Along the Forest Road: Chapter 10
Well, I think this may be about as good as I can make it.
Whatever Kit had said to the boys in their corner must have worked. They all leaped to their feet and scrambled out the door. Jonn went with them. I climbed the ladder from the innyard to the rooftop, and was soon joined by the half dozen archers covering this side of the village. From this vantage I could see the other wing of archers on the blacksmith’s roof across the road, and the two squads of swordsmen in their hiding places a short distance back. The one on this side was under Crispian’s direct command, and Kit had charge of the other. At the far end of the village the pike were getting ready.
We had all just gotten into position when the brigands emerged from the wood. I took an arrow from the stack and nocked it; my archers did the same. Then I saw something that made me scramble across the steeply pitched roof and call down into the innyard.
“Crispian! White flag!”
He looked up in disbelief. “What?”
“They’re coming in under a white flag. They’re not surrendering, are they?”
He rubbed his chin. “Probably not. I guess they want to talk. I should have expected it after we took away their horse like that. All right, I want you and Kitaro with me. See if you can shoot a note his way or I’ll have to send a runner the long way around back. We’ll show ourselves from the other end of town. No use giving away all our positions before we have to.”
There was a quill and ink in our room. I jumped down the ladder and ran up the stairs, scribbled out a note, blotted it, and lashed it to an arrow. There was a clear shot from the window to the ground next to Kit’s squad, so I took aim and let fly. The note didn’t spoil my aim too much, although it landed farther away from them than I’d hoped. I was relieved when I saw one of the boys retrieve it. I wasn’t sure they’d noticed.
I joined Crispian in the yard and we went out the back way, passing close to the river, and made our way to the upstream side of the village. Kit was already there. With Crispian in the lead, flanked by the two of us, we stepped forward to meet the brigands. By then they awaited us at the western end of the square.
The leader awaited us atop his horse at the front of his men. He wore the same kind of bronze-reinforced jerkin I was using and his helmet was in the style of an enlisted man of the Imperial legions, resembling Crispian’s but without the polish and plume. He was built along Crispian’s lines as well and looked to be a few years older. When we drew near he smirked.
“Gaius Manilius Crispianus,” he said. “I’d heard the innkeeper here was an ex-legionnaire, but I never imagined it was you of all people. I thought your operations have been too professional by half. Now I know why.”
Crispian’s eyes narrowed. “Gnaeus Sextilius Mallus. And I never in my life thought I’d see you at the head of a band of brigands.”
“Brigands! My dear Crispian, we’re a Free Company! Exactly the same trade you and I once shared, only now we’re in it for ourselves.”
“Not hardly. You should be fighting wars. Instead, you’re plundering the livings of good people.”
“Plunder is how we live. We always have, even in our days in the legion.” He glanced my way. “I see you’re not averse to it yourself. Or did you coincidentally travel two hundred and fifty miles to get your gear from the same armorer I use?”
“There’s a difference between thieving and spoils,” I replied. “I took this from the body of a dead bandit. You don’t rob travelers under my protection without answering for it.”
“Then you must be the young man claiming ownership of the road east of here.” An edge came into his voice. “You expect me to believe you wiped out a dozen and a half of my men single-handed, do you?”
“No. I had help.” I tilted my head toward Kit.
“Don’t patronize me, boy! What’s he really, your catamite?”
“Yeah,” said Kit. “I am. So what?”
He dismissed Kit with a sneer. “So, Crispian. You’ve waged quite a campaign against me. No doubt you have men hidden all over this place waiting to spring some trap or other. I have no desire to lose any more of mine...” He looked back to either side. If the brigands were fearful or unnerved there was little sign of it. “...and I’m sure most of your ‘men’ are nothing but untried peasants you’d rather not risk. What do you say we settle this between ourselves?”
“How?” said Crispian.
“Single combat. If you win, I’ll take my men and go elsewhere. If I win, we continue to do as we will here unopposed, just as we have been.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You do that.”
Crispian turned his back on Mallus and walked a few paces away. We went with him, and when he stopped I turned sideways so I could keep an eye on the brigands.
“Who is that?” said Kit.
“That was the First Centurion of my old cohort,” answered Crispian. “He was the one the legate was out to get when he abandoned us. I knew he was bitter about it, but I never thought he’d sink this low. He has a point though. I’d rather not see any of our people’s blood spilled. I’m tempted to take him up on it.”
“Can we trust him?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Probably. He can’t afford any more losses either. He’s down a third of his men and he hasn’t even engaged us yet. If he thinks he can screw us over and get out of here unscathed, he’s nuts.”
“I don’t like it,” said Kit. “This is exactly the kind of thing you’d do to draw an opponent out of a strong position.
Crispian grinned at him. “Just the other day you said you knew nothing about tactics.”
“Just the other day I didn’t, but fighting’s what I do and I’m a quick study. I won’t say I’m an expert, but seeing you work has been very instructive.”
“Well, you’re not wrong. But I think it’s worth the chance to avoid bloodshed.”
Kit shrugged, and we turned back toward the brigands.
“Agreed!” said Crispian.
“Excellent.” Mallus dismounted and stepped forward. On seeing he bore no shield, Crispian laid his aside before meeting him. Mallus’ men gathered around to form a ring around the two.
“This isn’t good,” I said.
“No it isn’t.” Kit put his fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle. The boys emerged from their positions on both sides of the road. Kit ran to meet them before they came too close and gave them all a quiet but energetic talk. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but they looked positively fired up when they shouldered their way into the circle. Some of the brigands glowered, but the boys looked defiant. Having engaged some of these men already and come out the winners, they weren’t about to be cowed.
They drew their swords. Crispian saluted. “Ah, yes,” said Mallus. “We can’t forget the niceties, can we?” He raised his sword in a mocking salute of his own.
Mallus dropped to a crouch and began to circle. Crispian faced him in a casual stance.
“Look at you,” said Mallus. “Completely unprepared. Tell me, when was the last time you picked up your sword?” With that he launched himself at Crispian, aiming a vicious cut to the flank. Crispian deflected Mallus’ attack with the smallest motion, stepped in and grabbed him by a strap with his off-hand, pulled him around, and sent him sprawling to the dirt with a well-timed kick to the butt.
“When did I last pick up my sword? Mallus, I never put it down. While you were leading your men from the rear and terrorizing defenseless farmers, I was keeping up with two of the best in the world.”
Mallus hauled himself to his feet and set himself again, gritting his teeth. “I won’t go easy now.”
It wasn’t much of a contest. Each time Mallus attacked, Crispian stood his ground and repelled him with ease. The attacks grew wilder, more forceful and less subtle. It made no difference at all. Before a quarter of an hour had passed, Mallus was out of breath and near collapse from exhaustion. His aplomb was entirely gone, and desperation was in his face.
Through all this none of the brigands moved to either help Mallus or threaten Crispian. At one point I felt an itch between my shoulder blades, and when I looked around I spotted the one we’d captured a few days before glaring at me with undisguised hatred. When I met his eyes he looked away and turned his attention to the fight with a nasty smile. They were up to something. What could they be waiting for?
Just then Mallus made a wild cut. Crispian dodged the blade, caught the arm and twisted it, then brought his pommel down on the wrist. Mallus cried out and dropped his sword. Crispian brought the arm further in, forcing Mallus to his knees, and placed the point of his sword against the hollow of his throat.
“Yield or die. For old times’ sake I give you that much choice.”
Mallus stared down at the blade and licked his lips. He was breathing so hard he could barely talk when he tried. “I... I yield. You win.” Crispian released him. He collapsed to the ground. It was a few moments before he gathered the strength to raise himself up on all fours and stagger to his feet. When he did he found Crispian still before him, adamant.
“You’re finished. Now get the hell out. If you or any of your men so much as show your faces around here, there will be no mercy.” He turned his back to Mallus and made to leave the circle.
Behind him Mallus made a quick movement. Before I could shout out a warning I heard the sound of metal scraping metal. Crispian stiffened. Mallus stepped back, a bloody stiletto in his hand. Crispian sagged. Kit ran forward and caught him before he hit the ground.
“Now I’m finished,” Mallus snarled.
All our side was shocked into silence, but raucous laughter came from the brigands. Kit lifted Crispian up as lightly as if he were carrying a small child and started toward the inn. Our boys got out of his way, but the brigands didn’t move. His anger rolled over them like a wave. Their laughter died and their defiance melted like a candle in a bonfire.
Crispian’s gamble on Mallus’ honor had failed, and we were mingled with the enemy and badly outnumbered. This could turn nasty very quickly. The archers and pike were still in place. If we could give them room to work we still had a chance.
“Fall back!” I cried, but I was nearly drowned out by an enraged bellow.
“Die, you bastard!” Someone seized Mallus and spun him around. A blade flashed and Mallus went down. Left standing with a bloody sword in his hand was Jonn.
A roar came up from the brigands and they surged around him. Jonn cut another one down, and a third, but then numbers overwhelmed him and he disappeared from view. The other boys rushed in to engage the enemy.
I tried to make my way toward the center to pull Jonn out if I could, but I’d been outside the circle to begin with and now the whole place was filled with a pitched battle. My own sword was out. I cut one brigand down and pushed in, but I got only half a pace before I was forced to engage another. It didn’t take me long to deal with him, but by then we were in serious trouble.
The brigands’ greater numbers and experience were telling against us. All our side were hard-pressed. In the middle of one of my own fights a gurgling scream caught my attention. Shim, faced by two at once, had taken a blade through the chest.
Shouts came from down the road. The pikemen had dropped their pikes, useless in this press, and were hurrying forward. Not one of them was armed with anything more than the small knife everyone carried that was more a tool than a weapon. I glanced up. The archers were no longer in position. They’d be throwing themselves into the fight soon too. Some of them had swords, but by no means all. And we were still outnumbered. It was going to be a slaughter.
There was nothing else to do. I threw caution to the wind and put my trust entirely on Kit’s word. I could feel the white fire burning in my center. Somehow, like flexing a muscle that had always been there but never used, I reached for it and pulled it up.
As before the fire filled my vision when it reached my head, but this time it didn’t blind me. The color washed out of the world and everything became sharp edges and movement, but I remained conscious and my reason still functioned.
It wasn’t a moment too soon. In front of me a brigand disarmed one of the boys, then brought his blade around for a killing stroke. Why was he moving so slowly? I wasted no time thinking about it. I had to stop him.
I didn’t need to figure out how. No sooner had the intention formed in my mind than I felt my hand shoot forward and seize him by the neck. Without any sense of effort I threw him bodily aside. He hit the ground hard and lay still.
A brigand was charging me. Of itself my body moved to avoid his blade and catch his arm. I twisted my wrist―or rather that’s what I felt myself do; I wasn’t aware of making it happen―and I felt his bones break. My sword came up and ran him through. When I picked him up to throw him at another who bore down on me, he seemed as light as if he was stuffed with straw.
I watched my body act almost like I was a spectator. It did everything I wanted done, but I had no control over how. Yet I could feel everything more acutely than ever, from the exact position of every limb to the texture of the clothing bound against my body by my armor. And it wasn’t just that one brigand who was moving very slowly, it was everyone.
I now made my way to the center of the fight with much more speed. Without having to direct my body I had attention to spare, and so noticed Kit’s return. His own sword was too long for such infighting where friend and foe were packed so close together, and he started in with his bare hands. Such was my state that I could actually see what he was doing. Not that his movements were anything but a blur, but normally he was too fast to even tell which hand or foot he was using until after he struck. So I could see the punch that caved in a brigand’s chest and made him cough up blood; the throw and body drop that broke the spine of another so that the man was almost doubled over backward; the low kick that shattered the leg of a third. After that last he grabbed the man’s short sword as he fell, and with it in hand he cut down every brigand he encountered in an instant.
Whatever Kit had said to the boys in their corner must have worked. They all leaped to their feet and scrambled out the door. Jonn went with them. I climbed the ladder from the innyard to the rooftop, and was soon joined by the half dozen archers covering this side of the village. From this vantage I could see the other wing of archers on the blacksmith’s roof across the road, and the two squads of swordsmen in their hiding places a short distance back. The one on this side was under Crispian’s direct command, and Kit had charge of the other. At the far end of the village the pike were getting ready.
We had all just gotten into position when the brigands emerged from the wood. I took an arrow from the stack and nocked it; my archers did the same. Then I saw something that made me scramble across the steeply pitched roof and call down into the innyard.
“Crispian! White flag!”
He looked up in disbelief. “What?”
“They’re coming in under a white flag. They’re not surrendering, are they?”
He rubbed his chin. “Probably not. I guess they want to talk. I should have expected it after we took away their horse like that. All right, I want you and Kitaro with me. See if you can shoot a note his way or I’ll have to send a runner the long way around back. We’ll show ourselves from the other end of town. No use giving away all our positions before we have to.”
There was a quill and ink in our room. I jumped down the ladder and ran up the stairs, scribbled out a note, blotted it, and lashed it to an arrow. There was a clear shot from the window to the ground next to Kit’s squad, so I took aim and let fly. The note didn’t spoil my aim too much, although it landed farther away from them than I’d hoped. I was relieved when I saw one of the boys retrieve it. I wasn’t sure they’d noticed.
I joined Crispian in the yard and we went out the back way, passing close to the river, and made our way to the upstream side of the village. Kit was already there. With Crispian in the lead, flanked by the two of us, we stepped forward to meet the brigands. By then they awaited us at the western end of the square.
The leader awaited us atop his horse at the front of his men. He wore the same kind of bronze-reinforced jerkin I was using and his helmet was in the style of an enlisted man of the Imperial legions, resembling Crispian’s but without the polish and plume. He was built along Crispian’s lines as well and looked to be a few years older. When we drew near he smirked.
“Gaius Manilius Crispianus,” he said. “I’d heard the innkeeper here was an ex-legionnaire, but I never imagined it was you of all people. I thought your operations have been too professional by half. Now I know why.”
Crispian’s eyes narrowed. “Gnaeus Sextilius Mallus. And I never in my life thought I’d see you at the head of a band of brigands.”
“Brigands! My dear Crispian, we’re a Free Company! Exactly the same trade you and I once shared, only now we’re in it for ourselves.”
“Not hardly. You should be fighting wars. Instead, you’re plundering the livings of good people.”
“Plunder is how we live. We always have, even in our days in the legion.” He glanced my way. “I see you’re not averse to it yourself. Or did you coincidentally travel two hundred and fifty miles to get your gear from the same armorer I use?”
“There’s a difference between thieving and spoils,” I replied. “I took this from the body of a dead bandit. You don’t rob travelers under my protection without answering for it.”
“Then you must be the young man claiming ownership of the road east of here.” An edge came into his voice. “You expect me to believe you wiped out a dozen and a half of my men single-handed, do you?”
“No. I had help.” I tilted my head toward Kit.
“Don’t patronize me, boy! What’s he really, your catamite?”
“Yeah,” said Kit. “I am. So what?”
He dismissed Kit with a sneer. “So, Crispian. You’ve waged quite a campaign against me. No doubt you have men hidden all over this place waiting to spring some trap or other. I have no desire to lose any more of mine...” He looked back to either side. If the brigands were fearful or unnerved there was little sign of it. “...and I’m sure most of your ‘men’ are nothing but untried peasants you’d rather not risk. What do you say we settle this between ourselves?”
“How?” said Crispian.
“Single combat. If you win, I’ll take my men and go elsewhere. If I win, we continue to do as we will here unopposed, just as we have been.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You do that.”
Crispian turned his back on Mallus and walked a few paces away. We went with him, and when he stopped I turned sideways so I could keep an eye on the brigands.
“Who is that?” said Kit.
“That was the First Centurion of my old cohort,” answered Crispian. “He was the one the legate was out to get when he abandoned us. I knew he was bitter about it, but I never thought he’d sink this low. He has a point though. I’d rather not see any of our people’s blood spilled. I’m tempted to take him up on it.”
“Can we trust him?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Probably. He can’t afford any more losses either. He’s down a third of his men and he hasn’t even engaged us yet. If he thinks he can screw us over and get out of here unscathed, he’s nuts.”
“I don’t like it,” said Kit. “This is exactly the kind of thing you’d do to draw an opponent out of a strong position.
Crispian grinned at him. “Just the other day you said you knew nothing about tactics.”
“Just the other day I didn’t, but fighting’s what I do and I’m a quick study. I won’t say I’m an expert, but seeing you work has been very instructive.”
“Well, you’re not wrong. But I think it’s worth the chance to avoid bloodshed.”
Kit shrugged, and we turned back toward the brigands.
“Agreed!” said Crispian.
“Excellent.” Mallus dismounted and stepped forward. On seeing he bore no shield, Crispian laid his aside before meeting him. Mallus’ men gathered around to form a ring around the two.
“This isn’t good,” I said.
“No it isn’t.” Kit put his fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle. The boys emerged from their positions on both sides of the road. Kit ran to meet them before they came too close and gave them all a quiet but energetic talk. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but they looked positively fired up when they shouldered their way into the circle. Some of the brigands glowered, but the boys looked defiant. Having engaged some of these men already and come out the winners, they weren’t about to be cowed.
They drew their swords. Crispian saluted. “Ah, yes,” said Mallus. “We can’t forget the niceties, can we?” He raised his sword in a mocking salute of his own.
Mallus dropped to a crouch and began to circle. Crispian faced him in a casual stance.
“Look at you,” said Mallus. “Completely unprepared. Tell me, when was the last time you picked up your sword?” With that he launched himself at Crispian, aiming a vicious cut to the flank. Crispian deflected Mallus’ attack with the smallest motion, stepped in and grabbed him by a strap with his off-hand, pulled him around, and sent him sprawling to the dirt with a well-timed kick to the butt.
“When did I last pick up my sword? Mallus, I never put it down. While you were leading your men from the rear and terrorizing defenseless farmers, I was keeping up with two of the best in the world.”
Mallus hauled himself to his feet and set himself again, gritting his teeth. “I won’t go easy now.”
It wasn’t much of a contest. Each time Mallus attacked, Crispian stood his ground and repelled him with ease. The attacks grew wilder, more forceful and less subtle. It made no difference at all. Before a quarter of an hour had passed, Mallus was out of breath and near collapse from exhaustion. His aplomb was entirely gone, and desperation was in his face.
Through all this none of the brigands moved to either help Mallus or threaten Crispian. At one point I felt an itch between my shoulder blades, and when I looked around I spotted the one we’d captured a few days before glaring at me with undisguised hatred. When I met his eyes he looked away and turned his attention to the fight with a nasty smile. They were up to something. What could they be waiting for?
Just then Mallus made a wild cut. Crispian dodged the blade, caught the arm and twisted it, then brought his pommel down on the wrist. Mallus cried out and dropped his sword. Crispian brought the arm further in, forcing Mallus to his knees, and placed the point of his sword against the hollow of his throat.
“Yield or die. For old times’ sake I give you that much choice.”
Mallus stared down at the blade and licked his lips. He was breathing so hard he could barely talk when he tried. “I... I yield. You win.” Crispian released him. He collapsed to the ground. It was a few moments before he gathered the strength to raise himself up on all fours and stagger to his feet. When he did he found Crispian still before him, adamant.
“You’re finished. Now get the hell out. If you or any of your men so much as show your faces around here, there will be no mercy.” He turned his back to Mallus and made to leave the circle.
Behind him Mallus made a quick movement. Before I could shout out a warning I heard the sound of metal scraping metal. Crispian stiffened. Mallus stepped back, a bloody stiletto in his hand. Crispian sagged. Kit ran forward and caught him before he hit the ground.
“Now I’m finished,” Mallus snarled.
All our side was shocked into silence, but raucous laughter came from the brigands. Kit lifted Crispian up as lightly as if he were carrying a small child and started toward the inn. Our boys got out of his way, but the brigands didn’t move. His anger rolled over them like a wave. Their laughter died and their defiance melted like a candle in a bonfire.
Crispian’s gamble on Mallus’ honor had failed, and we were mingled with the enemy and badly outnumbered. This could turn nasty very quickly. The archers and pike were still in place. If we could give them room to work we still had a chance.
“Fall back!” I cried, but I was nearly drowned out by an enraged bellow.
“Die, you bastard!” Someone seized Mallus and spun him around. A blade flashed and Mallus went down. Left standing with a bloody sword in his hand was Jonn.
A roar came up from the brigands and they surged around him. Jonn cut another one down, and a third, but then numbers overwhelmed him and he disappeared from view. The other boys rushed in to engage the enemy.
I tried to make my way toward the center to pull Jonn out if I could, but I’d been outside the circle to begin with and now the whole place was filled with a pitched battle. My own sword was out. I cut one brigand down and pushed in, but I got only half a pace before I was forced to engage another. It didn’t take me long to deal with him, but by then we were in serious trouble.
The brigands’ greater numbers and experience were telling against us. All our side were hard-pressed. In the middle of one of my own fights a gurgling scream caught my attention. Shim, faced by two at once, had taken a blade through the chest.
Shouts came from down the road. The pikemen had dropped their pikes, useless in this press, and were hurrying forward. Not one of them was armed with anything more than the small knife everyone carried that was more a tool than a weapon. I glanced up. The archers were no longer in position. They’d be throwing themselves into the fight soon too. Some of them had swords, but by no means all. And we were still outnumbered. It was going to be a slaughter.
There was nothing else to do. I threw caution to the wind and put my trust entirely on Kit’s word. I could feel the white fire burning in my center. Somehow, like flexing a muscle that had always been there but never used, I reached for it and pulled it up.
As before the fire filled my vision when it reached my head, but this time it didn’t blind me. The color washed out of the world and everything became sharp edges and movement, but I remained conscious and my reason still functioned.
It wasn’t a moment too soon. In front of me a brigand disarmed one of the boys, then brought his blade around for a killing stroke. Why was he moving so slowly? I wasted no time thinking about it. I had to stop him.
I didn’t need to figure out how. No sooner had the intention formed in my mind than I felt my hand shoot forward and seize him by the neck. Without any sense of effort I threw him bodily aside. He hit the ground hard and lay still.
A brigand was charging me. Of itself my body moved to avoid his blade and catch his arm. I twisted my wrist―or rather that’s what I felt myself do; I wasn’t aware of making it happen―and I felt his bones break. My sword came up and ran him through. When I picked him up to throw him at another who bore down on me, he seemed as light as if he was stuffed with straw.
I watched my body act almost like I was a spectator. It did everything I wanted done, but I had no control over how. Yet I could feel everything more acutely than ever, from the exact position of every limb to the texture of the clothing bound against my body by my armor. And it wasn’t just that one brigand who was moving very slowly, it was everyone.
I now made my way to the center of the fight with much more speed. Without having to direct my body I had attention to spare, and so noticed Kit’s return. His own sword was too long for such infighting where friend and foe were packed so close together, and he started in with his bare hands. Such was my state that I could actually see what he was doing. Not that his movements were anything but a blur, but normally he was too fast to even tell which hand or foot he was using until after he struck. So I could see the punch that caved in a brigand’s chest and made him cough up blood; the throw and body drop that broke the spine of another so that the man was almost doubled over backward; the low kick that shattered the leg of a third. After that last he grabbed the man’s short sword as he fell, and with it in hand he cut down every brigand he encountered in an instant.