The Golden Mean - Annabel Lyon [80]
“Now?”
Around the tent, men are slowly relaxing, speaking in low voices, some even lying down.
“There won’t be any work yet. Wounded who could bring themselves in will keep fighting if they can. There’s a detail to bring in the fallen but they won’t go onto the field until the archers are done. Head likes everyone to stay at their stations just in case, but we’ve probably got some time, unless it’s a rout. Arrow wounds first. That’s what the pliers are for, yeah? Our goal is to get men back out, get them back fighting. We treat the easy ones first. Eyes, chest, or spear arm, leave those for later. Head usually sorts them for us but he can’t catch everything. If something unexpected comes up, don’t waste time. Remember: eyes, chest, or spear arm, send them back to Head. If they live, we deal with them later.”
“Eyes, chest, spear arm.”
“Want to know what’s happening outside?”
“Yes. Yes.”
The young medic digs in his satchel, puts away the dice, and pulls out some tiny wooden figurines, smaller than my fingers. “Here’s Philip, here on the right, the sword arm, facing the Athenians. Alexander on the left, the shield arm, facing the Thebans and Boetians. Infantry between. We’re a little outnumbered, but not badly.” He starts to manoeuvre the figurines like a child playing toys; he actually bumps them up and down on the ground to show movement. Like toys; like theatre. “Two arms, pincers. Theban tactics, yeah? You know Philip was a hostage in Thebes when his brother was king?” I know. “Learned from the best. They’ll regret that now. Philip’s going to try to extend the Athenian line, draw it out, retreat a little even, so they think they’re winning. Overextend the line and then turn on them and break through the gaps with the cavalry. Alexander on the other side, well. Might as well fight flame, yeah? That’s what they say. And then the two sides come together and there you go.”
“How do you know all this?”
He scoops the figurines up in a quick handful. “Up early, before Head sealed the tent. On my way to the river I got a look at the field. I could see the standards, how the enemy laid itself out. And I’ve seen enough of Philip’s battles to know how he usually works. Overextend the enemy line, then work the cavalry in as a wedge. Use Alexander to scare the holy hell out of everybody.”
“He’s never used Alexander before, though.”
“He’s been looking forward to this one.”
I reach for his handful of figurines, raise my eyebrows to say, May I? He lets me take a couple.
“Bragging about it for weeks,” he continues. “ ‘The day my son comes. The day they see what my son can do.’ ”
“Did you carve these?”
“Myself.” Whittled wood, cute. Little soldiers in assorted costume. He points, naming them. “Illyrian, Thessalian. Olynthian, this one, yeah? Triballian, here. I like that one.”
“Stations!” Head calls.
He lifts the tent flap for our first casualty, a Macedonian with an arrow to the thigh. The soldier has already snapped off the shaft. Head points him to a station. When the medic yanks the point out with his pliers, the soldier screams.
“You, and you, and you,” Head is saying.
Suddenly I’ve got a man in front of me, a mercenary. He’s bleeding over his eye but that could be shallow. He looks at me and vomits down his front. I see the arrow then, buried in his left shoulder.
“Send him back,” the young medic says, barely looking at me. He’s busy with his own man now.
I tell the mercenary to lie down. “Use your pliers?”
“Send him back.”
“Shield arm.” I take the pliers and yank. The man screams. The arrowhead comes out, it actually comes out. I’ve done one. I fumble to strip his leather tunic to get a bandage on. The man opens his eyes and looks at me and dies.
“No, wait,” I say.
The young medic points to his groin, to the blossom of blood there. “Eyes, chest, spear arm, groin. Head!” He points to my station.
Head sends a couple of attendants to carry the body away. Immediately there’s another, and another. Soon my clothes are soaked with blood. Most of them die. As the young medic predicted, arrow wounds give way