Instead, he pushed himself to his feet and started stumping around the immediate area, locating his men as the light faded from the sky. Of eighty spear leaders in the Prime, twenty-nine were still fit for duty, including himself. A quarter of his legionares were wounded and out of action. Another quarter were dead or missing-and in the savage battleground they'd left behind, "missing" probably meant that they'd been too badly mangled to be identified as the Legion withdrew. Another quarter of his men were lightly wounded and awaiting their turn with the healers. In the merciless mathematics of war, lightly wounded legionares were treated first by the Legion's watercrafters and returned to duty. Those more heavily wounded were generally stabilized, and then suffered until there were resources enough to get them back on their feet.
As he took count of his men at the healer's station, Marcus saw a lot of Alerans suffering.
He went around to the Legion's fifteen Tribunes. Three were dead. Three more were injured and out of action-including Antillar Maximus, whose injuries relegated him to the category of those awaiting additional medical resources. The tally of losses was sobering. The report from the Tribune Logistica was even more so.
Marcus found Crassus where he probably shouldn't have been-visiting his half brother, on a cot in the healer's tents, alongside all the other men too badly hurt to be easily put to right. The young man sat beside Maximus, his expression remote.
"Captain," Marcus said quietly.
"You were right," Crassus said without preamble. "We should have sortied."
Marcus ignored his words. "We're at half our normal fighting strength, sir.
More than a third of our supply train was cut off as they tried to make it inside the palisade, most of it our livestock. And the only well we can reach on this hilltop has been poisoned. The Tribune Logistica is working on a way of filtering the water, but it doesn't look promising. We've already gone through most of what we had in barrels from the wells down the hill, so unless we get some rain, or Tribune Cymnea manages a minor miracle, we're going to be fighting dry."
It was a death sentence for a Legion. A Legion might-might-manage a day without food, but without water, men would drop by the score every few moments, unable to fight.
"I was so sure we had to hold," Crassus said. "To tough it out for a few moments more. I thought that any minute, the walls would be ready, and wed stand them off, like before. I thought that we must have drawn the heaviest attack, that the Guard would be able to reinforce us. " He gestured at his fallen brother. Maximus was covered by light sheets, and Marcus knew that the healers had done it to keep dirt and grime out of the burns. "Max was right," Crassus said. "I thought too much, Marcus. And he's suffered for my sins. Again."
Marcus stared at the back of the young man's head for a moment. If Lady Aquitaine saw Crassus like this, she'd be hard-pressed to hide her satisfaction. He could be no threat to her liegeman Arnos's military laurels, like this.
It would probably never occur to her that in their current circumstances, there would be no laurels bestowed, no honors conferred-except, of course, the posthumous ones.
He walked around to the young officer's front, saluted, and slapped him sharply across the mouth.
Crassus blinked and stared at the First Spear in perfect shock. It hadn't been a gentle slap. Blood trickled from the young man's lower lip.
"Crows take you, sir," Marcus said quietly. "You are a Legion captain. Not some teenage bride mooning over her husband off to war. Get off of your ass and lead, before more men wind up like your brother."
Crassus just stared at him blankly. It occurred to Marcus that it was entirely possible that no one had spoken so to the young man in his entire life.
"Stand up," Marcus growled. "Stand up, sir."
Crassus stood up slowly. Marcus faced him, and banged his fist to his chest in another salute.
Crassus responded in kind. He studied Marcus for a moment, nodded slowly, and said, his voice very quiet, "Half strength, no meat, no water."
"Aye, sir."
"The Guard?"
"I spoke to their First Spears, sir. They're in worse shape than we are. For all practical purposes, we've got the only Knights on the field. The Guard used a different model of helmet than we did, without the crossbars on the crowns, and those hafted scythes went through them like paper. They've got fewer wounded but a lot more dead."
"Orders from the Senator?" Crassus asked.
Marcus shook his head.
"The other captains?"
"No word from them, either, sir."
Crassus drew in a deep breath. "It seems to me we really ought to have some kind of plan."
"If you say so, Captain."
"Send runners to the Senator and the other captains," Crassus said. "Inform them that I've prepared a pavilion for him, his staff, and the other captains, and that it is ready to receive him immediately."
Marcus saluted and turned to go.
"Marcus," Crassus said quietly.
He paused, without turning back.
Crassus dropped his voice, until only the two of them could have heard it. "We aren't getting off this hill, are we?"
Marcus blew out a breath. "Doesn't look like it, sir."
Crassus nodded. "Thank you," he said.
Marcus went on about following his orders, though he was ready to allow the Canim to kill him, if only they promised to let him get a few moments of sleep first.
Chapter 47
Troops surged from concealed positions beside the road, a dozen Canim and twice as many men in the worn gear of the Free Aleran Legion. One moment, no one was in sight, and the next a formidable array of weapons was pointed directly at Tavi's chest.
"Well," Tavi said, his tone impatient, as he reined his nag to a halt. "It's about bloody time."
One of the men had begun to speak, but he blinked and simply stared at Tavi, evidently surprised to be so addressed. Tavi studied him for a moment and decided that he was the most advantageous point of attack. If he didn't manage a successful verbal assault with the first pickets around Mastings, it might take him hours or days of waiting to get to Nasaug, and he doubted his mother and Araris would have that long.
"You," Tavi said, pointing at the man, then indicating the wooden baton thrust through his belt. "Centurion, I take it?"
"Yes," said the young man. "Yes, I'm-"
"Don't you people watch the back door as closely as the front? Bloody sloppy."
The man's face turned red. "Now, see here. You are intruders on a Free Aleran causeway, and as such I am placing you under arrest in accordance with general order-"