Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [215]
At least they treated Sidonie with deference and her guard was decent. On the very first day, Gaskon brought a crude oilcloth tent he’d bartered for among some of the other soldiers. When Sidonie thanked him, he smiled quietly into his mustaches.
“I have a daughter no older than you,” he said. “I would not want her sleeping exposed among so many men.”
Then you shouldn’t have dragged her here, I thought; but I bit my tongue on the comment.
On the third day we got a piece of good news. Paskal rejoined us, beaming from ear to ear. The word he carried spread quickly throughout the camp. He’d encountered no luck at the first two cities—they were fearful of Astegal’s ire—but the Duke Leopoldo of Tibado was a crusty firebrand seething under Carthage’s yolk. He’d pledged a thousand men to the cause. Several dozen Euskerri headmen commenced to argue about the best method to mount a joint attack.
“How swiftly can he marshal them?” Sidonie asked Paskal.
He shrugged. “Immediately.”
She turned to me. “Can we have a look at the battlefield?”
“If Paskal knows a route to a safe vantage point,” I said.
“Oh, I do,” Paskal said cheerfully.
We left the Euskerri to argue and rode out of the camp, crossing several valleys and heading up a wooded slope. On Paskal’s orders, we left the horses and climbed the remaining yards on foot. At the top of the slope, the woods ended. We lay on our bellies and peered downward. We were northwest of the city, but we could see Amílcar spread below us and Astegal’s army much as we’d left it, except the trenches had grown deeper and the earthen bulwarks were higher.
“Where does Tibado lie?” Sidonie asked.
Paskal pointed south. “A day’s ride. If there’s to be an attack, the Duke would ford the river to the west and position his troops between the rivers.”
“I wish there was some way of alerting Amílcar,” she said absently.
“You’re not thinking of trying to slip through Astegal’s camp,” I warned her.
“Like Phèdre did at Troyes-le-Mont?” She gave me a quick smile. “Elua, no.”
“I imagine they’ll be on the lookout,” I said. “They know there’s a chance that aid is coming. But there’s no way for them to mount a full-scale counterattack if we can’t draw off some of Carthage’s forces.”
“There’s three hundred Amazigh horse and all those robes and veils,” Sidonie said. “Three hundred men could cross the bridge and ride right up to the camp in guise.”
“True,” I agreed. “That’s good for one strike, love. Then they’d have to flee or die. I’m not sure it’s worth it.”
She looked at me. “What if they stopped short?”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“Astegal’s clever,” Sidonie said. “And he’s vain. He likes knowing things and he likes being in control of things. You told me to think about what might lure him out of his camp, Imriel. What if his three hundred loyal Amazigh rode up to the verge of the river and stopped short there? Simply waited?”
“It would gall him,” I said slowly.
She nodded. “It would drive him mad. I don’t think he’d do anything foolish, not right away. He’d send a small delegation. But if you killed them and fell back—”
“He’d send a larger delegation,” I finished. “And if we continued to fall back—”
“You could lead them into ambush,” she agreed.
“And then the Duke’s men could fall on the others from behind!” Paskal’s eyes gleamed.
“They’d be horribly outnumbered,” I observed.
“Well, what if we divided our forces?” Sidonie suggested logically. “We could send the bulk of the Euskerri to join the Duke of Tibado and keep a thousand in reserve for the ambush. I can’t imagine more than that could maneuver efficiently in those woods anyway.”
“And if the ambush succeeded, we could capture the bridge and mount a rearguard attack on Astegal,” I said. “Mayhap hold the ground long enough for Liberio’s forces to get free of the city.”
“It’s possible,” Sidonie said. “If Tibado and the Euskerri stage a slow retreat of their own, it might create more of an opportunity to . . . Imriel, why are