Dawn of Empire (20 page)

“Captain, for the first time, I begin to believe what you propose is barely possible. Whether it can be built in time, I’m not sure, but I will study the matter, and give you an answer tomorrow. It will be close, I warrant that much. But it may be that we can do what you ask.”

“Master Corio,” Trella said, “what of the gates to the village? Can they be made strong enough, if that is where the barbarians will attack?”

“The gates can be strengthened until they’re stronger than the wall, and the ditch can be twice as wide and even deeper there. We’ll need great logs from the forests of the north for that. As long as we keep them wet enough, they won’t burn. The barbarians will try to use a ram against them, but that will take time, and your soldiers will have to kill them.”

He looked at Esk kar. “I hope you’ve thought about barbarians shooting arrows at whatever sticks out over the wall?”

“Yes, Corio, I have.” He didn’t explain further, since he didn’t know yet whether the bows could be crafted in time or men trained.

Esk kar tightened his lips and remained silent, until Corio realized nothing further would be forthcoming. Corio wasn’t the type to ask again.

At that moment, the apprentice returned, accompanied by the village’s well maker. Solus had been appointed by the Families and was the only one in Orak allowed to construct wells. One of the oldest men in the village, short and stooped, he claimed nearly sixty seasons. The man had lived in and around the river all of his life.

“Yes, Master Corio, I come at your summons. What is it you wish to know?” Solus had trouble speaking, mostly because he had so few teeth left in his bald head.

“How difficult is it to construct new wells inside Orak, Solus?” Corio asked, getting right to the point.

“We already have four large wells for public use as well as many private ones that provide more water than we can use. Why would we want more wells?”

Another man with pride in his station and his trade, Esk kar thought with amusement. The old man had ignored him completely. Obviously Corio had worked with Solus before because he took the question in stride.

“We plan for the defense of Orak, and I need water supplies closer to the palisade. I need to know how much pressure is in each well, in case I need to draw large quantities of water each day. So tell me, Master Digger, how long does it take?”

Solus scratched his bald pate and took his time answering, plainly not used to rushing at the beck and call even of Corio, let alone some upstart captain of the guard. “To do it properly, cutting through the rock and walling the sides, about two months.” Solus looked around the table, as if waiting for someone to challenge his estimate.

Corio said nothing, just drummed his fingers on the table.

Solus went on. “As for the water pressure, the force of the river is powerful and the wells in Orak cannot be emptied. As fast as you take water, it will be replenished.”

“Even with a water wheel?” Corio asked.

“Why would you need a water wheel?” When he saw Corio’s expression darken, Solus hastened to amplify his answers. “Yes, even with a water wheel. Further inland, the ground is dry and even a good well can be emptied in three or four days of heavy use.”

Corio stood up and bowed to the digger of wells. “Thank you for your time and your wisdom, Solus. You’ve been of great assistance. I’ve taken you away from your work for long enough.”

When the man left, Corio turned to Esk kar. “He’s an old fool, but a good stone mason. As for the wells, I’m sure a working well could be dug in about a week or two. Solus is very good about taking his time and lengthening out the work. But I believe he’s correct about the pressure of the water.” Corio glanced out the door at the sun, then carefully rolled up his map, replacing it in the case, which he sealed tightly.

“I’ll go and review my estimates. By noon tomorrow, I’ll return and tell you what you need to know.”

“My thanks to you, Master Corio,” Esk kar replied. He stood and clasped Corio’s arm. “I’ve learned much this morning.”

“As have I.” Corio’s smile this time was more relaxed. He started for the door but then stopped and turned back. “Honorable Captain,” he began formally, “I don’t wish to offend, but I would ask something.” He looked at Trella, then continued. “If you should ever wish to sell your servant, then I would be prepared to pay almost any price. In my trade, I must search constantly for people with certain skills and talents. Your servant seems to have many such skills.” His eyes fl ickered from Esk kar to Trella and back to Esk kar.

“Master Builder, I thank you for your generous offer, but Trella is not for sale.” Esk kar smiled to show that he hadn’t taken any offense. “And we look forward to meeting you tomorrow.” He bowed to Corio, as did Trella.

Corio hesitated as if wanting to add something, but instead merely smiled. He bowed and left the room, calling out to his apprentices as he did so. Esk kar went to the doorway and watched him depart with his en-tourage. The master artisan had given him much food for thought, but now Esk kar’s thoughts were elsewhere.

He stepped out into the bright sun and called out to the guard, standing patiently at his post. “I don’t want to be disturbed by anyone for the next hour. If someone asks, tell them I’m busy planning the defense of Orak.”

The guard looked at him and nodded his understanding, keeping his face under control. Returning inside, Esk kar closed the door and dropped the wooden bar across the entrance. Trella was clearing the table of the water cups, but looked up at the sound, put down the cups, and walked into his arms.

“You should be meeting with Nicar and with the tradesmen,” she put her arms around him and her head against his chest. “Master Corio seems to be the most important person in Orak right now, and we should …”

“Be quiet, girl,” his voice already hoarse with passion, “or I’ll sell you to Corio. I’m sure he could keep you busy building things.” His hands slid under her dress. Feeling her softness, he marveled once again at how she roused him.

“Maybe I would like him better. He might not keep me up all night.”

Her hands were under his tunic now, making him even more excited.

He lifted the dress up over her head and tossed it toward the table, then picked her up, carried her to the bed, and deposited her gently on the blankets. He stood over her looking down at her naked body as he removed his tunic. She moved sinuously in the bed, looking up at him and arching her back a little in anticipated pleasure. Remembering his promise from last night, he vowed to keep better control of his desire.

“Trella, my woman, you belong to me, and with me you will stay.” He sat down on the bed and began kissing her breasts, and then he had no more words in his head for anyone or anything.

7

–-

An hour later, Esk kar unbarred the door and stepped out into the courtyard. The guard still attended. Gatus had joined him, both men sitting under the tree. From the grim look on Gatus’s face, Esk kar guessed that his own contentment was about to vanish. “Yes, Gatus, what is it?”

“Can we speak privately, Captain?” he glanced toward the house.

Trella was up and dressed, but the room still reeked of sex.

“Yes. Let’s go to the tavern for some food and beer.” Esk kar had worked up an appetite, and what had formerly been an unheard of luxury was nothing now. He started walking and Gatus followed. Bypassing the cheaper alehouse near the barracks, Esk kar strode two streets over to a smaller tavern, one not usually frequented by soldiers. This tavern’s wine and ale didn’t wrench your stomach, and if you wanted something other than bread, they’d fetch it from the street vendors.

The innkeeper tried to seat his guests near the doorway so anyone passing by could see them. But Esk kar chose a dark corner and told the owner they wanted privacy along with some bread and beer. Esk kar might have gold now, but he didn’t plan to waste it on drink.

“Well, Gatus,” he began after taking a deep draught of the ale. “What’s the problem now?”

“The men. While you’re taking your pleasure, they’re standing about, worried about the barbarians and all this talk about fighting them off.”

Gatus stopped to take a sip of his ale. “They know there aren’t enough of them to resist the barbarians, even with a wall. You need to talk to them.

Some are getting ready to run, like Ariamus. I see it in their eyes. They turn away when I look at them. Say something to them, and soon, or they’ll be gone.”

Esk kar’s hand had tightened on the ale cup when Gatus mentioned his time with Trella, but he relaxed it immediately. He couldn’t get angry at Gatus over that. When Ariamus had wasted away hours or even the whole day, his dalliances annoyed all those who needed him, including Esk kar.

Besides, Gatus kept close to the men. If he said they had a problem, then there was one. Otherwise Gatus would have handled it himself.

A week ago Esk kar would have stormed out of the tavern, returned to the barracks, and started knocking some heads. That response wouldn’t work, not with the threat of the barbarians moving toward them. Now he needed the soldiers more than they needed him.

Without them, any wall would be useless. Worse, the wall would never be built without the threat of force from Orak’s guards. Esk kar sat there, thinking, listing in his mind what he could say and do. Some ideas occurred and he examined them, slowly and in more detail than was his wont. Perhaps Trella was right. He should think everything through before he spoke or acted.

They sat there in silence. “What did Corio have to say?” Gatus finally asked as he finished his beer. “Can the wall be built in time?”

Esk kar told him what Corio said. “Now that you know as much as I do, let’s get back to the men. Here’s what I want you to do.”

Ticking them off on his fingers, he listed the items he wished Gatus to assemble. When he finished, Gatus smiled as he leaned back against the rough stone wall, and called for more beer.

Two hours of preparation later, including some time telling Trella what he would do and say, Esk kar walked around the barracks to the training area. Gatus had brought in all the men, leaving only a single man at each gate. Esk kar wore only a short linen skirt, leaving his chest bare. He carried his long horse sword in his hand.

Gatus, Jalen, Bantor, and Sisuthros waited together in the open space in front of the men. Two blankets at their feet concealed what lay beneath.

A high wagon with four large, solid wheels stood behind them.

“Sit down, in two ranks,” Esk kar growled at the men. He counted twenty - seven seated before him. At least none had run yet, though the day and week were far from over. He looked at each of them as he strode up and down in front of their ranks.

“You men, scum that you are, are going to help me defeat the barbarians. You’re going to do that by training all the hundreds of new men and villagers that will be pouring into Orak in the next few months. Before you can do that, however, you’ll have to be trained properly yourselves, and that’s what we,” he waved the sword toward Gatus and the others, “are going to do, starting today.”

He watched their eyes shift and a few squirmed in their positions.

But they said nothing, proving they’d learned the two basic lessons of soldiering—never volunteer and never be the first to ask a question.

“I see you have your doubts,” Esk kar said with a smile. “Well, good.

Maybe we’ll have a little wagering. You all like to wager, don’t you? Let’s pretend that I am a fierce barbarian warrior. Gatus, come here.”

Gatus stepped forward at the command, drawing his short sword as he did so, and faced Esk kar ten feet away.

“Now, men, let’s make a little wager. The barbarian against Gatus.”

Esk kar hummed his horse sword through the air. It was nearly twice the length of the short swords carried by the soldiers. “Who would win?”

No one said anything, so he shouted at them. “Answer me, dogs! Who would win?”

Grudging replies of “you” or “the barbarian” answered him this time.

He waited a moment. “So, nobody thinks the soldier can win. And why not?” He prodded them until he heard the reply he wanted. “Because of the long sword, I can cut him down before he even reaches me.” He glared at them. “Or can I? Jalen!”

Gatus stepped back. Jalen reached under the blanket, put on a thick leather vest, and lifted up a stout wooden shield reinforced with two thick strips of weathered copper. Sliding his arm into the straps, he drew his sword, and walked aggressively toward Esk kar, raising the shield to his eyes as he did so. The short sword that had looked so puny a moment before now seemed much more menacing.

Esk kar instinctively gave back a pace as he raised his sword before Jalen halted, the same ten feet away.

“Well, men, let’s get back to our wager. The barbarian or Jalen? Who’d win now?”

After a moment, most of them began muttering Jalen’s name.

“What happened to change your minds? The shield makes the difference, doesn’t it? Now the barbarian’s long sword is of little value. Instead the protected short sword becomes deadly. Jalen can move in to close quarters with the barbarian, take the sword stroke on his shield, and kill him easily.”

One of the men called out, “The barbarians don’t fight on foot. They use their horses as shields.”

“Ah, we have a leader of men here, I see,” Esk kar remarked and nodded at Gatus again.

Lifting his fi ngers to his lips, Esk kar gave a shrill whistle, and in a moment a stable boy ran up, leading a horse. Esk kar leaped on the animal and raised the sword on high. The horse reared up, showing high spirits, and forcing Esk kar to grip him tightly with his knees and pull back hard with the halter rope.

Gatus, meanwhile, had dragged out a training post, a four - foot - tall post he set into a block of wood buried in the ground. The block held the post upright, and on its top, he set a melon from the market.

Esk kar wheeled the horse and rode a short distance away, then turned and raced the animal back toward the post, giving voice to a barbarian war cry that acted like a whip to the excited animal. As he flashed by the post, Esk kar leaned outward and struck down hard with his sword, exploding the melon as a man might crush a grape and splitting the post as he thundered past in a spray of flying dirt and splattering fruit.