It was almost noon when Caralla, having made a complete circle around the legions, led her half of the host back into camp. Her mother met her.
"It worked. Stephen smashed the cavalry, archers, we took the ridge, shot up what was left both sides of it, kept going. Egil and his friends cut the bridge free, 'Laina got them away."
"Wagons?"
"Stephen's bringing them. Emperor's beer with dinner."
"Resupply first. Kingdom can tie itself to wagons; we don't."
Caralla nodded.
Later that afternoon, while the royal army was celebrating its victory—despite the disappointingly small amount of beer—Egil drew his sister aside.
"I plan to cross tonight, next ford west, make trouble. Need two or three 'taves of Ladies who can swim, get a horse across."
"I'll pass the word. Your camp?"
"Three hours before dusk. Gets us to the ford by dark."
Caralla walked off. Egil turned to a familiar voice.
"Kara and I can swim; she's crossed twice the past month. Knows the other side. We could bring friends."
"Do it. My camp, three hours before dusk."
Farther north, Gavin was solving such problems as he could.
"We have two boats. Wounded over, firewood back."
"Yes sir."
Gavin heard the puzzlement, answered it.
"Karls took our beans and beer, left a lot of dead horses. Better than starving.
"Tonio—can your boys get those trebuchets working?"
"Not with what we have. Lots of wood, but too short."
"What about rafts?"
"Rafts?"
"Lots of wood. Can you make a couple of rafts, ropes from one bank to the other, move stuff?"
"Should work."
"Do it. I'm getting tired of this side of the river."
There was a brief lull. Kyro looked up from the tablets where he was trying to keep track of what was left of the army.
"If it works, we're home."
Gavin shook his head. "We still have to eat. A garrison of two hundred doesn't have supplies for five thousand. There should be more wagons coming in but I don't know how many—we've drained this province already. Only supplies I know about for sure . . . The Hetman. Send someone for him."
In the Kingdom's encampment as the sun set, commanders gathered in the King's tent. Stephen summed up the situation.
"Three legions, light infantry, not much else left. The bridge is a mess. Couple of boats. Their supplies are in our camp. If I were Gavin I'd face the facts, abandon everything heavy, run ropes across the river, swim what I could. They'll still have a hungry time of it their side of the river—especially after Egil's finished. Our job's done."
The King spoke.
"You don't think it's worth trying to smash what's left?"
"All respect, Majesty, no. They still have teeth. We might do it, but it would cost. Emperor can find men easier than we can."
A brief pause. Stephen spoke again.
"Feeding an army's expensive. My advice, send the southern provinces home—this army isn't invading again any time soon. Leave me Brand, the Order, my people. Enough to keep Gavin from getting bored, deal with any more boats fool enough to come downstream in daylight. I've already sent a few of my extras off. Yosef's boy, the one Harald's fond of, been taking care of the horses for their company, asked leave to go after the battle. Missing his father, maybe."
Caralla in her hammock, eyes closed, a whistle. Dream? She opened her eyes. Again. Out, rubbing her eyes. Downslope the noise of men moving. In the faint light of early morning, a dark mass. She put her own whistle to her lips, blew the alarm, shouted:
"Enemy Attack! Up! Out!"
Under the hammock and its cover her swordbelt, bow, quiver, boots; this near the front she slept in mail.
"Form on me. Slow them."
The rough line of Ladies formed, moved up to the ridge, poured arrows down, withdrew as the legionaries came closer. Back to where the horses were tethered, no time for a saddle. Around her, sisters were finding their mounts. Further back voices, yells. The royal camp was a confusion of men armoring, mounting, tripping over tent ropes. Stephen's voice carried over all:
"Armor, weapons, horse, and out. Forget the tents. Form up on the ridge behind."
The legions moved forward, through the lines of hammocks, into the undefended camp, slashing ropes and canvas to bring down tents. At the far side of the camp they stopped, shields raised against the arrows from the far ridge where a chaos of archers, cavalry, dismounted men putting on armor, was gradually taking order.
Leonora turned to James, buckling on arm harness, sleeping robe showing above his breastplate.
"Things some people will do for a good meal."
The King gave her a puzzled expression. She pointed downhill. The legions were withdrawing. So were the wagons.
"Ours and theirs; only fair." The wagons, what remained of the supplies of two armies, gradually vanished over the ridge.
Once the royal camp was restored to something near normal, the King called council in his tent.
"Tonight's dinner is in Gavin's camp—do we try to fetch it back?"
Leonora looked at Stephen, hesitated a moment, spoke.
"No. They'll expect that, be ready. What Stephen said still holds. My people have supplies for two weeks, his are in their own territory, can manage somehow. Everyone else spreads out, goes home."
Stephen nodded, looked around the circle of lords.
"Make sure your captains remember these are our people—buy, don't take. I have a long memory."
By the time Egil returned, the encampment below the ridge had shrunk drastically. Stephen and Caralla were standing by a mound on the ridge—four lances, pennons flying. The column of riders, tired horses, came to a stop. Caralla answered the unspoken question.
"Early morning yesterday. Bashkai got our pickets; one lasted long enough to give the alarm. People made it out but Gavin has the wagons."
"He'll need them. Two wagon trains—one supplies, one timber. Burned both—and a bridge. Took all the boats we could find back across, sunk them on our side of the river. All safe back—eleven cats, two octaves of Ladies, one boy. Some sacks of beans, courtesy of our friends."
Stephen looked up, startled. "What boy?"
" 'Laina's friend from Forest Keep. He said he had your leave to go."
"He did. I thought he was going home." Stephen walked down the line of riders, stopped by the smallest. Caralla turned to Egil.
"Couldn't you see how young he was?"
"Said he had leave from Stephen. 'Laina, Kara brought him. A little trouble in the river—none the other side. Useful."
"The boy's fourteen, fifteen at most."
"How old was Father when he ran away to Conor's people?"
"That's Father. Hen's a child."
"Don't stay children. Good shot, calm. Wouldn't care to go against the three of them. Hen, Kara don't get you at range, your baby sister deals with the problem. Dangerous lady."
"Ever seen Mother?"
"Hand-to-hand?" Egil shook his head.
"You're good. I'm good. Should be—trained enough. Mother, 'Laina, it's like a dance. Why Mother worries, more than she ever did about me. I know I can die. 'Laina, moving, it feels perfect. Still be killed."