone had used initiative: To her left, two Greathands had taken a flank left before their advance and were impaling the right face of the brigand column.
Tomas's women were being driven back. The brigands he faced were badly disordered. Many were wounded. But there were a lot of them, and they were taking their anger at their casualties out on the women they could finally reach. Even after the Millersbridge militia reinforced, that line began to break.
Straight ahead, there was a classic encounter out of manuals on the Sea Eagle attacks. The Torinsdale line held its dress well. The brigands, many wounded, some hauling their clumsy spear-stonethrowers, spread out, so that each man encountered the Torinsdale line at a different moment, paying a steep price for his rashness. To the left, Evaine saw, it appeared that Brigands did not study the use of the sword carefully, did not expect their foes to attack them in the flank, and did not appreciate how much of a disadvantage their lack of shields and armor was. At least, they did not, until the Sisterhood, violet capes flaring as they closed, gave them an object lesson in close order combat.
She had not expected Tomas to lead - well, try to lead until his bodyguard grabbed him-a cavalry charge into the sagging line. The cavalry charged without him, winning just enough time that her last reserves could arrive and support. The cavalrywomen then backed off, stood in their saddles, and began firing their bows over the heads of the Levy in front of them. What was Tomas doing now? He was sending his last cavalry off to take the brigands in flank and rear.
Evaine looked around. Her last reserves were committed. The most she could do would be to gather up her command group and make one charge. That she would avoid until she lost the battle and Torinsdale needed help to win free of the field. Defeat seemed unlikely. Tomas might yet lose on his flank, but on the left men were falling away from the assault column and advancing rearwards. In the center one and then another greathand found it was facing no opponents. One unit stopped, identified the Brigand command group as a target, and start a fresh advance. Others turned, taking brigand forces in flank and rear. Neither the Brigand assault column nor the large mob facing Tomas broke until they were completely surrounded, by which time it was too late for a retreat. The remaining fight took some time, but in the end the Brigand smallhost lay dead on Millersbridge field. Only the Brigand blue-robes tried to surrender. They were cut to pieces by women who had seen the Daisy massacre. Their peacock of a commander had been captured while he lay unconscious on the ground, and taken off to an infirmerer under heavy guard. If Angela were correct about how the Brigands coded their books, it might in the end be possible to interrogate him about the Brigands' bases.
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© Copyright 2004 by George Phillies.
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