“An interesting point,” Longway said. “You cannot abandon her without finding a substitute guardian,” the Academician told MacKinnie. “And doubtless she is entitled to someone of her own world. Who will you leave with her? Scholar Kleinst remains in the city, but for all his great value he is hardly a suitable guardian.”

“I appear to be outmaneuvered, although why you should want to accompany an army in the field is beyond me, freelady.” MacKinnie looked at her expectantly.

“I see no reason to stay here,” she told him. “There are few enough on this godforsaken place that I can talk to, without being left with the Temple monks. Besides, I can be useful, or can you spare anyone else to manage your commissary?”

“The point is made.” Well made, he thought. She’s been nearly as useful as Hal. No one else could have organized the logistics half as well as she has. But—

He turned back to the council. “Our whole purpose in this expedition will be to either force the plainsmen into battle on our terms, or destroy their base of supply. Either will be sufficient, although I doubt they will let us simply march out and burn their harvests without a fight…” He indicated the map spread out on the table. “As far as we can tell from watching their movements, they’ve been harvesting the crops for the past three weeks. The nearest big concentration of grain is here, about thirty kilometers from the gates, assuming they use the roads and village structures. I rather think they will. From what I’ve been able to learn they often do that. We’ll make straight for that and burn what we can’t load up.”

“Then what?” MacLean asked.

“We see if they’ll fight. If they won’t, we keep marching from place to place until they’re short of rations. But they’ll fight, all right.”

“You may get more battle than you expect,” Longway said. “You’ve hurt their pride and your last expedition, and they’ll want to prove it was an accident. Next time, they’ll press home their charge with everything they have.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” MacKinnie answered slowly. “It will take them time to gather for the battle, and more to decide who leads it. By that time, we should have got to our objective and set up camp. They’ll gather troops all night, and probably try to wipe us out in the morning.”

“Then you’re trying for one big battle,” Mary said.

“Yes. One turn of the wheel, freelady. We haven’t a lot of time.” He glanced significantly at the Makassarians at the table, then stood to dismiss the meeting. “Rest well, and be ready tomorrow. They may not let us get to the first village.”

The army formed outside the city walls after first light. MacKinnie placed his men in a triangular formation again, but this time the broad base of the wedge faced forward, its point to the rear. He doubled the men on the right leg of the wedge, using all the left-handed troops he could find for the forward elements of that line, and placing a large reserve force at the rear point. When he was satisfied with his arrangements, the drums beat the slow march, and the army moved forward.

Clouds of maris rode madly around, darting toward them, withdrawing, waiting for any opening in the shield walls, patient in the knowledge that the city army could never pursue them. The slow cadence continued, wagon wheels creaked and men shouted at the oxen drawing supply wagons, while the knights in the center impatiently led their mounts. Kilometer after kilometer they marched toward the enemy camp, as more and more barbarians joined the forces riding around them. They were completely surrounded.

“Reckon the city can hold with what we’ve left them?” Stark asked, looking back at the city in the distance. “You didn’t leave them much.”

“They’ll hold,” MacKinnie replied. “The enemy has no heavy siege equipment, and as long as the walls are manned the barbarians can’t do much. Give them enough time and they could throw up ladders or even stack their saddles against the walls, but the defense can slow that down, and I don’t intend to give them any time for stunts like that. We seem to be attracting most of them to us, anyway. What’s Sumbavu doing?”

“He’s riding with the knights, Colonel. Keeping an eye on those pretty uniformed swordsmen and archers, too. He doesn’t trust you much.”

“I don’t blame him, Hal. I wouldn’t trust me much either if I were him. But what else can he do? Keep a sharp eye on him; I can’t have him interfering.”

“Yes, sir. You didn’t make much protest about his coming.”

“Maybe I didn’t mind him coming. Now watch him.”

“Yes, sir.”

The march continued, drawing to within a kilometer of the enemy tents. MacKinnie looked closely at the cluster of enemy in front of him. “They’re trying to make up their minds. They don’t want to give up all that grain without a fight. Watch that group there,” he said, pointing. “Here they come! Beat the alarm!”

The drums thundered, then went back to their steady pace. The column continued to advance until the enemy was within bow-shot. “Prepare for attack,” MacKinnie said quietly, measuring the distance to the nearest of the plainsmen. “Form the wall.” The drums beat again, and the Temple archers rushed to the perimeter, firing into the packed enemy. The charge hurtled toward the broad front of the wedge, then wheeled around to strike the left end of the line. Pikemen rushed to the corner as echelon after echelon of the enemy plunged against the left leg of the inverted wedge.

The shield wall held. A few of the barbarians leaped over the first rank to land among the pikemen, their shortswords slashing, but Temple guardsmen moved forward to cut them down. The battle was short, and when it was finished hundreds more of the enemy lay in front of the column. The men raised a cheer, cut short by the drummers’ commands to resume the march.

“Not much of a battle,” Stark commented. “Thought they’d try more than that.”

“Testing us out,” MacKinnie said. “They’ve found a way to get a few men into our lines now. They’ll try that one again. Adaptable beggars.”

“They have to be,” Brett said from behind him. MacKinnie turned to see the singer walking patiently. “I left my mount with Vanjynk,” Brett said. “You understand that there will be many more battles, each different from the last?”

“I understand. But how many more there will be depends on more than their intentions. For now, we take their supplies.”

The enemy camp was deserted. They had carried away their tents, but they had left huge piles of harvested grain. The grain piles had recently been covered with hides, but now the food was left to blow about in the wind. They had also fouled some of the harvest with excrement. Graham’s commissary workers began the tedious task of bagging and loading the harvest.

The scattered refuse of weeks of enemy life lay about them; there were also signs of what had happened to villagers unfortunate enough to fall into the hands of the maris. Stark sent burial details to dispose of them.

Father Sumbavu examined the remains of a young girl. “Monsters,” he said. “Not human at all. They deserve extermination.”

“We will hardly be able to do that,” MacKinnie said. “But we may yet surprise them. Your pardon, Father, I must see to our defenses.”

Ditch, ramparts, and palisade rose around the campsite while the commissary workers began cookfires. A dozen singers strolled about. MacKinnie moved through the camp, speaking to little groups of men, encouraging them, testing their morale. It was hard to believe that only months before these had been the sullen slaves and beggars of the streets of Batav. Now they roared lustily at his jokes, shouted defiance at an enemy they could not see, and grimly held their weapons as if half afraid someone would take them. MacKinnie pitied anyone foolish enough to try.

The night was a turmoil. When both moons were high and bright, masses of barbarians stormed forward, some mounted, most on foot, probing to find a weak spot in the perimeter, constantly attacking to keep the men aroused, withdrawing from opposition but coming again and again. MacKinnie sent small detachments of his troops to the center of the camp, replacing them with others, so that each man was able to rest for part of the night. Toward dawn the attacks died away, and he let the men sleep until late in the morning. The Temple swordsmen had borne the brunt of the night attacks, and were most in need of rest. MacKinnie did not call them to breakfast until everyone else had been fed.