course.”
Of course. A patron helps his client and a client helps his patron in return. In the city clients will arrive at their patron's door early in the day and say something like, 'Is there anything I can do for you today and thank you for the gift.' The fact that in this case the client was a whole tribe of three towns and maybe a hundred thousand people made no difference; 'of course you can trade freely with my people for slaves from other tribes, and thanks for the military help when it goes sour.' Same thing.
“Where did he think the slaves were going to come from? Hmm? How moral is that?” The argument went on without us.
“Of course he has to help. Any news on how things are going?”
Lentro showed less interest than I thought appropriate. “Not much, a couple of strongholds have fallen, a few villages razed. The Ensibi have taken losses but it's early days.”
The Gerrian tribes are numerous, maybe as many as a hundred of them all told. The Ensibi had called for help from an ally, and I couldn't help wondering if the Alendi might do the same. Still, no tribe had more than four others on its borders, and none of them were much larger in numbers than the Ensibi. Probably nothing to worry about. In warrior cultures any able bodied man could fight but the true warriors were only one in fifty, noblemen in other words, men who owned weapons and armor, so in a hundred thousand only two thousand were capable and experienced fighting men. In a worse case scenario, say three other tribes got involved; eight thousand against our seven thousand and whatever the Ensibi fielded. No real problem. Of course, spears are cheap and one in five of any given normal population base would be able bodied men. If the whole tribe rose, maybe twenty thousand men could be raised. Not much more than two to one, not worried. Four tribes would make eighty thousand, enough to stretch us if brought to battle all in one place. But that was unlikely, wasn't it? Allied tribes who felt obliged to help out, for whatever reason or incentive, were unlikely to send every able bodied man, right? So say, at a stretch, seven times four or twenty-four thousand serious warriors and maybe twenty thousand guys with spears, worst case scenario. What was that? Seven times our numbers? We could take down ten times our number, that was the tradition, right? So stop worrying.
Still I didn't sleep well. Camp beds and tents are not as comfortable as beds and roofs and I missed my bed. And I couldn't stop running numbers in my head.
6
Eventually I must have slept because I woke up to the sound of trumpets and started the day with some choice curses and a groan or two. The healers' hospitality had been generous and I had a pretty good hangover. Being woken rudely at dawn was something I had experienced before under the savage tutelage of my Uncle and had never wanted or expected to have to deal with again, especially with a bad head.
There must have been a dozen or more trumpets, so there was no stopping them, which left waiting them out as the only option, so this is what I resolved to do. Cracking open one eye and waiting, I could see Meran sitting up in the doorway to the tent. There was enough room in here for my bed, such as it was, a small table and chair, a little space with nothing in it and a couple of chest-sized canvas bags that were my luggage. A pale, cool light poked its unwelcome way through the flaps of the tent and cut a sharp swathe across the limited empty space before stinging my one open eye.
“Don't say a word,” I warned Meran, barely raising my voice above a whisper. “Just get rid of the light.”
He took me at my word and slipped silently out the tent, closing the flaps behind him to kill the light that so offended me. He did a good job but the canvas of the tent wasn't going to be thick enough to protect me from all the sunlight when the sun finally rose. The pale half-light of dawn was not enough to push its way through but I knew already that it wouldn't last. The noise of the trumpets swiftly faded away but left behind the sounds of voices, some raised to a shout but most not, and of course the sounds of feet and movement. Lots of voices, lots of feet, lots of movement. I was surrounded by six hundred people and not far away another six thousand or more were also adding a dull background din that I felt sure distance should have reduced more than it did. I closed my eye and hoped that things would settle down. Things didn't. One voice raised in laughter, another shouted in anger, and others less readily identifiable would suddenly ring out and die off to mingle with the incessant background noise.
I was in hell. No two ways about it. Just as I'd begun to think I could cope with the background rumble of voices and movement something sudden and jarring would shock me and make it clear that there was not going to be any more sleep for me that day. The only thing that would make sleep possible would be to get away from all these damn people. Not an option right now. So, the only thing that would make me less miserable would be to transfer some of that misery to someone else. And I had six people under my direct command. They would have to do.
I threw back the eiderdown and put my feet on the floor. There was a rug, small but thoughtfully placed so my feet wouldn't hit the ground. Point for Meran. Less misery for him today. It was cold. Not seriously cold but dawn-chilly; not warm. Nothing immediate to be done about that. I pulled on a kilt and strode to the entrance, stooped slightly, and stuck my head outside. I would have thrown the flaps open boldly and stepped outside but frankly I'm a little overweight and don't look great in just a kilt. Across from me, about twelve feet away, Sheo and Kerral were ostentatiously up and awake. The flaps of their tent, which was every bit as large as mine, thrown wide, they stood clearly visible bathing and shaving while a slave stood by with towels. Just to my left stood Meran, his expression devoid of meaning, a small brazier of hot coals at his feet right next to a bowl of hot water. He held a lamp in one hand and had a towel thrown over one shoulder. I nodded and stepped back inside where he shortly joined me, placing the brazier on a tripod. He slipped outside and then came back with the lamp and hot water. The bowl went on the table and the lamp hung from the place where two poles met to support the canvas of our ceiling. Seconds later the towel was laid on the back of the chair and a razor appeared with soap to be laid on another towel and a face cloth was placed beside them.
“Good.” I meant everything.
He left without saying a word and was back by the time I'd washed and shaved, bringing with him a steaming cup that he placed silently on the table. I finished drying, took the tea and gestured to the water as I turned away. “Go ahead.”
I sipped the tea and grumbled to myself as he stripped, washed, shaved, dried, dressed and left. I kept up the grumbling until he had gone, then dressed in clothes that had been left on top of one of the big canvas bags, slipped on some boots and prepared to face the world with no clue what I was supposed to be doing but a clear intent to make my command more miserable than I was. More trumpets sounded before I pulled back the flaps but I carried on regardless. Outside the sun was finally clearing the horizon. The camp was set up across the river from the city in a big meadow that could, and sometimes did, hold four legions or more. There were no permanent buildings. The road was a mile away and headed north. There were two other fields like this; one to the south-east and one to the west of the city, each near a major road, the road intended to be used by the assembled army that camped near it.
Sheo and Kerral were outside their tent, fully kitted out in armor, swords strapped to their sides and generally immaculate. I cursed inwardly. No armor or weapons had arrived for me, at least not yet. It didn't improve my mood but didn't help my case either; without military apparel I felt that my authority was diminished. Unfortunately I couldn't fault either of my friends and as soon as Sheo spoke I stopped wanting to.
“Ready to parade, sir. Just waiting for the signal.”
Only then did I notice my other four men standing round a communal fire, putting breakfast inside themselves but otherwise ready for the day. That would be what all the trumpets were about then; wake up, get ready, and sometime soon, parade. I was starting to remember the lectures about this sort of thing that had been a staple part of my childhood. I had pretended to absorb it, been able to answer well enough, but it was a good while ago and memories fade, especially when the material learned isn't of interest. There were eight watches to the day, dividing twenty four hours; the first watch of the day was also the wake-up call for the army as a whole. The commanders would be returning to their units about now with the watch password and orders of the day. Technically I was a commander. I hummed and nodded as though in response to Sheo's comment, but really I was deciding that I would pop along and see Tulian or his aide a bit later and get the password; not that I anticipated needing it; and
