Ganton felt reassured when he had completed his inspection of the army. Camithon had arrayed the host well. The men were dismounted to rest the horses. Above every approach to the hill stood a band of cross-bowmen protected by the shields of men at arms. Behind them were walking wounded to reload, and dismounted knights taking their ease. From this height a bolt could slay a Westman's horse before his own arrow could pierce armor, and a Westman on foot was no fair match for a Drantos warrior.
Ganton wasn't worried about a fair match. He wanted the Westmen dead, or at least driven from his land. If he could have slain them all with his Browning, he would have done so.
"Hah. And what of your love of battle?" Morrone said. "Glory for your bheromen. What of that?"
"I had not realized I was speaking aloud," Ganton said. "And there is precious little glory here…" He used his binoculars to look across the valley. Mason had retreated to where the balloon had been tethered and hauled it down. There was still no sign of the Romans. Had they taken a defensive position somewhere out of sight, or had they left the battle entirely?
If they had run away, then Ganton's army would never leave this valley.
He moved on toward the end of the ridge, and now arrows fell more thickly around him. As he drew near to Camithon's banner, he saw why. The end of the ridge rose higher than any other part, but also jutted out toward the river like the prow of a ship. It was too steep to allow crossbowmen to perch on it, and the Westmen could ride in close enough to fire their arrows and receive only a few crossbow bolts in return.
Ganton dismounted. He had to scramble along the ridge to reach Camithon, who stood partially protected by Guardsmen's shields.
"Majesty, this is no safe place for you!"
"It is no more dangerous for me than for you, my lord general. Now-what is your counsel?" When the Westmen first struck and the Drantos horses began to tire, Ganton had not objected when Camithon brought the troops to this hill and set them in a defensive perimeter. Doubtless the general had a plan in mind. Now, though, it was time to learn it. "We are safe and in good order for the moment, but we are not eagles to make our homes here."
Camithon grinned and waved the ancient battle-ax he'had carried into every battle since his youth. "First, Majesty, let us get off this knife-edge." He led the way back along the ridge. "As to counsel, I would know better if I could see what you see."
"Ah." Ganton lifted his binoculars to hand them to Camithon. "First, though-" he said. He swept them along the riverbank, then up to where Mason's banner stood with Caradoc's. A waving orange flag, invisible without the binoculars, caught his eye. "Ho! A signal! Fetch the scribes!"
A runner dashed down the ridge and returned with three young acolytes.
"I am Panilos, senior acolyte, Majesty," one said. He couldn't have been more than fourteen years old; the others were even younger.
"Take these, lad," Ganton said. He handed over his binoculars, noting that Panilos had no difficulty in using them. "Read me that signal from the Lord Mason."
"Aye, Majesty," the boy said. "Laran, make the signals. Wannilos, are you ready?"
One of the scribes held wax board and stylus. "Aye," he said. The other waved his flags while Panilos peered through the dust.
"R-O-M-A-N-S D-U-E N-O-R-T-H O-F H-E-R-E STOP," he called.
Panilos called off the message and Wannilos wrote it on the board, while the third acolyte acknowledged each word. They worked quickly, too fast for Ganton to follow. When they were done, Wannilos read it off.