Authors: Sam Barone
He rode back slowly, talking to the horse soothingly and smiling to himself because he’d nearly missed the melon. Esk kar stopped in front of the men. “Who wants to stand against the barbarian and his horse?”
No one answered. “Come now, men, I’ll even give you a horse of your own, though I’ll warrant you’ll have a better chance on the ground. What, still no takers?”
He looked down at them and laughed. Turning toward Gatus, he nodded again. This time Gatus and Bantor jumped into the wagon and gathered bows and arrows which they notched but did not draw. The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, standing over the side of the wagon.
“Now who will you wager on, the barbarian on his horse, or the men standing with drawn bows on their wall? Because that’s what the barbarians are going to see when they reach Orak. Only the wall will be twenty -
five feet high. Show them, Jalen.”
Jalen and Sisuthros jogged to the rear of the barracks and returned with two saplings bound together end - to - end with rope to make a crude joint. Jalen set his end on the ground and braced it with his foot while Sisuthros, at the other end, lifted it with a grunt and walked it upright, hand over hand, until he joined Jalen. The two men now held the beam vertical.
“That pole is twenty - five feet high. When the barbarians are beneath it, their swords and horses will be useless.” He walked the horse closer to the pole so that they could see the height difference, clucking to the animal to overcome its nervousness at the strange object looming over its head.
“Picture yourselves on top of the wall, pouring arrows down on the barbarians and their horses. Now, who would you wager on?”
He looked at their open mouths, hoping his message was getting through. One of the men called out to him. “Captain, the barbarians have bows as well. They can shoot back at men on the wall.”
It was Alexar, the same man who had asked the first question.
“Ah, I see our leader of men has his wits about him,” Esk kar replied, getting down from his horse. Walking to the wagon, he reached up and Bantor handed him his bow and arrow. Walking back to the men, he held up the bow in one hand, the arrow in the other.
“This is the bow used by the barbarians,” he explained, talking as if they’d never seen one before. “It’s short because it must be fired from the back of a horse while at a dead run. It’s curved because it must be bent to provide enough force. This bow is made of three different kinds of wood glued together, and tipped with horn for strength. A craftsman takes about six months to make a bow like this.”
Esk kar knew most of the men had no idea how much effort it took to make a bow, or how many were discarded or shattered in the process.
He held out the arrow. “The arrow is short because it must fi t the bow and be carried on the horse. The tip may be of hardened bone or bronze.
It weighs almost nothing.” Esk kar tossed the arrow in the air a few times, so they could see how light it was, then put the arrow to the bow. He turned toward the wagon, bent the bow, and launched the shaft. The arrow quivered into the thick wheel.
“With a bow such as this, even the slowest barbarian on his horse can launch ten to fifteen arrows per minute.”
Whether these men knew it or not, that was a frightening number of missiles for any massed group of men, since a mere fifty horsemen could shoot at least fi ve hundred arrows per minute, and each rider might carry thirty or forty arrows in his quiver.
Warriors could empty their quivers and completely break a mass of men five times their size. They could inflict huge casualties on their hap-less opponents, shattering their ranks and making them easy prey for the final attack with lance and sword.
“But the killing range of this arrow is less than one hundred paces with any accuracy. A few shafts might kill at one hundred and fifty paces.” Eskkar let that sink in. “At close range, the arrow is deadly. After a hundred paces, it will not pierce armor or shield. At two hundred paces or more, the arrow is nearly spent and won’t penetrate even a leather vest.
“Most of you men know how to use a bow. Even Forno,” Esk kar pointed with the bow at the marksman who’d killed Naxos’s henchman, “at least when he’s sober, can put a shaft in a man at fifty paces. Our own bows will be longer and heavier and they’ll cast a heavier weight of arrow, enough to kill a man at two hundred paces unless he’s wearing bronze. And since they don’t have to be small and compact, we can make our bows in less than three months.”
Esk kar gave them a grim smile. “So, men, you will have to train others, many others, in how to fi ght with bow, spear, and short sword. Master Builder Corio will construct our wall, and it will enclose most of Orak.
We’ll tear down the rest of the village and then flood the surrounding land. We’ll force the barbarians to come up against us at the main gate, and we’ll kill them with arrows from the wall. Starting tomorrow, all of us will put in three hours a day with the bow. Gatus and Forno will lead the training.”
He glanced over at Gatus, who nodded agreement.
“In three months, I want every one of you to be able to shoot the eyes out of a man at two hundred paces. When the wall is ready, we’ll mark out the distances on the ground so you’ll know the range.”
He had their attention now, and could almost read their thoughts from the looks on their faces. They were thinking that maybe, just maybe, it might work. Give them something to believe in, something to keep them here a few more months. As long as they thought they had a chance, they’d stay.
“When you can shoot at least ten arrows per minute, standing behind the wall, wearing leather armor and picking your targets, you’ll do to the barbarians what they usually do to others. You will smash their ranks and kill hundreds of them. Remember, a horse is a big target. If you kill or wound the horse, the man goes down. As he falls, he may lose his bow and quiver, his sword, or his wits, even if he doesn’t break his neck.
“In five months, I expect we’ll have between three hundred and four hundred men, well trained in the use of the bow, to defend the wall, with all the remaining men and women of Orak to back us up. We will have food and water, while the barbarians will find nothing to eat outside the village. When they get hungry enough, they’ll move on.
“We’ll have other tricks for the barbarians as well, but I don’t want to burden your heads with too many things at once. But remember this—
when the arrows start flying, I’ll be standing beside you on the wall.
“So, tomorrow starts our training. And I’ll be training with you. As more men arrive, you’ll begin training them, as Gatus and Forno have trained you.”
He saw more doubt on their faces.
“Oh, don’t worry, men will come—driven from their homes by the barbarians, men whose families have been killed by them, men who are tired of running from them every few years. Even now, dozens of men in the village are looking for a chance to pay off old scores. When they hear we intend to fight, more will join us.”
Esk kar stopped, as if to consider his words, glancing at every man.
“We can beat the barbarians as long as we fight them our way and on our terms. I know how they fight and I know they can be beaten. You men will be the ones who do it. Unless you would rather run than fight.” He let that thought take root for a moment.
“Starting today, your pay for each month is doubled and you’ll get better food. You get your fi rst payment tomorrow. And there will be an extra month’s pay when the barbarians are beaten off.” No doubt Nicar could handle that small sum easily enough, especially with Drigo’s gold.
That brought the expected cheer, and he waited until it stopped.
“But starting tomorrow, you work, you train, and you guard the village.
If you train well, many of you will become leaders - of - ten, and there’ll be more pay for that.”
He let his voice go hard, to make sure they understood his meaning.
“But if you slack off, I may not even kill you.” They went silent again. “I might just have you thrown out of Orak and let you fend for yourself.”
He glanced up at the waning sun. “Gatus, take these poor excuses for soldiers to the alehouse and feed them some beer. But not too much. They start training at sunrise.”
Esk kar walked off, thinking he’d have to be there himself, at least for the next few days. He could use some practice with sword and bow. Sitting around the barracks had weakened his muscles, and he didn’t feel ready yet to meet the barbarians one on one. Killing fools like Naxos and Drigo was easy enough, but hardened Alur Meriki warriors would be a different matter.
Turning the corner, he found Trella waiting for him. Behind her stood more than a dozen women as well as an assortment of children and dogs.
“I kept them away, master, as you ordered,” she said, raising her voice so all could hear. “They were sure to be a distraction.”
His eyes widened in surprise. The barracks women barely obeyed their men, let alone the female slave of another man. She’d managed it somehow, imposing her will on others twice her size or age. Some of the women began making rude comments about Esk kar’s body parts, and he felt glad that Trella had kept them away, though he’d told her no such thing. “Good, Trella. Come with me.” He nodded politely to the women, who already pushed past him, eager to learn what new fate had befallen their men.
“We must get ready for the evening meal, and you must wash and dress,” Trella told him, then wrinkled her nose. “You smell like a horse.”
Nicar had invited Esk kar to his home for dinner. Whether or not the invitation included Trella didn’t matter, as he had decided to take her anyway. “Yes, I’m sure I do. But before dinner, I want to see to the village bowyer and the fletcher. I’ve just made some more promises about bows and arrows, and I need to make sure they’re kept.”
Back at his quarters, he told the guard to have the bowmaker and the arrowsmith brought there in an hour. Then Esk kar and Trella walked down to the river to bathe, separating into the two areas customarily reserved for men and women. After a quick wash and even quicker swim, he dried himself, then waited a few moments before Trella appeared, her hair wet and stringy, but glistening in the fading sun. His eyes lingered over her dress, which clung tightly to her still - wet body, and he regretted his summons to the craftsmen. He took her by the hand, ignoring the smiles of the villagers at the gesture, and they walked back to the barracks.
The knock on the open door came as Esk kar finished belting on his sword. Two men stood there, men who differed in aspect as much as any two men could. The bowyer, Rufus, was a hunched - over old man with long stringy gray hair and yellowed teeth. He wore a dirty tunic marked with multicolored stains, and carried with him the scents of the glues and resins of his profession.
The fletcher stood much taller, and his clean tunic marked him as a well - to - do craftsman. He carried a goodly amount of weight on his frame that proved arrowmaking to be a more lucrative occupation than soldiering, though that could be said of almost any trade, even farming. Basically a carpenter who specialized in making tools and small implements, Tevana created many different items for the local tradesmen. As a profi table sideline, Tevana had been making arrows for the soldiers for years. Esk kar knew him by sight but had never spoken to him.
The fletcher spoke first, in a deep and pleasant voice, bowing to Esk kar and giving Trella a quick glance. “Good afternoon, Captain.”
Rufus, the bowyer didn’t bow. “Your summons interrupted me in my work and I lose time while we speak. What is so important it couldn’t wait until morning?” His tone was irritating.
Esk kar had met twice with Rufus, once to accept delivery of some bows and again to complain when one of the weapons had broken after a few days. Esk kar had been ignored on the first occasion and laughed at on the second, for Rufus gave no guarantees. “After all, how do I know what some fool will use it for when it leaves my shop—to hammer a nail or dig a hole? It bent properly here, you paid for it, and that’s the end of it.” Esk kar had to report to Ariamus that he failed to get a replacement.
“Please sit down, Rufus, Tevana. Bring wine for our guests, Trella.” Eskkar kept his voice calm and resisted the urge to draw his sword and sweep Rufus’s head from his shoulders. The old man made the best bows not only in Orak but in the surrounding regions. Now his sons and apprentices did most of the work, but their reputation matched their master’s.
The three men sat down and Trella poured wine, then took her place on her stool behind Esk kar’s bench. Rufus practically snatched the cup from her hand and gulped down half the cup, then gave Esk kar a look that seemed to say he didn’t think much about the taste. Once again Esk kar’s sword hand twitched at the insult.
“Thank you, Captain,” Tevana said after taking a sip. “How may we help you?”
“I won’t keep you long from your work, Rufus,” Esk kar began. “I meet with Nicar tonight. But I wanted to make my needs known to you both as soon as possible. The barbarians are moving toward us, and I’ll need bows and arrows to resist them.”
“I think you’ll need more than that to stop barbarians,” Rufus said with a dry cackle that tempted Esk kar’s sword hand yet again. “But I can sell you all the bows you need, if you can afford to pay for them.”
“Good, Rufus, I’m glad to hear that.” If the old fool was going to take that attitude, so be it. “Trella, tell Rufus and Tevana what we need.”
Trella scraped her stool closer to the table. “My master desires four hundred bows, all of them five feet in length and capable of penetrat-ing leather armor at two hundred paces. As for arrows, we will need one hundred thousand war arrows, plus at least ten thousand target arrows, all properly feathered and tipped with bronze.”
Arrows could be tipped with almost anything, though hardened bone or bronze was preferred. While the bone tip could actually penetrate deeper, the bronze point left a more vicious wound and was more difficult to remove.
“And, of course, my master will need all the other materials—bowstrings, thumb rings, and wrist pads.”