Drust stood like a monument in front of the archers, screaming at the hilltop. The spearmen waited for an- other attack thai never came. Behind them, Drust bran- dished his nocked bow, bellowing to the high woods.

"Philistines! Philistines, see David come against thee!"

"Fhain brothers. Here to Padrec."

They came then, Malgon leading his pony, and squat- ted in a circle of four about Padrec. On the opposite shore, the trailing century of Gallius' maniple milled about in frustration. It would have been their first battle, and a safe one with few casualties, and ail they could do was look on, impotent, while the few men on the other side hogged the glory of it. They'd have to listen to it all blown up four times the size of truth for days to come. Men were creep- ing up out of the river, wet, angry, and feeling foolish.

Many, unable to swim, had been sucked under.

Then the black birds, soot flecks in the sky.

"Look, Padrec," said Drust. "Thy omen-bird. Ravens."

After that day they never remarked on the birds or how quickly they smelted the battle. Not omens, only scav- engers. There were always ravens.

They watched the ravens settle anywhere they weren't waved off.

"Must see who's fallen," Padrec said huskily.

"A must be harrowed," Malgon said.

Another horn, a legion buccina. Behind the eagles, the first elements of the main force jogged toward them.

The blood began to cake on Padrec's forehead.

It galled Gallius Urbi to take orders from a boy like Ambrosius, reputation or no. However, if the boy tribune, nicknamed the Beardless Mars by the older men, were not a cool-headed commander, the first centurion might have been relieved and disgraced. The bridge should have been inspected before crossing.

"You should not have crossed without orders. You could have lost your whole command there, foot and horse. Lost enough as it is."

Step, step. Halt. Sharp pivot. "And you, Patricius.

236 You have neither the temperament nor the instincts of a soldier. I have no time to teach you, but you could at least think on your feet."

"Yes, Tribune."

"However, you cost RhiwaHon dearly. Both of you.

And you didn't retreat."

Step, step. Pause. Gallius and Patricius could both be charged with serious dereliction of duty by regulations, but neither was that experienced in the field. Neither was he, and now he knew RhiwaHon would not fight a text- book war. Score it to experience and carry on,

"Tribune." Padrec stepped forward "We'll be want- ing more spears out front when we're afoot."

"Nursemaids," Gallius snickered.

"Spears, you say?"

"Dismounted, we have no cover. We're naked. Noth- ing between us and the enemy but good aim."

"I sent my men forward with a Tine of spears," Gallius offered. "It was the only thing that saved them."

"Spears. Yes." Ambrosius chewed idly at a knuckle, considering it. Of course. In this kind of battle, with ar- chers needed to fight on foot over unditched ground, it was the most logical defense.

"Dismissed, both of you."

Quite right, of course. Alae are valuable only in motion or attack. Dismounted, they are a liabil- ity unless defended. I made incredible blunders myself that year, excusable only in that I was a mere student myself and had to pretend to ex- perience, else my officers would lose faith in me.

For Rhiwatton, pondering where to strike the invad- ers next, the skirmish was not all boasting. He learned with Ambrosius. Of those men and horses wounded, al- most all died or were useless afterward. The Faerie poi- soned their arrows whenever possible. Since they made much of being Christian, he would honor them accord- ingly when the time came.

Pictures in the mind, fragments of a scattered mosaic

^ HE LAST RAINBOW237.

that never afterward quite rearranged to coherence in Padrec's memory. Pestering Gallius for rations that didn't come or were never enough. The long, plodding marches in the rain, the mounted head of a long serpent moving toward the first of the three crucial torts. The brief plea- sure at the smell of watered spring earth before it turned to muck underfoot.

To Megamus-

... costly lessons, but we learn. The bank and ditch go up no matter where we are at evening.

That is when the Coritani are most likely to attack because the foot troops are vulnerable.

We ride a circuit around the camp like herd dogs. When the Coritani come, we shoot from the saddle or dismount and form lines of ar- chers behind a picked detail of spear carriers. If all works in time, the Coritani pay for it.

And so do we. My Latin is plain, my Greek crippled. How can I describe the sound of them, screaming as they come, or the desperate necessity to hurl ourselves like a wall between them and the engineer','? What they lack in discipline, the Gontam make up m courage. Sometimes, when it's over, you see a Gontam down on the ground, wounded and perhaps dying. There is always the pail

X shock over them, a queasy surprise, like a thoughtless child lien from a tree. He doesn't know why he hurts. Sometimes,

when I look a second time, I find it is one of my own men. The

face is always the same.

The diggers work on behind us. When it is over, someone tallies our dead. Sometimes I wonder what matters most, the deaths or the fact that someone records them. Armies and civil gov- ernments are much the same. My Prydn have their own customs regarding death ... my squad- rons are thinner, tiring. So many missed Mass yesterday that Drust jeered "Philistines!" at them.

Most of them had simply fallen asleep when they had the chance....

Small miseries grown large for lack of relief. Being

238 stiff and sour with damp from sleeping in the rain or mist.

Comfort narrowed to dry clothes and a fire when any deadwood found had to be dried out and burned with more smoke than warmth.

A foggy morning, Ambrosius striding down the tine of the returning patro! to hail him.

"Patricius, you forgot to report yesterday. How many dead?"

He wanted a number when Padrec remembered faces.

"Nine, Tribune."

"Inform Gallius and try to stay regular with your tallies. There'll be a burial detail for the Christians and cremation for the rest."

"No need, sir. Each is harrowed by his own fhain brothers."

Ambrosius cocked an eyebrow at the unfamiliar word.

"Barrowed?"

"Interred."

"So that's why I've never seen dead Faerie. Where?"