Mason dismounted and opened the bipod of his H amp;K battle rifle. He lay on the ground and fired randomly into the Roman formation until the pikemen closed. The Romans found themselves in a desperate engagement.

"I had not known," Titus Frugi said. He raised Rick's binoculars again and stared at the scene below, then cursed. "Who ever saw foot soldiers attack cavalry?" It was an event totally outside his experience; the surprise was as complete as if the pikemen had risen into the air.

First the star weapons. The Eighth legion's charge was thoroughly broken before they ever engaged the enemy. Now they were trapped, forced back against the Eleventh which was in desperate straits, archers behind it and those spearmen in front. Could Valerius withdraw? Would he? He searched for a sign of his subordinate, hardly able to hold the binoculars still. What other marvels did these starmen have?

"You see," Rick said gently. "Two legions could not break my pikes. Not when they have the aid of star weapons. As you must know." He waved to indicate the dead and dying heaped around them. "Your bodyguards fared no better. What use is this slaughter? How will Rome survive if all her soldiers are dead?"

"And you?" Polycarp asked. "What do you gain from this?"

"I am a friend of Marselius Caesar," Rick said. "When Rome's borders are safely held by my friends, Tamaerthon and Drantos are safe. These are perilous times, Your Grace. More perilous than even you can know. We all need friends."

"Indeed."

"Even Rome," Rick said. "Perhaps Rome most of all."

On the field below the slaughter continued. Now the Romans were trying to withdraw, as the deadly Tamaerthan gulls flew again and again.

"Two legions," Bishop Polycarp said. "Two legions destroyed, and you have not yet met Marselius."

Not destroyed. Not yet. Disorganized, useless as fighting instruments until reformed. Doomed, unless they withdrew. But not yet destroyed… "What would you have me do, Your Grace?" Titus Frugi asked.

"You yourself said it was disaster," Polycarp said. He pointed to the balloon. "Will it not continue? Today your forces retreat with what Valerius can save. Tomorrow the barbarians advance. With that, watching, always watching. Wherever we go, it follows." He shuddered. "And I say nothing of the fire and thunder weapons."

"I ask again. What would you have me do, Your Grace?"

"End this madness."

"How?"

"One of your trumpeters survives," Rick said. "Sound the retreat."

"So that your cavalry can pursue."

"What of that?" Rick asked. "Will any be saved if they stand and fight? Where will Valerius take those legions?"

"Along the road, to hold the ford."

"Then send one of these," Rick said. He indicated the captured officers. "Have Valerius take his legions to the next crossroad and make camp. You and I will meanwhile go to speak with Marselius Caesar." Suddenly Rick's calm detachment snapped. "For God's sake, stop this slaughter," he shouted. "Haven't we had enough?"

"More than enough," Polycarp said. "More than enough."

Titus Frugi ground his teeth together. Then, grimly, grudging every word, he spoke to his trumpeter. "Sound the general retreat," he ordered.

"Forward, lads!" Drumold shouted. "Up the road! Forward!"

"For Drantos! Forward!"

The young king was right alongside the Tamaerthan leader. No way to stop them, Mason thought. It even makes sense. If we can get any sizable force around the ridge and behind the Roman main body, we've won the day. The same plan Titus Frugi had, only he couldn't carry it off. As long as there's no ambush.

Not sure we can do it. The Tamaerthan cavalry aren't that good, and there aren't that many of them, even with those Drantos troop amp; Either way, best send a couple of mercs to look out for Ganton- "Sir!" The young rider was nearly as out of breath as his horse. An acolyte of Yatar.

"Yes, lad?"

"Orders from the balloon. Halt at the ford. The Romans are going to surrender."

So, Mason thought. Captain's done it again. Now all I have to do is convince Drumold and the kid. He spurred his horse forward.

Drumold paced around and around the table in the largest room of the villa. "Och," he said. "I canna say I care for the situation. The Romans have their forces intact. All their forces, and all Flaminius's forces, While we are here, in their midst, without rations-"

"Which they're sending-"

Drumold cut off Rick's protest. "Which they say they are sending. But we have none yet. And I do not think they will let their troops-nor their horses!-starve to feed us."

"Your fears are groundless," Rick said. "They will send food. And why do you fear the Romans?"

"Iron," Camithon said.

"Iron?" Drumold asked.

"Iron," the Protector repeated. "Iron makes Rome what she is. They have much, we have little."

"That's a pretty sharp observation, Cap'n," Elliot said. "Like those mills I've seen. They've got millponds behind dams, and overshot wheels with gear trains. They can run on less water than any mill I saw in Drantos."

Or in Tamaerthon, Rick thought. Which means they can run during more of the year. "Iron mines and good mills-I suppose they use them to drive bellows?"

Elliot nodded. "Saw just that about five klicks from here. Regular foundry."

"Which means when the Romans discover gunpowder-and they will-they'll have the means to make guns. Lots of them," Rick mused. One more headache. Add gunpowder and guns to Roman discipline and record-keeping and they'll own this end of Tran.

Which might be no bad thing-although Drumold and Tylara weren't likely to see it that way.

"If Tamaerthon is threatened, how long before Drantos falls?" Ganton asked.

Smart lad, Rich thought. Ganton seemed more sure of himself, now that he'd led troops in a battle. It hadn't been much of a battle, nor had Ganton played a large part in it, but he'd been at the head of his Guards, right alongside Drumold and Balquhain.

"What should we do, then?" Rick demanded.

"What we should have done before," Drumold said. "Take hostages. Think, lad. They have here the whole strength of Tamaerthon, and Wanax Ganton to boot. Surely Publius has thought of this. And 'tis Publius who will remain, while Marselius marches on to Rome.

"Without us," Camithon added. "Without us."

"You yourself refused his offer to take us to Rome," Rick protested.

"And what of that?" Drumold demanded. "Should we put our heads deeper in a noose? Protector Camithon did well to refuse such a dangerous offer."

"And you genuinely fear for our lives?"

Drumold shrugged. "Perhaps not now. But later, when Publius realizes that he holds all the strength of Rome? What will happen to Tamaerthon then? Aye, and to Drantos as well. You ask it yourself, lad-what happens when the Romans have star weapons for themselves? We can no conquer Rome. We can no destroy the Romans. We can take hostages. Take them, lad. Now. While we yet can."

"Is that your advice also?" Rick asked Camithon.

"Aye."

"Elliot?"

Sergeant Major Elliot shrugged. "You know these people better than I do, sir. But I'd feel some better if we could be sure we'll get home-and after, who knows what they might do? How can it hurt?"

"Majesty?"

Ganton shrugged. "I must heed the advice of those wiser than I."

Rick sighed. "It's no substitute for a policy," he said. "Even if it is traditional. But I dine tonight with Marselius, and I'll see what I can do."

There were only Rick, Marselius, and Lucius at the dinner; Publius had to see to the ordering of the troops and the final surrender of Frugi's camp.

Rick waited until the dinner was finished and they had both had wine. "Some of my officers are concerned," he said.