Corvus (38 page)

“They are a
stubborn people,” Ardashir replied. “Defeat does not come easy to them.”

* * *

The men at
the head of the infantry
column saw a fistful of horsemen in the distance, half hidden by the rain; they
disappeared over the crest of a hill and were gone. The rain turned icy, and
the day closed in on them. Steam rose from the men tramping along in their
armour. Their shields bore the
alfos
sigil of Avensis, and
further back in the column, the
piros
sigil of Pontis. They marched in
their stubborn thousands, their faces set towards the north, and the
siege-lines of Machran.

“Empty your pockets
, gentlemen. Let’s
see what we’ve all brought to the pot,” Sertorius said.

The gang about the
battered table muttered and did as they were told, like hulking children
obeying a schoolmaster. Onto the burn-scarred wood fell scraps of root
vegetables, a rind of salted meat, cheese blue with mould and some crusts of
flatbread, hard as the wood of the table itself. A pause, and Sertorius ran his
eyes over them one by one. A second shower of scraps followed, much like the
first.

“Now the other.
Don’t hold back, brothers - we are all in this together now.”

There was a
clinking little waterfall of coin. Bronze obols for the most part, but there
were threads of silver in it, and at the end Bosca grinned yellow in his beard
and set a single gold obol atop the pile. There was a silence as the other men
about the table looked at it.

“Bosca, how in the
world?” Sertorius began.

“I ventured up
Kerusiad Hill last night, boss, and a fine-looking lady gave me this to escort
her home.”

“You fuck her?”
Adurnos asked. A professional enquiry, nothing more.

“She was older
than my mother, and hardly a tooth in her head.”

“He did, then,”
Sertorius said, and the table broke into laughter.

People walking by
the group of men at the crossroads stopped and stared a moment at the mirth,
then walked on hurriedly.

They were gathered
together under a tattered cloth awning in the front of what had been a
wineshop. But the shop had been looted and burnt out weeks ago, and was now
little more than a shell, a fitting base of operations for Sertorius’s new venture
in Machran.

He had seven men
under him now, a tight-knit gang who had all been strangers to the city until
the siege. Apart from Adurnos and Bosca, there were a pair of brothers from
Arkadios, and three Avennan soldiers who had pawned their armour for food long
ago and were now intent only on avoiding starvation, as the siege drew near its
end.

Food, or the
procurement of it, was what obsessed them all, as it did every person still
alive within the walls. The grain-dole had been halved, and was barely enough
to keep a child standing, let alone a full grown man. Antimone was hovering
over the city now, waiting for the end. There were wild-eyed prophets who
haunted the shanty-towns and swore that they had seen her gliding on black
wings around the dome of the Empirion at night.

There was no
longer any wood to be spared for burning the dead, and the corpses were tossed
over the walls each morning by details of men who were paid in bread. Women
were selling themselves for a crust, offering their children to strangers for
some morsel that would keep the life in them another day.

Lurid rumours of
cannibalism ran through the Mithannon, but Sertorius for one did not put much
stock by them. There were still rats to be had, two obols apiece, and
enterprising archers had started to shoot down the crows and ravens that
circled the city as though it were one vast carrion pit. They were not such
good eating, but they kept the life in a man.

Sertorius lifted
up the gold obol, and clapped Bosca on the shoulder. “You see this, boys? Right
now we would pay this for a boiled chicken, or a half skin of wine. But this
here means something. We get clear of this shithole, and this piece of gold is
worth a horse, or some cattle, or a slave. We got to remember that, if we’re to
come out of this smiling.”

“I’d rather have
the chicken,” one of the Arkadians said.

“Right now we all
would. But think on it, lads -there’s houses up on the Kerusiad that are
stuffed with these. When the whole thing turns to ratshit, we all have to stick
together, and think of the future. One day very soon, that Corvus is going to
come in over the walls, and when that happens, we’ll be ready. There will be a
shower of gold for those who keep their heads, and maybe other things too.” His
face hardened. “I hear tell that Phaestus, the old bastard, is still alive, and
living in comfort in a house not far from Karnos’s.”

“Fucker,” Adurnos
said with feeling.

“And we know where
Karnos’s house is, don’t we? He’s the richest bastard in the city - think what
he has stowed away up there.”

“That little
black-haired bitch,” Bosca said, running his hand through his matted beard. “By
Phobos, boss, I’d die a happy man if I could get a cock in her before I go.”

Sertorius brought
a fist down on the table. “There you are, then. We wait this out, boys, steer
clear of the other crossroads-gangs and keep our heads down. Then, when the big
show begins, we make our way up to the Kerusiad, settle some old scores, and
fill our pockets. We play this right and the whole thing can end happy. Are you
with me?”

Around the table,
the men growled in agreement.

There was hunger
on the other side
of the walls also. The supply waggons trundled in ceaselessly from the east,
but there was never enough to go round, and the men in the various camps of
Corvus’s army grew restless.

Desertions had
begun, conscript spearmen who had had enough and were sick of the tented lines,
the huddled campfires, and the persistent hunger. This was not how they had
imagined war.

Corvus toured the
camps with an escort of Dogsheads, and Ardashir’s Companions patrolled the
stockade-lines ceaselessly to deter those who had had enough from putting their
discontent into action, but despite the arrival of fresh levies from some of
the eastern cities, there was a growing disquiet in the army, a feeling that
their general might have miscalculated.

Rumours flew
abroad like crows - Maronen had rebelled, and the uprising had been put down by
its garrison only after a bloody battle that had seen the streets run red. Hal
Goshen and Afteni were simmering with discontent, and reinforcements meant for
the army surrounding Machran had been diverted to reinforce their garrisons.

Most unsettling of
all, there were scattered reports that the Avennan League had recovered from
its mauling of the year before, and was now assembling an army for the relief
of Machran. It was already on the march, camp gossip said. Soon Corvus would be
caught between two fires, and the besieger would find himself outnumbered and
surrounded.

“There is truth
in some rumours,”
Corvus said. He stood in front of the map table with his father’s black cuirass
gleaming dark and menacing on its stand behind him. In front of the table stood
all the senior officers of the army, except one.

“I have had word
from Ardashir this evening. He’s in the hills twenty pasangs to the south of
our lines, a foraging trip with two hundred of the Companions and a train of
waggons.” Corvus let his strange bright eyes range over the silent men standing
before him. Rictus was there, hollow-cheeked and lean as a winter wolf. Beside
him stood Fornyx, and then Teresian, one-eyed Demetrius, dark Druze, and
Parmenios, not so plump as he had been, and wearing armour now like the rest.

“It would seem our
friends in the League have used the winter months to some advantage. They have
taken heart, and rebuilt an army of sorts. That army is even now marching to
the relief of Machran.”

The men he faced
said nothing, but stared at him. There was no speculation; there were no
questions. They had been at their trade too long for that. Corvus smiled at
them, his white face shining like a bone.

“It will be here
in the morning.”

Now they did stir.
Frowning, Rictus spoke up. “How many?”

“Ardashir reckons
on some seven thousand, all spears.”

“The defenders
will sally out, when they get wind of this,” Demetrius grunted. “Even if they’re
half-dead with hunger, they will come out.”

“Yes, they will,”
Corvus said. “And therein lies our hope.” He leaned over the map table. Once,
it had been covered with maps of the entire eastern Harukush, with cities
dotted over it like cherries, blobs of red wax with ancient names. Now there
was one large sheet of paper, the corners held down with empty winecups, and
drawn across it were the outlines of Machran’s walls.

It has all come
down to this, Rictus thought, looking down on the map. One lone city, and
tomorrow: one single day. Like the point of a spearhead.

Corvus met his
eyes, and grinned. He seemed to be thrumming with barely suppressed energy;
there was almost a gaiety about him. Always, he seemed happiest when on the
cusp of great events, be they good or bad.

“Take a look at
our lines, gentlemen. We’re spread thin, to contain the city. That job is done.
After tomorrow it will not matter any more, one way or the other. So I intend
to consolidate the army once more, but only to make a fresh division of it.”

They raised their
heads and looked at him, puzzled. His hand skittered over the map.

“Druze, you will
abandon your camp on the Mithos, and bring your command back here, to the main
body. Teresian, you will take your morai south, to join with Demetrius.
Ardashir will concentrate the Companions on you as well. Rictus, you will take
your Dogsheads -” he raised his head. “How many have you trained up now?”

“Six hundred.”

Demetrius’s face
darkened. “That’s why Teresian and I have understrength morai - we’ve been
leaking our best men to Rictus and Fornyx for weeks. Every bastard wants to get
himself one of those red cloaks.”

“I want the
Dogsheads opposite the South Prime Gate,” Corvus said, cutting short any
further exchange. “When Karnos sallies out, it will be from there, to meet up
with the army marching north. Rictus, you will meet him, and drive him back
into the city. That is your job. Demetrius, Teresian, you will each detach a
full mora to Rictus’s command.”

Both marshals
straightened at that. “Corvus,” Teresian began.

Corvus held up a
hand. “We do not vote on these things, brother. Those are my orders.” He turned
to Druze.

“You, my friend,
will also detach a thousand of your Igranians to help Rictus. You will then
take command of the reminder, plus the other two morai we have here in this
camp, and you will work with Parmenios and his machines.”

Druze looked
thoughtfully at the little man who was Corvus’s secretary, now clad in a linen
cuirass reinforced with bronze scales. It was ill-fitting, made for a taller
man. But Druze only nodded. “I am with child to finally see these things you’ve
made in action, Parmenios. Will you join me on the wall?”

Parmenios met
Druze’s black eyes. “I will be supervising the advance of my command from the
rear. I am not a soldier.”

“Well, we’re
agreed on something then,” Druze said, and winked at him.

“I will be with
Demetrius and Teresian and the Companions, south of Rictus’s positions,” Corvus
said. “I will meet the relief army and defeat it, and then turn around and help
Rictus’s command force an entry to the city.” He watched the men about the
table. They were all staring at the outline of Machran on the map as though
picturing to themselves the blood and chaos of the morrow.

“If you have
questions, brothers, I’ll listen to them.”

“Not a question,
but a fact,” Fornyx said. He stared at Corvus with undisguised hostility. “If
you are defeated by the relief army, then Rictus’s command will be utterly
destroyed - it cannot retreat.”

“I’d best not be
defeated then,” Corvus said.

That night the
army abandoned its
camps to the west and north of the city, the men leaving their tents standing
and the campfires burning behind them. They marched in quiet columns through
the darkness, following the lines of the stockades that ringed the city. They
carried only the arms and armour they would be needing in the morning, skins of
water, a few dry flatbreads to gnaw on before the sun came up.

The position of
the army and Corvus’s plans for it had been disseminated to all centurions, and
it filtered down to the men in the long files in whispers as they marched.
Slowly, the knowledge seeped through the army that this was the end. In the
morning they would either take Machran, or they would face utter defeat. But
one way or another the long siege would be over.

“The rumours are
true, then?”
Kassia demanded. She clasped her hands together, knuckles as white as her face.

“They are true.”
Karnos kissed her. “Parnon must have the oratory of Gestrakos. A boy from his
column made it through the lines yesterday. The League army will be before the
walls in a few hours. When the sun comes up, we will open the gates and go out
to meet it. Corvus will be caught between us like a nut for cracking.”

The light in her
eyes faded. “You’re going out with them? I thought Kassander -”

“I will be with
those men, Kassia. I would have it no other way.”

She leaned against
him and buried her head in his chest. “There is no need for it - what is one
more man?”

“I have been
hiding in a box-chair for weeks now, afraid to walk the streets of my own city,
Karnos, the Speaker of Machran. But I am also a citizen of this place. I am
entitled to carry a spear in its defence.”