Chapter 12
War Council
Tom left the guardhouse and went to relieve himself in the urinal behind the chariot enclosure. As Head Master of the Catti, he had a private chamber in the royal residence but rarely slept there. The girls of the guard yearned for his company and he was reluctant to deny their wishes.
Four weeks had passed since his arrival in the royal village. In the reckoning of his new realm that was one moon. Tom preferred to think in the terms of the people he had come to live amongst. He was getting a feel for their way of life and felt at home in their company.
His new realm reminded him of his old two thousand years earlier. In those far-off days, southerners from the Mediterranean had invaded the north. Tom won top grades at military college and his passion was historical warfare. He'd read Caesar's accounts of the conquest of Gaul and had imagined himself in the position of the natives. Their personal weapons matched the Romans and they outnumbered them yet they were defeated. A chieftain with understanding could have outsmarted the invader.
Tom had imagined himself in that role. With the hindsight of history it was easy to see where the northerners had gone wrong. They lacked political cohesion and didn't have a standing army. Once these obstacles were overcome, they would be invincible. He adjusted his sword harness. He had an audience with the queen and was anxious to discuss strategy with her.
He'd fallen under the old woman's spell. She was the mother he'd never had. His real mother could never cope with his wild antics. The queen treated him like a son and they'd had numerous discussions on every aspect of his old realm, including military tactics.
The old woman was aware of his sleeping arrangements and seemed to approve. Thunder said he was expected to sire an army of warriors by the hairy-legged amazons of the royal guard. Tom said he found them passionate but would prefer something more dainty. Thunder said he would be showing great disrespect if he challenged Her Majesty's choice of sleeping companions.
Two members of the guard confronted him when he arrived at the royal apartments. They stood on either side of the door with spears and short stabbing swords. The spears flicked out to block his way.
'Who goes there?'
'Sky Warrior. Head Master of the Catti.'
Tom barked out his name and title.
'Proof of identity.'
'You know who I am.'
'Standing orders require proof of identity.'
Tom pointed to the badge of office that secured his cloak. The girls glanced at it and said they would have to conduct a body search. Hands undid straps and he was beginning to think he was not being treated with the respect due to his office when a voice called out.
'Where's that Sky Warrior?'
'Just coming, Majesty.'
The girls adjusted his clothing and propelled him down a corridor. Steam billowed from a doorway at the far end. Tom went towards it and poked his head through the opening. Inside, the air was hot and humid. He wiped his eyes and saw the queen. She was sitting on a wooden bench with her legs in a tub of hot water. Braziers of glowing coals stood on either side.
He went through a series of respectful gestures: throwing out his clock and touching his forehead. He had no problem with the tribal rituals. The old woman was worthy of respect. She was in poor health but invincible. There were times when he saw the young woman she had once been.
Or, was it the goddess within her?
Whatever it was he saw it now. A young girl stared at him through the steam and grew into an adult before his eyes. One moment her face was gentle, the next fierce. It was never frivolous. Changing all the time. He blinked and saw her as she now was. The limbs that had been young and vital were racked with pain.
She held up her swollen arthritic hands.
'Do the people of your former realm have a cure for old age?'
Tom inclined his head. 'They do not have a cure but they have remedies that can greatly relieve its afflictions.'
'Then you have truly left a blessed place,' she coughed. 'I often wonder why you came here.'
'Let us say the Holy Mother brought us here ... me and my young companion.'
'Hgh.' the old woman grunted. 'Let us hope that the Holy Lady has a place in her Great Plan for your young companion and my poor son, Fury. They have fled into the marshes and found sanctuary with the witch, Miralda.'
'So I understand, Majesty.' Tom nodded. 'I am informed that they are in possession of Balduur's head. The Princess Adrina sent them on a mission.'
'So it would seem, Sky Warrior.'
She picked up an earthenware bottle and poured a liberal quantity of oil into a tub of hot water. The room was filled with pungent fumes. Perspiration ran down Tom's forehead and he slipped off his cloak. He was wondering how much more clothing he could discard when the queen reached for a linen cloth.
'What news do you have of my daughter?'
'I am told that the princess has been seen amongst your own warriors, dressed as a boy, Majesty. There are reports of her being with Morgon's men disguised as a stable lad and yet others of her being with King Pius in her usual clothes.'
'Aye. The young vixen is everywhere and nowhere, all at the same time. She's planning something. Like as not she'll take on more than she can chew.'
'She seems a very competent young woman.'
'She has the confidence of youth, Sky Warrior. I pray that the Holy Mother will teach my foolish daughter to control her headstrong ways before it is too late.'
Tom decided it was time to remind her of the purpose of his visit. 'You asked me to report on my special force, Majesty.'
'Aye,' she looked up. 'My council gave you permission to recruit warriors from the tribes defeated by Morgon and use the mountain men. I do not have to tell you that there were many dissenting voices. I had to use my powers of persuasion. I trust that it was worthwhile.'
'The new force is proceeding admirably, Majesty. My men have nothing to lose. Their goal is revenge. They'll not go back to their farms at planting and harvest time. Their farms have been destroyed. All they want is to wipe Morgon and his men from the face of the land.'
'The Augury Master foretells that Morgon is preparing to attack us. Some of my clan chieftains urge me to attack first. What say you, Sky Warrior?
'I believe we should let Morgon make the first move, Majesty. His men will retreat to fortified positions if we commence hostilities. They can withstand lengthy sieges. Our forces will tire and our warriors will return to their farms as they have in the past. When that happens, Morgon's troops will break out and cause death and destruction to your people.'
'You have learned a lot about us in the short while you have been here, Sky Warrior.'
'Aye, Majesty. Your Chariot Master, Griffin son of Dragon, has been of great assistance and so has Thunder son of Lightning. I also have the advantage of coming from a realm that was once very much like yours. The people of the north were invaded by southerners and defeated by them. Many generations passed and the northern tribes learned to fight in the ways of the south. When that happened, the southern empire fell and the northerners became its new rulers.'
'We cannot wait generations, Sky Warrior.'
'No, Majesty. But we can speed things up.'
'There's not much time for that.'
'I believe we have sufficient time to create a force that will match the southerners and disrupt their formations. Your warriors will then be able to go in amongst them with their swords and secure victory.'
The queen grasped the image of the goddess that hung about her neck.
'I pray that you are right, Sky Warrior.'
***
A long causeway stretched out from the fortified settlement of Dunavon to a small island in the estuary. Ships lay at anchor beside the many wharfs and warehouses that lined its muddy shores. Some were big transport vessels. Others were sleek warships with dragon prows and banks of oars. Shrines to the Holy Mother reminded visitors that they had entered territory controlled by natives still loyal to the religion of their ancestors.
The warriors who defended the island were dressed in brightly coloured tunics and carried shields emblazoned with the head of a boar, the emblem of the Catti. Their allies in the dragon boats wore sealskin and their shields were decorated with a winged dragon, the emblem of the powerful maritime tribe of Galboreth.
On that sultry summer's day, sailors lounged around half-naked on the decks of the transports. It was hot by local standards and they were content to soak up the sun and let others get on with the job of loading the boats with lead and hides for the long trip back to Ibero and other parts of the empire.
No one was interested in the boy, sweating beneath a sealskin cloak. He plodded up a ramp and arrived on one of the huge decks. His sack crashed down unconvincingly. An agent of the empire would have recognised that there was something very suspicious about the lad.
He stepped over the sack and made his way down a hatch to the main cabin. A man sat there on a padded bench beside a porthole. He wore baggy trousers and a linen tunic that hung open to reveal a powerful chest covered in dark hair. His face was clean-shaven and the hair on his head was grey. He rose and smiled.
'I am glad you were able to come.'
'I am glad to see you, Uncle.'
Adrina pulled back the hood of her sealskin cloak and dumped the garment on the floor. Her long black hair was gathered in a bun. Beads of perspiration ran down her face. She shook her hair loose and undid the toggles that fastened her tunic.
'Phew. That was hot work.'
She spoke in the southern language.
The man viewed her through hooded eyes.
'You have grown since we last met.'
'Aye.' Adrina's dark eyes sparkled. 'I have grown bigger and you have grown more handsome than ever.'
Her uncle's eyes continued to bore into her.
'Your mother worries about you.'
The reply was not welcome. Adrina knew her mother worried. That's what people did when they got old. They saw problems everywhere. Once you fell into that trap you were finished. You might just as well be dead. Success came to those who seized the moment.
'What do you know about the Sky Warrior?'
It wasn't the encounter she'd expected. When they last met, her uncle had showered her with presents from Ibero. Now he was acting like an inquisitor. Adrina thought before replying.
'I prayed to the Holy Mother and she sent him to me.'
'Where does he come from?'
It was as if her uncle was going down a list of questions. He was her father's younger brother. He'd once been so exciting. Now she saw the other side of him. The Catti had forged a pact with the rebellious nations of the empire and she was a product of that union.
'The Sky Warrior comes from another realm.'
She replied and saw the fixed expression on his face. Adrina knew what happened when blood was mixed. People shouted acclaim. But it rarely lasted. When alliances fell apart innocent children suffered. It was a fear that had haunted her young life.
'He is called Head Master but his role is that of War Master,' her uncle said. 'The common people flock about him. How do we know he will not try to seize power?'
'The Holy Mother would not send such a person.'
'How do we know She sent him?'
There was a heavy note of sarcasm in his voice and Adrina chose not to reply. She knew it would only lead to an argument. When her uncle next spoke it was to make a statement.
'Morgon is preparing to attack. He is intent on drawing your mother's people into battle. I am sure you are aware of that.'
Adrina's dark eyes flashed.
It will be a battle he cannot win.'
'What makes you think that?'
'The moment the tide turns against him, the Gorms will attack his rear. I live amongst them, Uncle. I know how much they hate Morgon and the foul god he serves.'
'Aye, but do they hate him more than they hate your mother's people?'
'Through the Holy Mother all things are possible, Uncle. When the tide of battle turns the two people shall be as one. They will unite against Morgon's men. I pray that the brothers from Ibero will join them.'
Her uncle examined her coldly.
'The brothers from Ibero will do nothing unless they can be sure that they will be on the winning side. The consequences of being defeated would be disastrous for them and their families. The empire shows no mercy to those who are disloyal. You must be aware of that when you make your plans, Niece.'
***
Alison peered out of the reed shelter that Fury had constructed. It was early morning and she felt the need to relieve herself. That was best done when the tide was flowing and it was flowing very rapidly now. She paddled out into the cold water and was squatting down when she spied the dragon boat. It was moored nearby. She wasn't frightened. It was there to protect them. There were young men on board. Sometimes they waved but never when she went for a pee.
That told you something about them. When she was small, she'd lived on a military base where her father was in the medical corps. Things were different here but not totally. The young men on the boats were subject to strict discipline. They were the sort who would lark around then spring into action when a command was given. She felt at home in their presence but couldn't say the same for Fury. She'd struggled to dismiss unpleasant thoughts about him.
Fury was a wimp.
She was pregnant and he couldn't come to terms with that. They had exchanged talismans and made love. Everything should follow automatically from that but it hadn't. She had told him and he'd not known what to do.
A calamity had occurred. She was going to have a baby and Fury was incapable of appreciating the responsibilities he would have to face. Alison adjusted her clothing and went back to the shelter.
***
Tom rose and stretched himself. He had spent an exhausting night tramping through woods and marshland with the special forces under his command. They were loaded down with entrenching tools and other military hardware. He'd carried twice as much, partly because of his superior size but mainly to show he shared a common burden.
He no longer slept in the guardhouse. Some of his warriors were female and he preferred them to the hairy-legged amazons who had previously shared his bed. The new arrangement met with the queen's approval but was deeply resented by the girls of the guard.
His new companions arrived to help him dress. A war council had been called and he would be attending it as the holder of the esteemed office of Head Master. His ceremonial cloak was produced and fastened with his broach of office. Otherwise, his clothes were the same as those of his men ... knee-length tunic worn over leggings and leather boots. The tunic was padded to absorb sword thrusts and reinforced with chain mail in vulnerable places.
His new force would soon be put to the test. Morgon had laid siege to the port of Dunavon and the queen was preparing a counter attack. It was the opportunity Tom had been waiting for. He left his tent and was escorted to the council chamber by his personal guard.
The usual crowd of faces was there. Most were clan chieftains. The heavily moustached personages fought from chariots and were immensely proud of themselves. Their tactic was to run rings around their opponents and hurl javelins. That worked against tribal warriors but was useless against Morgon's highly disciplined troops.
A girl of the royal guard entered the chamber and thumped her spear. Everyone rose, except Tom who was obliged to stoop because the chamber was not designed for someone of his height.
The queen took her place and the usual formalities were observed. Frequent references to the Holy Mother punctuated accounts of Morgon's latest aggression and the need to take action. Thunder stood beside the old woman. She turned towards him and her tone changed.
'Where are those buckets of sand?'
Tom was struck by her offhand manner and guessed that, in private, their relationship was very different. He watched as Thunder ran off, like a humble servant, and returned with two wooden pails.
'Put it down there.'
She indicated a spot on the flagstones.
Thunder tipped sand onto the floor and moulded it into shapes. Tom knew what he was doing. He'd done it himself. Thunder was constructing a sand map.
The estuary was marked out. The escarpment followed. The territory of Gorm was delineated. Thunder worked methodically. The clan chieftains craned their necks. Tom watched as Thunder showed the disposition of Morgon's forces about the port of Dunavon.
It didn't make sense.
He stifled an urge to ask Thunder if he was certain of his facts. The queen called for comment. Tom hung back as one chieftain after another told her that the chariots would sweep Morgon from his position and annihilate him. That didn't make sense either. The queen looked in Tom's direction.'
'Sky Warrior. You haven't said anything.'
'I wasn't asked, Majesty.'
'Well, I'm asking you now. What do you think?'
'I can't understand what's going on,' Tom replied cautiously. 'Morgon has placed his forces in an exposed position. If he were to be confronted by a similar force, he would be defeated. He wouldn't stand a chance.'
'What are you talking about?' One of the chieftains jumped up. 'What do you know about the southerners?'
'I am trained as a warrior,' Tom said. 'I am trained in the ways the southerners know. Their soldiers do nothing but fight. They do not farm. They do not have families to protect. That is why they are so difficult to defeat and that is why I have created a special force to fight like the southerners.'
Tom glanced round the ring of faces and saw he had their attention. 'Morgon's men are warriors and nothing else. The only thing they do is train and fight. When they train it is like fighting. When they fight it is like training. For them there is no difference.'
An argument broke out and was silenced by the queen.
'Listen. Hear what the Sky Warrior says.'
Tom adjusted his cloak and tried to look small.
'I am told that the southerners defeat you in battle. Their weapons are not superior. Their warriors are not superior. They defeat you because they are organised to defeat you.'
The chieftains stared back at him.
'You will not be defeated if you fight like them. You are better warriors. You have been cheated by their southern ways. You can overcome them.'
He glanced at his badge of office, fringed with the skulls that a Head Master was expected to collect. Its symbolism didn't faze him. Tom knew what happened when armies clashed. Cleaning-up operations were bound to be messy. Some would want to claim heads as trophies. Others would want to venerate them as fallen heroes.
He placed his hand on the badge.
'If the Holy Mother wills it, I will show you how to gather many heads. My men will break up Morgon's formations. You will do the rest.'
***
Alvero huddled against the haystack and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. He pulled his grey military cloak up about his neck and dragged his steel helmet down about his ears. He stared into the mist and saw a small figure peering at him through the bars of the fence. He guessed it was the boy Weasel and made the high-pitched squeaking noise that Adrina had taught him.
Weasel ran across.
'Brother,' he spoke in the native tongue. 'The princess says the Holy Mother is with us. She wants you to be ready with brothers from Ibero...'
'Stop.' Alvero raised a hand. 'You say too fast.'
The boy got the message and spoke slowly, articulating every word.
'Princess says you stay close. Soon big battle.' He slashed the air in imitation of a swordsman. 'Much fighting. Tell brothers to make white ribbons and tie to sleeves. Don't forget ... wear white ribbons. Put them on when Sky Warrior attacks and Morgon runs away. Then take horses and join Adrina.'