A mass of barbarians formed a kilometer from the camp. They were strung out in a vast semicircle between

MacKinnie’s army and the city, and MacKinnie had never seen so large a group of plainsmen before. Stark joined him as he stood atop the commissary wagon for a better view of the enemy.

“This going to be it, Colonel? “the big sergeant asked.

“Possibly. Let’s see if we can get out of this camp. They figure to hit us as soon as there are enough outside the gates to make it worthwhile.” MacKinnie shouted orders, formed the men into ranks, then motioned to a trumpeter. The notes rang out, calling his officers to him. Moments later, the main gate opened.

MacKinnie sent a heavy detachment of shieldsmen angling forward and to the left from the camp gate. A second group angled off to the right, while others marched out to form a line between them, its ends anchored with the hard-marching groups of picked men. When the left-hand group had left a large enough opening inside the wedge, the knights were sent forward until they were just behind the shield wall, at the extreme left corner of the inverted wedge the army was forming. Then MacKinnie sent the Temple archers forward, a line down each leg of his triangular formation, leaving none in the center. Whenever the maris approached the two legs of the formation, a shower of arrows greeted them, forcing them away. The enemy clustered around, moving toward the center where the resistance was least.

MacKinnie nodded in satisfaction. “Now comes the hard part,” he muttered.

A charge of the barbarians struck the center of the triangle directly in front of the camp gates. The shield wall held, but gradually fell back, stretching thinner and thinner, bowing inwardly toward the gate as the heavier formations at the ends of the line held fast. More troops were sent forward to fill the gaps, keeping a continuous line, but still the enemy pressed forward, forcing them back, back, as more of the maris joined the attack. The formation bowed still more, resembling an enormous “U” with its base almost at the palisade. Hundreds, a thousand, four thousand barbarians pressed forward toward the camp gates.

“Now!” MacKinnie shouted. The trumpet notes sounded above the shouts of battle, drums thundered. The knights formed inside their bastion; then, as the formation opened, they charged down the wing, rolling up the flank of the enemy. The shield wall quickly closed behind them; then the ends of the U drew together. Archers faced inward now, firing into the ranks of the enemy, while the heavy cavalrymen thundered over the barbarians, riding them down, breaking up all signs of organization until they rode directly into the camp gate.

MacKinnie signaled frantically to Brett. “Form them up again and be ready to protect the outer flanks!” he shouted. “The archers and spearmen can deal with the one we’ve trapped.”

The field in front of the gate was covered with blood. Barbarians pressed closer and closer together as the shield wall, bristling with pikes, closed in on them. Temple archers continued the rain of arrows into the helpless enemy, too crowded together even to use their weapons properly, the inner group not able to strike a blow. A few raced frantically out the end of the trap before the heavy knots of men MacKinnie had sent out first made contact with each other and closed all avenues of escape.

The remaining enemy outside the trap attempted to aid their fellows, to be stopped by shieldsmen facing outward slowly moving back as the inner lines moved forward. Concentrations of the enemy were broken up by charges of cavalry, the knights thundering over them and around the ends, wheeling back to enter the camp and regroup, while the Temple swordsmen defended the ramparts of the camp itself. The huge mass of doomed men in the trap could have broken through the thinner lines of the camp, or even the outer defenses of the trap, but they could not escape to fight, while the smaller numbers remaining outside were unable to help them, frantically falling upon the spears of the shield wall or trampled beneath the knights while their luckless fellows were relentlessly cut down.

The slaughter continued until midafternoon. At the end, hapless groups of the enemy threw themselves on the spears or clawed their way up the ramparts to be impaled by the swordsmen at the top, screaming desperately, their courage melted by the faceless mass of swords and the rain of arrows. As the pikemen passed over the dead, camp followers slit each throat and removed the arrows, passing them back to be fired again. Captive beasts were led through the lines into the camp to be tethered with the commissary oxen. The lines came closer together, closer, then touched. There were no more enemies in the trap.

“What do you propose for tomorrow?” Sumbavu asked the council clustered around MacKinnie’s campfire. “You have left thousands dead on the field, more cut down in flight by our knights. We can return to the city.”

“No.” MacKinnie stood, a cup of wine in his hands. “Until their supply base is destroyed, there is no safety for the city. We must continue to burn their grain.”

“It is not their grain, but ours!” Sumbavu snapped. “You cannot burn this great harvest. It must be carried back to the city. Surely this march can be delayed for a time to allow us to provision the Temple! The faithful are hungry, and they should be told of this great victory.”

“You forget, there are many more of the enemy than we have killed,” MacKinnie reminded the priest. “And we must not give them time to rest. We must pursue them endlessly until they go back to their wastelands in fear.”

“I forbid this,” Sumbavu said quietly. “We must take these stores of grain to the city. You will not burn them.”

“Then I suggest you take them yourself, Your Worship,” MacKinnie told him. “Now that we have thinned their ranks, I believe we can do without the Temple swordsmen. I will need some of the wagons to transport grain for the army, but you may have half of them, and three hundred of the camp servants as well. It is only thirty kilometers; each can carry half a hundredweight of grain. That will leave little to burn.”

“So be it. We set forth immediately.”

“At night, Your Worship?” MacKinnie asked. “Is that wise?”

“Wiser than being caught by them in the daytime. I see that you will not escort me with your army, though it would involve only a day’s march. I will so report to the council.”

“Two days’ march, Father,” MacKinnie said quietly. “One each way. Not to mention the disorganization as each man ran in to tell his fellows of the glorious victory. We would lose many days, and for what? If the enemy is to be driven from the city, it must be done now.”

“What need to drive them away, now that we have means to gather provisions?” Sumbavu snapped. “We could return, and our Temple officers learn to command the soldiers, then set forth again. It would not be so great for you and your outlanders, would it? You must win yourself, for what purpose I do not know. But I tell you again, I know you do not have the good of the Temple first in your heart, soldier of the south. Were I not guarded by the faithful of the Temple, I do not think I would return from this march alive.” He stalked off into the night, his bodyguard following him closely.

“Go pick the most useless slaves of your group,” MacKinnie told Mary Graham. “The blunderers, the tired animals and those you didn’t make new collars for, the wagons ready to fall apart, get them all out of here.”

She studied him closely. “I’d almost think that’s why you brought all that useless junk. And you added that group of convicts to my picked men … Did you expect this?”

“Freelady, just get them moving,” Stark said. “The colonel’s got enough problems.” He guided her to the granaries, then set men to loading the wagons which were to go back to the city.