"You've no need, lad. We know-"

"You, perhaps." And perhaps not. "Not the others. I've got to do something. But I can't get within twenty stadia of the fighting!"

"You'll no' be so far from battle when we meet Flaminius."

"By then it could be too late."

The older man flicked something invisible from his horse's mane. "I think it is eating you more than usual," he said. "Doubtless the affair of Dughuilas has provoked more talk than usual, and you hear it. Or- has my daughter been at you? If so, thrash her. I'll no' say a word against you or let one be said."

Rick sighed. "And how long before Tylara repaid me with usury? It is no light thing, to lay hands on your daughter."

"Aye. I have cause to know," Drumold said pensively. "Lad, you are concerned about more than this."

"Yes. We received word from Marselius today. He marches from the north-on the east side of the River Pydnae. We have yet to reach that river. If Flaminius can cut us off-"

"Perhaps it will be that Marselius will come upon him first."

"That, too, concerns me. Mostly, though, we're getting deeper and deeper into the Empire-I'd not want to face the whole of Flaminius's strength unaided."

"Nor I. Even with your star weapons."

"They might be enough. They might not be." Rick sighed. "Converging columns is a tricky enough war plan when you have good communications. It can be disaster without. We're inviting defeat in detail-"

"A phrase I know not," Drumold said.

"Military strategic term. If you can divide your enemy into small forces and fight them one at a time-"

"Ah."

"And that's what we invite," Rick said.

"Do you think Marselius has played us false?" Drumold demanded.

"No. He has no reason to. And we have his son hostage, too." Rick laughed. "Actually, nothing has gone wrong, my old friend. We are well within the time limits we set."

"And yet you fash yourself-"

"Yes."

"I see." Drumold rode in silence for a few moments. "You wish to find Flaminius's army, and Marselius. And you wish to force a crossing of this river." Drumold looked thoughtful, then grinned. "I think I shall wake up with a fever tomorrow morning."

"A fever?"

"Aye. A light fever, of the sort which keeps me from riding with the scouts. I shall stay back with the main body, to do what you have done here. You can lead the scouts in my place, and no one will spend a moment wondering why."

With any luck at all, there'd be at least one good fight with Flaminius's patrols. The Emperor couldn't simply go on giving ground forever. There might be a stiff fight at the river…

I'll be at the head of the army, Rick thought. For a few days, anyway. Lead from in front. Yeah.

Idiot. You'll get yourself killed, and there's no one able to extract your forces out of this trap. Nobody but you. And without this army, Tamaerthon is finished. The imperial slave masters will be in the Garioch. Your friends, relatives, sold into slavery because you had to prove yourself. You're brave enough, now stop trying to- Shut up! You talked me into track because it was sensible. All my life I do what's sensible. This time I'm going to lead my troops to battle, and that's that!

Only-there's Tylara to think of. She'll find out, and ask why I've risked myself when I didn't have to.

"And if my daughter says aye about it, send her to me," Drumold said. "She may now be so great a lady that she will say aught to her husband-but let us see what she says to her father, who remembers her a naked babe making puddles in his lap."

Rain fell lightly all through the day. The cavalry troopers didn't want to ride out in that. After all, the Roman cavalry wouldn't be out either.

Their reluctance was mostly for show, Rick found. And they were flattered that Lord Rick, the Commander-in-Chief, was riding with them. But the rain continued, so that he could hardly see the men to either side of him, and they made no contact with the enemy.

And the next day, messengers arrived at dawn. Marselius was indeed across the River Pydnae, marching south through the low hills to the east of the river. Directly ahead of Rick lay more hills and thin forests, good territory for battle. North and east, though, were swamps; if the two armies were to link up, they'd have to do so east of the river.

Where was Flaminius? His generals could read maps as well as Rick…

"Mount up!" Rick ordered. "We ride hard for the bridge. I want a mixed force of pikes and archers across that river before nightfall."

The sky was grey with low-hanging clouds. The horses picked their way cautiously over muddy patches as the scouts rode out across fields to either side of the hard-packed dirt road. Rick led two hundred Hussars, plus Caradoc with twenty Guardsmen and Elliot with two other mercs.

They'd covered about seven kilometers when a Guardsman from the point squad rode back.

"Fresh dung, my lord. Horses, with a few centaurs."

"Hmm. How shod?"

"Iron shod," the scout reported.

That meant cavalry. Roman farmers didn't usually bother. Time to mark up a map. One thing about this campaign, he had decent maps, done by Roman scribes. The enemy might surprise him, but the terrain wouldn't-at least not too much. The scale of the maps did leave something to be desired: the little clearing ahead wasn't marked. Not far beyond was the river, with its convenient bridge. Not far to go at all- Rick rode to the center of the clearing, then reined in and held up his hand for a halt. The well-used dirt road ran across the clearing and into the woods on the other side.

He'd just got out the map- "Ho! Look out, godammit!" someone shouted from behind him. There were three pistol shots, close together, then the shouts of his troops mingled with Roman battle cries.

Rick stuffed the map hurriedly into his saddle bag and stood in his stirrups to look back along the dirt track they'd followed. Men in Roman helmets darkened with mud were darting out of the trees, their swords flashing among the scouts. One of the mercs was down, and two more were firing from horseback, wasting ammunition.

The Roman troopers slashed at the horses with their swords, while archers farther back in the woods let fly at the riders. There were more shots from the mercs, but the Romans were mixed well with Rick's troops and there weren't clear targets.

"Cease fire!" he shouted in English. "Elliot! Get out here in the clear! Dismount and set up weapons. Prepare to receive cavalry! They're sure to be coming."

Switch languages again. "Caradoc! You and your Guardsmen, stay with Elliot! Guard their weapons!" Now for his Tamaerthan scouts. "Hussars move out this way! Follow me!" He rode toward the other edge of the clearing.

I've got to get my people disengaged, get some kind of order into this, get them out of the tangle with the ambushers. Elliot can take care of them after that. Dammit, those Romans were good!

They'd almost reached the other edge of the clearing when the woods on both sides of the pathway sprouted archers and the air came alive with arrows.

Too damn late, Rick thought. We're tangled up with them again. We've got to buy Elliot and the Guards enough time to set up. "Charge!" he ordered. "Forward!" He spurred toward the enemy.

Arrows whistled in. Rick's armor turned the two which hit him, but a third hit his horse in the shoulder. It jumped and squealed, but the arrow wasn't in deep enough to be a major wound. Rick raised his M-16 and squeezed off five rounds. He thought he hit three men. Then he was at the clearing's edge.

He slung the rifle across his saddle horn and drew his saber. In among the trees the sword was as good a weapon as a firearm. He slashed at one man, striking him at the shoulder, then he was past and into the woods.