Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (79 page)

His men were all ashore in temporary barracks by the end of the first day. Tomorrow they would begin the hard work of building a fort. The plan called for suppressing all resistance in Cantibria and using it as a staging point for taking the coastal cities of Camorin one by one. If the weather held fine, he should be relieved before the season was out by a garrison of militia raised especially for the purpose. Responsibility of governing Cantibria would then fall to civilian authority. Although not part of the legions, militia were good at keeping the peace and holding what the legions conquered. They would do well in Cantibria, he was sure.

The city was quiet that night, but the next day things started happening. The dawn found Navarien fully armoured and sitting in the common room eating breakfast. The Ship and Dragon was an inn he had seized for his headquarters. The badly painted sign above its door was a prominent feature along the dock and easily found by his men wanting to report to him.

“No trouble last night at all, Sir,” Cragson reported. “The fighting yesterday seems to be an isolated incident but we aren’t taking chances. I’ve doubled the usual patrols. So far there’s been complete silence. That bothers me, if you don’t mind my saying so. I can’t believe it’s going to be this easy.”

“I’m not really surprised by the lack of a decent defence, Cragson. You have to realise these people are a long way from what they were. The real clans are on the plain.”

Just then a messenger called Cragson away. The Captain listened then hurried back to Navarien. “There’s trouble in the southern quarter of the city, Sir. There’s a riot in progress near Market Square. Fifth Battalion has been trying to restore order but they’re meeting stiff resistance.”

“Damn!” Navarien shoved away from the table. “It looks as if I spoke too soon. What have we on hand?” he said striding outside and loosening his sword in its scabbard.

Cragson loosened his own sword. “Just the Eighth, Sir.”

That was good. Eighth Battalion was a veteran unit.

“Call them out, but swords and shields only. Javelins are no good in these narrow streets. I’ll lead, you’re my second.”

“Yes, Sir!” Cragson saluted and trotted off roaring orders to Under-Captain Tikva, who roared at his sergeants in turn.

After a lot of shouting by their sergeants, the men fell in and Navarien led them toward the disturbance. They trotted through empty streets and turned down lanes normally flooded with people. The city almost seemed to be holding its breath as the legionnaires marched to battle. Navarien heard shouts and screams long before he reached the square. He ordered double time and the men broke into a trot.

It was both worse and better than he had feared. Dead legionnaires littered the ground, but there were still plenty of them fighting. They seemed to be holding easily three times their numbers. He estimated he was facing perhaps as many as three thousand Camorins. His heart sank when he realised that many of them were women, but he hardened it against pity when he saw his men falling to their expertly wielded blades.

“Cragson!”

“Sir!”

“You lead maniples one through five to the right,” he said sweeping a hand around the square. “I’ll take the other five to the left. Wait until I’m in position then we’ll slam together at the same time.” He clamped his hands together in emphasis. Then in a quiet and angry voice he said, “Cut every one of them down.”

“Yes, Sir!” Cragson said.

Whether Cragson was surprised by the brutal order or not, he made no protest or gave any sign of it. He turned and shouted his orders, and the first five maniples of Eighth Battalion peeled off to the right of Market Square. Navarien led his five hundred men to the left and had them form line. He didn’t want to kill these people; the Protectorate would need them, and besides, they were Protectorate citizens now whether they knew it or not. He didn’t want this fight, but he couldn’t afford to be merciful at the beginning of a campaign. They would only take his mercy as weakness. He tried to think of another choice, but they had left him none.

Navarien drew his sword, and stood in front of his men holding it high. “Out swords!” he cried over the bedlam of ringing swords and shrieks of pain.

All along the line, his men drew their weapons and firmed their grip on their shields. He stepped into place in the line and turned to his signaller.

“Sound advance at the walk.”

Rah-taaa, Rah-taaa, Rah-ta-taaa!

The sweet sound of the boy’s cornet sounded incongruous in such a setting, but the sound focused Navarien’s attention on the enemy ahead as it was meant to do. He couldn’t see Cragson’s men, but he didn’t need to. Cragson was his best man. He trusted him to do the job.

Some of the Camorin warriors were quicker to react to the new threat than others, but they soon reformed and were fighting on three sides. With a chill, Navarien realised what a fool he had been to believe these people were weak. They might be a long way from their nomad origins, but it was obvious by the way they fought that they hadn’t forgotten their heritage entirely. They had reformed their lines as if used to fighting this kind of battle, which he knew they weren’t. That meant they had been trained to do it, and well by the look of them.

He was soon too occupied with defending himself for theorising. He easily dispatched his first opponent, and ran his next man through as well. He nearly died the third time he was attacked and cursed himself for hesitating to kill the woman. She was only a girl, but she had slashed his sword arm with her blade like a veteran. Pain and shock slammed through him. He was nearly run through as he clutched at the wound.

“Beg pardon, Sir!”

Navarien was unceremoniously yanked backward by a grizzled sergeant to his right. He almost fell as he staggered out of the line. He just had time to see the girl’s shocked face as the sergeant thrust his sword into her guts before she disappeared under the trampling feet of his men. He would never forget the hurt and accusing look in her eyes as she fell.

Shaking off the stupor he seemed to be in, Navarien quickly staunched the flow of blood and rejoined the fight. His half of Eighth Battalion accounted for perhaps a third of the enemy before linking up with Cragson’s men. Together they pressed the fight and linked with the much beleaguered Fifth Battalion to encircle the enemy. The Camorin warriors didn’t hesitate in continuing the fight. Navarien hadn’t seen one man or woman try to surrender, and he doubted any would at this late juncture.

The fight lasted perhaps another half candlemark until the last Camorin fell at mid-morning. It was another girl. She fell silently from a sword thrust through her middle and lay as if falling asleep among the stinking corpses. She stared at the sun unblinking.

Navarien dragged his eyes from hers. “Cragson!”

“Sir!” Came Cragson’s voice from somewhere behind him.

Navarien waved a hand at the mess. “Collect all the weapons and put them under guard. Enemy dead to be burned outside the city, bury ours there also.”

“Yes sir.” Cragson looked around then said, “We were lucky.”

Lucky? He supposed Cragson was right, but by the number of Legion shields lying discarded, he would estimate his losses at least two hundred men.

That night an uneasy silence settled over the city. What with one thing and another, Navarien didn’t sleep much. The morning dawned with him still looking out his window at the placid North Sea. His arm was paining him. All he wanted to do was yank out the cursed stitches to get at the flaming itch that plagued him. So he was in a particularly foul mood that morning when Cragson reported to him.

“How many?” Navarien said crossing to his desk and sitting down.

Cragson stood at attention before him. “We lost close to two hundred from Fifth Battalion and the original patrol—a maniple from Second. Eighth Battalion lost only a hundred and thirty two. We have about three hundred walking wounded—roughly half are from each of the two battalions, and all will recover.”

Navarien tapped a finger on his desk in time with his words. “You realise that if I include the men we lost the first day we have almost half a
battalion
dead?”

Cragson fidgeted uneasily. “I… Sir, I have been interog… I mean
questioning
the locals who witnessed the beginning of the fight and—” he broke off.

“Sit down Cragson,” he said and watched the man try to sit at attention. “Relax man, I’m not going to explode!”

Cragson leaned back in his chair, but then he leaned forward again and sat at attention once more. Navarien sighed. “Spit it out.”

“I had the opportunity to talk to the locals who live near Market Square. They are quiet—older folk mostly. I’m convinced they weren’t involved in the actual fight, but they did see how it started.”

“And you believe what they told you?”

“Yes sir, you see—”

Navarien raised a hand. “It’s all right, Cragson. I trust you and your judgement. If you say they spoke the truth, then that’s good enough for me. What did they see?”

“Ninth maniple of Second battalion was ordered to patrol the market and surrounding streets. Sergeant Alerion led them. His men were all from Bandar—”

That sounded like an ominous beginning. Why did Cragson sight the men’s origins as part of the story?

“—no problems at all. They came into the square the second time around, and of course the market wasn’t empty any longer. It was beginning to receive a few patrons. One of the men—I don’t know his name but he was dark haired and clean shaven—pawed a woman in passing.”

“
What!
” Navarien roared.

Cragson flinched a little. “He patted a woman on the rump, Sir. She was apparently unused to such games. She objected, and he took it the wrong way. He pushed her down and—”

“Are you telling me that not only did I authorise the deaths of more than three thousand Camorins, but that it was my
own
men that started the fight?”

Cragson gulped audibly.

A red haze was beginning to overcome his sight at the thought of a woman thrown down and brutally raped by this scum of a Bandarian. He heard the rest of the story distantly, but snapped back when Cragson reached the next shock.

“—took turns.”

“Oh my God!” Navarien felt sick. “Surely you didn’t just say what I heard you say.”

Cragson nodded.

“By the God! What was the cursed sergeant doing while his men were raping this woman?”

Cragson’s face hardened to granite. “According to the witnesses, Sergeant Alerion killed three of his own men trying to save her before they slew him. I knew him. He was a veteran from Athione. He carried me back through the pass. He would never have allowed anything even remotely like this to happen if he could do something about it. He has…
had
, two daughters at home in Al’Haden.”

This was a flaming nightmare! He wanted to puke, he wanted to kill them all, but he couldn’t. They were the first of many to die when the city folk attacked. He wished he had a sorcerer here to re-animate them so he could kill them all over again.

“The woman?”

Cragson shook his head. “They slit her throat when the attack began.”

Navarien spat in disgust.

The legion comprised of ten battalions each with ten maniples of a hundred men each. After Athione, Navarien had been ordered to bring his legion back up to full strength and had only managed to find enough men for eight battalions. He had to turn to the recently conquered Bandarians for the last two. Second and Ninth Battalions were exclusively Bandarian with Hasian captains and sergeants to lead them—veterans every one.

During training, the Bandarians had been rebellious, but they had quietened down as the training took hold. Traditionally the Bandarians fought from horseback and never on foot, but they soon learned the benefits of having men who could fight effectively as infantry as well as cavalry. Navarien had decided at the time not to break up his veteran units and therefore weaken them. They provided a strong backbone to the legion on which he had hung the newly formed units. They were a considerable asset in a fight and could be relied upon to follow orders even when those same orders seemed insane. They had learned through experience that fighting together made them all ten times stronger. It was a lesson the Bandarians had learned the hard way during the Bandar War, when they fought in their traditional way. They had lost to the legions every time.

He was wondering if he had set himself up for a fall. The new recruits in the other battalions were all Hasian, and although they didn’t take protecting women to the same extremes that Devans did, they were of similar mind where women were concerned. The Bandarians were a different breed though. Their outlook was closer to Japuran than Hasian or Devan. They didn’t have slaves as Japura did, but they did take more than one wife and treated them little better than the Japurans treated their slave girls.

While he considered what to do, Cragson watched him for the imminent explosion he so obviously expected to see. Navarien wasn’t going to give him one. The legion was ultimately his responsibility, and so were its actions. The woman’s death… all the deaths were his responsibility, and it was up to him to make sure it never happened again.

“Disband Second and Ninth Battalions,” he said quietly.

“But—”

“You heard me, Captain!” he roared as the rage finally escaped.

Cragson flinched. “Yes sir, but what will we do with nineteen hundred Bandarians?”

Reining in his temper was hard, but he managed it finally. “I know what I’d like to do with scum like that patrol, but I didn’t mean throw them out of the legion. I want you to bring Fifth Battalion back up to strength by re-assigning all the wounded men there. Then bring the others to full strength with Bandarians making sure they are
not
all in the same maniples.”

Cragson nodded slowly.

Navarien counted his points off on his fingers. “The rest of the Bandarians are to be shared equally among each of the battalions. When you re-assign the men, make certain at least three-quarters of any maniple is Hasian. The remaining battalions will obviously be over strength, but our people will be able to control any…
deviant
tendencies exhibited by the Bandarians.”