Gwenhwyfar_ The White Spirit - Mercedes Lackey [87]
He brightened. “Fast, agile, and deadly. Good! There are two tasks for you and yours, lady. The first is to sting the Saxon boar, but precisely; I want you here, beside the Square, to run out in relays, find a leader, try to take him and no other, and race back to our lines.”
She sucked on her lower lip. “Not likely we can hit more than once in a dozen shots,” she replied honestly. “When we fight, we generally shoot at the mass of men, and try to arc over the shields. Generally we hit something because they are so close-packed.”
He nodded. “But deliberately choosing a leader—that will goad them, even if you do not hit. His companions will have had their honor touched, and they must defend him. That is what I want; I want them enraged, I want them charging up that hill and onto the Square without a second thought. And the second task is this: After they charge, you all retreat behind the Square, and when they break, and they will, you come out again to sting them a second time.” He smiled. “This terrain, this weather, can all play in our favor. We can wear them down, saving ourselves, in case they have more than one force out there.”
Now that had not occurred to her, and from their faces, it also had not occurred to Urien and his men. Lancelin shrugged. “The Saxons fight like maddened boars,” he said. “That does not mean they cannot be cunning. We must be more cunning.”
“And fight like men!” Urien roared, slapping Lancelin’s back again. The others shouted their approval.
Lancelin was still looking at her, and she realized belatedly that he was waiting for her assent, as he had for the other chiefs. “That we can do,” she replied, nodding. “We all have changes of horses too; we can keep both at the lines and make sure we always have fresh mounts.”
He didn’t smile as she had half expected, but his look of satisfaction was the same he had given to the other chiefs and generals. “Then by your leave, my lords, I will take these plans back to my men, and you take them to yours. One day for my men and horses to rest, and then we will show these Saxon pigs that it is ill done to covet the acorns beneath the High King’s oaks.”
She took her leave while Urien was still speaking to the young man and returned to her troop. They had been awakened and were sleepily devouring their stew and bread. Over food, she laid out what was to be expected of them, while they listened thoughtfully. Although this seemed a fine battle plan to her, she half expected that there would be some discussion, if not objection, but there was nothing of the sort.
“Clever,” said Owain after a long silence.
“Aye, but not too clever.” Peder came to sit down to join them. Gwen made space for him beside her on a log. He accepted a bowl of stew from her servant. “If the High King and the Merlin have a fault, it’s the making of plans that are a bit too clever, so no one understands what’s to happen but them. I like this Lancelin.”
“Come to steal our food again, old man?” asked Meical with a laugh.
“Aye.” Peder cuffed him; or rather, cuffed at him. Meical ducked out of the way. “I’ll not poison myself before a battle with my own cooking.”
“Arthur’s Companions do the same,” said Aeron suddenly.
“What, poison themselves?” The others laughed, and Aeron wrinkled up his nose.
“No fools, have a common store and a common cook pot. Like we do. No man starves because he didn’t want to burden himself, no man carries too much. Food is always waiting, and they never go into a battle or to bed hungry.”
“Another Roman thing?” Owain asked, curiously.
Aeron shook his dark head. “Nay. This was Arthur’s idea.”
Gwen ate another bite of stew. Someone must have been hunting, for there was rabbit and maybe some duck in this along with the usual dried mutton, turnips, parsnips, and pease. “The Romans did as we do, except that there was a grain wagon a man got his bread ration