Ash: The Lost History Part 154

"Shall I send another man for my lord de la Marche?" Anselm gritted.

"Not yet. He'll be on his way."

The Turkish commander pointed over the walls and said something. Ash looked as they pa.s.sed between two brattices; saw no particular movement in the enemy camp. "What's his problem, Robert?"

"He says it's cold." Anselm hunched his shoulders, as if in emphatic agreement. "He says it's cold other places, and it's dark."

"What?"

Florian, walking shoulder to shoulder between Ash and de Vere, looked across at the Janissary. "Ask Colonel Bajezet what he means. And just tell me what he says, Roberto, okay?"

Ash caught sight of red-and-blue liveries below. She interrupted, "Here's de la Marche, at last."

Olivier de la Marche strode up on to the battlements, signalling his men away. He crossed the icy flagstones with deliberate haste, and bowed to Florian del Guiz.

Bajezet, with Robert Anselm murmuring in his ear, said through that interpreter: "There is nowhere, Woman Bey, for any of us to go."

"What do you mean, Colonel?" Florian spoke directly to the Turkish commander, and not to Anselm. When she listened to the answer, it was Bajezet's face that she watched.

"The Colonel says he saw 'terrible things', on his way here. The Danube frozen. Fields of ice. People frozen in the fields, left to lie there. Nothing but dark." Robert Anselm stumbled in his speech; checked something with the Janissary, and finished: "There are deserted villages from here to Dalmatia. People living in caves, burning the woods for fire. Some cities have been razed through trying to keep fires - bonfires - burning twenty-four hours a day."

"There is still no sun?" Florian asked Bajezet.

"He says, no. He says, he saw frozen lakes. Beasts and birds dead in the ice.

Only the wolves grow fat. And ravens and crows. In some places, they had to detour around-" Robert Anselm frowned. "No. Don't get that one."

"It is possible he speaks of the processions," John de Vere said. "A thousand strong, madam. Some of them were burning Jews. Some were saving them. Many were in pilgrimage to the Empty Chair.3 By far the most part of them, madam, were following rumour: coming towards the borders of Burgundy."

The Janissary Colonel added something. Robert Anselm translated: "They will find themselves competing for food with many more refugees."

Ash glanced behind her, up at the sky. It was an instinctive movement. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Florian do the same.

A haze began to film the icy blue. The sun dazzled out of the south-east, blinding her to the roofs and towers of the city. The icy wind drew tears from her eyes. Ash began to move again. The men moved with her. The tall woman remained standing on the spot.

Following her gaze, Ash saw that she was staring at the ranks of tents and earth-walled barracks, stretching neatly out along the roads of the Visigoth camp; at the stacked rocks for the trebuchets, the horses neighing from each legion's horse lines, and the thousands of armed men, gathering now at their bake-houses and camp-ordinaries for morning rations.

"They're expecting Fernando back. We have fewer and fewer choices," Florian said. "And no time to make them."

John de Vere came to a halt, rubbing his hands together with a click of metal. "Madam," he announced, "you are cold."

Not waiting for an answer, he raised his voice in a flat English bellow. Before a minute pa.s.sed, two of his men-at-arms came out on to the battlements. They carried between them, on poles, an iron brazier; and trotted to set it down before the Earl of Oxford. One of the men fed it: flickering heat pa.s.sed over the glowing red surface of the coals.

"This talk will take time," John de Vere said. "Security is essential, madam, but do not freeze your high command to death."

The morning advanced. Spiced cider was brought out, and dark bread; and they stood huddled around the brazier, mugs clasped between their hands, arguing every possible permutation of a city, between two rivers, surrounded by fifteen thousand foot and horse, and siege-engines. Attack across a frozen river? Break out and run - across a countryside full (de la Marche indicated) of Visigoth outriders, spies, and light cavalry reconnaissance? Spirit away the Burgundian d.u.c.h.ess - and lose any hope of support from Turks, Germans, French, English?

"Edward will not come in," John de Vere said grimly, at that point. "York thinks himself safe behind the Channel. I am all the Englishmen you will have at your command, madam d.u.c.h.ess."

"More than enough," Florian agreed, sipping at the spiced cider. Although she looked decidedly ill, she grinned at him.

By the fourth hour of the morning,4 the sun had risen in the southern sky to a point where it illuminated all the land around Dijon: the freezing rivers, the valley full of tents and marching men, the puffs of smoke from the sakers,5 deliberately breaking the conditions of the truce; the frost-shrouded hills and the wildwood, far to the north.

I've heard all these arguments, Ash thought. Most of them twice.

She kept her mind closed, deliberately did not listen in her soul. The white-blue morning sky, and Dijon's cone-roofed towers, dazzled her vision. Still, even with the blast of the wind behind her - face to the coals, back to the cold -a part of her attention remained directed inwards. At a subliminal level, multiple inhuman voices whispered: 'SOON. SOON. SOON.'.

"I know," she said aloud. Bajezet and Olivier de la Marche were (with Anselm's help) arguing; they did not break off for a moment. De Vere looked at her curiously.

Florian said, "I know that look. You've got something."

"Maybe. Let me think."

Forget the machina rei militaris. Forget that not having it at all is different from it being there if my willpower fails. Remember that I've been doing this stuff all my life.

It fell together in her head, with all the determinism and progression of a chess game: if we do this, then that will happen; but if that happens, and we do this, then this other thing- She gripped Florian's arm, burying her hand wrist-deep in soft wolf's fur. "Yeah. I've got something."

The tall woman beamed down at Ash. With no trace of cynicism, she said, "And without your machina rei militaris, too."

"Yeah. Without that." A slow beam spread over Ash's features; she couldn't stop it. "Yeah . . ."

Florian said, "So tell me. What have you got?"

"In a second-" Ash put her hand on the merlon and vaulted over into the h.o.a.rding. The wooden floor of the brattice echoed hollowly under her feet as she loped up towards the Byward Tower; back down again. The freezing wind cold in her face, she even gripped a beam and put her head down through one of the gaps, scanning the hundred feet of wall below for ropes, for ladders, for any shadow of movement.

Nothing.

"Okay." She hauled herself back through one of the crenellations. "Let's take it from the top, shall we?"

The wind left her gasping for breath, and s.h.i.+vering under huke and cloak, but she lost no authority. She paused a tactful second for an acknowledging wave of the hand from Florian.

"Okay," Ash went on. "We're here. Outside, there's the better part of fifteen thousand troops. The Faris's men. Plus Gelimer's two new legions. And there's friction between the two of them."

De Vere and de la Marche nodded in unison; both men obviously having had the experience of being joined by c.o.c.ksure fresh troops after three months of occupying muddy trenches and bombarding impregnable walls.

"Fifteen thousand," Florian repeated, through her gloved hands, clasped over her mouth against the bitterness of the cold.

"And we have eighteen hundred men of the Burgundian army; the Lion's three hundred and eighty, less gunners; and five hundred Janissaries." Ash could not help laughing at the expression on the tall woman's face. "We know -about their deployment. Gelimer's two legions north. Between the rivers. Faris's men mostly - east and west - on the river banks."

The men had moved closer together, unconsciously; shoulders blocking the wind, the group in a huddle under a brightening sky. John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, said thoughtfully, "I had considered, madam, that we can cross the river to attack. Bajezet's Janissaries could swim their horses across. This ice, I think, is an end to that plan, unless it will bear the beasts' weight."

"And what would they do when they got there?"

"Nothing but cut up his rear echelon, madam."

Ash nodded impatiently. "I know: that doesn't win us anything. It f.u.c.ks Gelimer around, it doesn't lift the siege, and it gives him all the excuse he needs today to flatten us."

The Turkish commander, after an interchange with Anselm, said something which his interpreter rendered as: "You seriously expect to lift this siege?"

"We're on last rations. Civilians are sick. If we're going to do anything, it has to be before we're too weak." Ash reached out, grabbing Florian's arm on one side, de Vere's on the other. "Let's not lose sight of the objective. Leaving aside our gracious d.u.c.h.ess-"

"f.u.c.k you too," Florian commented.

"-what do we need to do? We need to make the King-Caliph look weak. We need to do something so that his allies abandon him - and join Burgundy. We need to look strong. We need to win," Ash said.

Olivier de la Marche stared at her. "'Win'?"

"Look. There's no reinforcements coming for us. We can give in. Or we can wait - and we won't have to wait long! Make them come in and fight us through the streets, today or tomorrow. We'll maul them. But we'll lose. Either way, they'll execute Florian." Ash spoke in a pragmatic tone. "Look at the situation. There's fifteen thousand men out there. We're two and a half thousand. That's us outnumbered over five to one!"

She grinned at Florian.

"You're right. There's only one thing we can do. We attack."

"I thought we were surrendering!"

"Ah. We say we're going to surrender. We're going to send an envoy out, and ask the King-Caliph Gelimer to arrange a formal surrender, and negotiate the conditions under which we give Dijon up to him." Ash smiled at Florian. "We're lying."

A slight frown crossed the Earl of Oxford's face. "It is against the rules and customs of war."

Olivier de la Marche was nodding. "Yes. It is treachery. But my men will remember Duke John Sans Peur6on the bridge at Montereau. The French did not suffer for their treachery, since it was successful. We are in no position here to be more proud than a Frenchman."

"We are in desperate straits," John de Vere agreed mildly.

Ash snuffled back a laugh. She wiped her nose on her cloak. The wind penetrated wool, metal and skin; cold sank down into her bones. She moved, stiffly, from foot to foot; attempting to warm up.

"It looks hopeless." She grinned toothily. "It is hopeless. It looks hopeless to the Sultan. And to King Louis. And to Frederick of Hapsburg. Can you imagine - what will happen - if we win? One bold stroke - and Gelimer doesn't have any allies."

"And we don't have our lives!" Florian snapped. She was. .h.i.tching herself up and down, toe and heel, in front of the brazier, attempting to find warmth in movement. Ash ignored the surgeon-d.u.c.h.ess's asperity.

"Most of their men - Gelimer's legions - are at the north side. Between the two rivers. They can get their other men up there. But it'll take time. So we don't face - more than ten thousand."

"You're going to get everybody killed," Florian stated.

"Not everybody. Just one person." Ash prodded the surgeon-d.u.c.h.ess with a completely numb finger. "Listen to this. What happens if Gelimer dies?"

There was a silence.

Florian, with a slow, amazed, and growing grin, said, "Gelimer. You want us to attack the King-Caliph? Himself?"

Olivier de la Marche said, "The Faris claims her replacement - Lebrija - is a man fit only for following orders."

"Have to have another f.u.c.king election, wouldn't they?" Robert Anselm was nodding. "Maybe go back to Carthage. All the amirs - in-fighting-"

"There is no obvious candidate for Caliph," the Earl of Oxford said. "My lord Gelimer is not a man to welcome other powerful amirs in his court. He has weakened the influence of many. Madam, this idea is well thought on: take away their commander, and not only may you raise this siege, you may halt their crusade here for this winter - perhaps for all time."

"They won't have any friends," Ash said dryly. "You watch Frederick and Louis leg it. And the Sultan come in - right, Colonel?"

Bajezet, translated, said, "It is not impossible, Woman Bey."

John de Vere said, "But, madam, Lord Gelimer is not a stupid man. Yes, we might make a sally out in force, hoping to overrun his men and kill him - but where is he? In what part of the enemy camp? Or has he withdrawn - to a town nearby? He will expect just such an attempt."

"He can expect what he likes: if two and a half thousand troops. .h.i.t him, he's dog-meat." Ash shook her head vigorously, speaking over the rest of them, gasping with the tearing wind. "Listen to me. The Faris knows - troop dispositions - and guard rosters. She knew - she'd have to come over. Collected information. If we can do it - before things can be changed - we can get spies out - and back in again. We can find Gelimer's household - without him knowing, and moving it again. My guess is, it's to the north there. He needs an eye on his troops."

"G.o.d's teeth!" John de Vere said.

Surveying the enemy lines, beyond the walls, there was no sign of the King- Caliph's standard among the other eagles. Any of the finer pavilions and turf-roofed buildings might house him - whichever is the warmer, Ash thought cynically, letting Florian and de Vere and de la Marche stare north at the encamped Visigoth legions.

"It would need to be very fast," the Earl of Oxford said thoughtfully. "And if he is on that ground, you would find it difficult to get a great number of troops out of the north-east or north-west gates in time. Impossible. They would be on us before we could deploy out of the bottleneck."

"I know how to do that," Ash said.

She spoke with a confidence that made them ignore her chattering teeth, and the fact that she hugged herself, s.h.i.+vering violently in the bitter wind. The advancing sun dappled a pale gold over Dijon's white walls. The frost on the battlements did not melt.

"I know how to get the troops out there," Ash repeated. She looked at Florian. "It's St Stephen's day, it isn't twenty-four hours since the Faris came over to us. Whatever we're going to do, we've got to at least get intelligence collected quickly." She s.n.a.t.c.hed a breath of freezing air. "Some weaknesses Gelimer can't alter. He can't alter his weak units - but he can move them. He needs to think there's no hurry, we're surrendering. We need time to prepare for this. And we need him not to think he's our target."

Florian chuckled, a little hoa.r.s.e and breathless. She held out her hands to the brazier. "He's our target. Yes. We're surrounded by fifteen thousand men - so we're going to attack their leader. Perfect logic, boss!"

"It is. It's why they want you. Cut off the head, and the body dies." Ash halted. "Look, if we do this, that's it: it hangs on this. Once we're outside, if we lose, they come in and trash this city."

The surgeon-d.u.c.h.ess said frankly, "So where are you planning on putting me? Down in some deep dungeon where they won't find me? Because they will."

"They can attack the city even while we attack them," Olivier de la Marche cut in. "If the opportunity were seen, they would send a legion in while we fought on the outside. Then we have lost - her Grace being dead - everything."

"I've got an answer for that, too," Ash said. "Are we agreed on this?"

They looked at each other.

In the end it was Florian who spoke. Wrapped in wolf-pelts, her dirty, hung-over face peering out of the grey fur, she swallowed back bile, frowned, and said, "Not until I've heard every detail six times. I don't buy a pig in a poke. And where does the d.u.c.h.ess feature in all this?"

"That," Ash said, smiling and nodding at the Janissary commander, "is where Colonel Bajezet and his horses come in. And," she turned to the Earl of Oxford, "your youngest brother, my lord. We need to speak with d.i.c.kon de Vere."

She did not arrive back at the company's tower until the second hour of the afternoon. She immediately called Ludmilla Rostovnaya and Katherine over.

"How many woman sergeants have we got in the company at present?"

Ludmilla frowned, glancing at her lance-mate. "Not sure, boss. About thirty, I think. Why?"

"I want you to get them together. Get all the spare polearms we've got - the Burgundians' as well, Jonvelle's expecting you. You're going to put some people through basic training."

The Rus woman still frowned. "Yes, boss. Who?"

"The civilians, here. They're going to get basic instruction in how to defend the city walls."

"Green Christ, boss, they can't fight! They don't know how! It'll be a ma.s.sacre."

"I don't think I asked for an opinion," Ash said. After a stern moment, she added, "There's a difference between dying defenceless, if we're overrun, and dying trying to take someone else with you. These people know that. I want you and the other women to teach them which end of a bill to hold, and how far away they should stand so they don't impale each other. That's all. You've got today."

"Yes, boss." The Rus woman, turning away, stopped and said, "Boss - why the women?"