Sumbavu struggled to keep his icy calm, but his hands moved restlessly across the desk. “And only you can prevent this? You are indeed a man blessed by God. We have held this city for five hundred years. What had your ancestors done? Lived in dirt houses?”

“What I have done is of no matter. It is what we can do.”

“And how will you go about saving the city? What is your price?”

“I have no price for saving the fountain of all the wisdom on Makassar. I ask only what I will need. Weapons. Pikes and shields. Authority to recruit men. And I will have to inspect the soldiers, talk to the heavy cavalrymen. I will require a drill field to practice my men. And the men on Temple charity must be brought to it, so that they can be armed. I have no price, but I have much to do. We can save this city and the Temple if you will but listen.”

The priest spread his hands and looked intently at his palms. “Perhaps it is the will of God. There is no other plan. It can do no great harm to allow you to train this rabble, for when you and they are killed that will be all the longer our rations will last. I will see that you get what you need.”

An army formed gradually on the parade ground outside the Temple. It did not greatly resemble an army. In the first week the men had to be driven to the drill field; they stumbled through their paces, unable to understand orders and unwilling to work. But as they were given weapons and their training continued, a new sense of self-respect slowly pervaded the ragged group. Men who had recently been beggars found themselves alongside sturdy peasants from outside the walls, and mixed among them were younger sons of merchant families ruined by the siege. Under MacKinnie’s pleas and Stark’s driving, they began to hold their heads higher, to thrust their pikes into the target dummies, even to scream war cries. After the third week of training, MacKinnie called a conference.

“We don’t have long,” he told the group. “Sumbavu is anxious to know what we are doing, and I have to report to him. You want to be careful of that man. He’s a lot sharper than he looks or acts. What’s the status of our army?”

“The infantry’s so-so,” Hal reported. “The Temple troops are fine, but they don’t know what to do and they’re so sure of themselves they don’t want to learn anything new. The people’s army can carry pikes and hold up their shields if you don’t want them to do it for too long. Weak as cats, most of them. And we’ll never get any archers out of that crowd. The Temple’s got a fair number, and that’s all you’ll have.”

“Can they hold against a charge of light cavalry?” MacKinnie asked.

“Don’t know, sir. They’d never stop the heavy stuff, but they might hold against the plainsmen if they believed in themselves enough. But they have no confidence, Colonel.”

MacKinnie noticed Longway’s start at Hal’s slip, but said nothing. “What of the cavalry?” he asked Brett. “Can they fight in formation? Have they had enough of that cockiness beat out of them to make a disciplined force, or are they going to go charging out into the enemy and scatter?”

“Vanjynk and I have talked to them, Trader,” Brett replied. “But their honor is all they have left. Still, these are men who have been beaten before, and after all, it is only barbarians they fight. … But it will be difficult to call them back from victory.”

“You’ll have to,” MacKinnie said. “It’s the only chance any of us have. Those men have to be taught to charge home, form ranks again, and get back to the shield walls. Any of them that try the grandstand act will be left out there dead. Try to drive that elementary fact through their heads. And add to it the fact that if they’re killed their city falls and the whole honor system they’re so proud of goes with it. They’re fighting to preserve their honor.”

“Yes, but by means which to them are dishonorable,” Vanjynk said. “They listen to me as one of them, and I have faithfully told them what you desire. I have even come to believe it. But it is strange to them.”

MacKinnie nodded. “Strange or not, they’ll have to learn. Now what about the commissary department?”

Mary Graham smiled proudly. “That’s in good shape,” she said. “We have enough wagons now.”

“I thought we were short of animals,” MacKinnie said.

“We are, but they were hitching them all wrong,” Graham said. “They were using leather straps. I had the carpenters make proper collars from wood, and now the horses don’t tire as much. We still don’t have enough, but the ones we have can carry more.”

“Good.”

“We have the wagons, but not much grain,” she continued. “If you can protect our baggage trains, we can supply your men for a few days. There won’t be a lot to eat, but something. After that, we’ll have to find forage outside. We might even be able to harvest some grain if our farmers are protected.”

“So we have a partially disciplined force of infantry, some cavalry who may be useful and may not, some Temple archers and guardsmen who are our best soldiers but don’t understand what’s needed, and one whole hell of a lot of barbarians. An interesting situation.” He thought for a few moments, staring down at a copy of Sumbavu’s map young Todd had laboriously made, then came to a decision.

“We need a demonstration. I’ll give each of you a week to select the best men you can, men you think won’t break and run and who will obey orders. I’ll need provisions for about two days for twice that number of people, and a group of your best-disciplined cooks and camp workers,” he added to Mary. “We’re going to make a show of force against the enemy. The primary purpose will be to convince our own troops that we can beat barbarians.” He stood, dismissing the meeting. “Hal, stay with me for a moment, please.”

When the others had left, Stark said, “Sorry about the slip, Colonel. It’s too much like a campaign, and I’m not used to being a spy.”

“We’ll survive. Have you picked the headquarters group?”

“Yes, sir. Using the troops we brought with us as a steadying force we’ve got a pretty loyal company. I think they’d fight the Temple people for us if they thought they could win. Anyway we can control them. You lead them to a victory, they’ll be ours for sure.”

“Excellent. We must have that headquarters group, or when this is over there won’t be any point to it all. All right, Sergeant, you can go.”

Hal stood, grinned for a moment, and saluted. “Old times, Colonel. Different Wolves, but old times.”

MacKinnie carefully armed himself before visiting Sumbavu. He struggled into chain mail, threw a bright crimson cloak over his shoulders, donned gold bracelets and necklace, and fastened his surplice with a jeweled pin before buckling on a sword made on Prince Samual’s World. The mail and sword were similar in design to Makassar products, but better than anything they had encountered on Makassar. Their possession imparted considerable status to MacKinnie’s group. Sumbavu was standing at the battlements above his cell when MacKinnie was brought to him.

“You betray true colors, Trader,” the priest said. “You are more the soldier than the Trader, are you not?”

“In the south, Father, Traders and soldiers are the same thing. At least live Traders are. There’s little peace there.”

“Or here. It was not always thus.” The warrior-priest looked out across the great plain beyond the city wall. “There are more of them today. The grain is ready for harvest, and they are formed to protect it from our fire parties. We could burn the crop, but only at the cost of the balance of our knights. I do not think any would return to us alive.”

“Yet, there may be a way, Father,” MacKinnie said. When the priest glanced quickly at him, he continued, “I wish to take a small party outside the walls. We will not go far.”