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"SEND OUT YOUR LEADERS TO PARLEY! SEND OUT YOUR LEADERS OR BE DESTROYED!"
The harsh amplified sound echoed back from the surviving sections of wall, giving a blurring edge to it.
The gu
Twenty minutes later Marian sighed and reached for the microphone to order another round of bombardment. Then Swindapa pointed:
"Look!"
Four Tartessians came climbing over the rubble of the gate and wall, waving green branches of their own. They had a white shield and a white flag on a pole as well, taking no chances. Two were youngish men in the green tunic and trousers and brown leather jerkin of Tartessian uniform; one of those was limping, and the other had a bandaged arm. The civilians were older, in shoulder-baring tunics, and sweating with fear from the way they wiped at their brows.
"Garrison commanders and mayor," she murmured. "All right, 'dapa, give them the word."
A harsh gabble of ancient Iberian; the wounded soldier spat in the roadway.
"He says King Isketerol will come with a great army and destroy your little band," Swindapa relayed.
Marian met the man's eyes and lifted a slow brow. Then she pointed to the ultralights.
"With those, we destroy your relay towers as we please. The highlanders and the bands of freed slaves are ambushing couriers on the roads. King Isketerol doesn't even know you've been attacked, and won't for days. By the time any force he sends could get here, we'll be gone… and your town will be destroyed."
"You will destroy it anyway!" the mayor burst out.
"But if you surrender, your people will live. Apart from your own lives, your King won't thank you for losing all those skilled men, as well as all the machinery and goods."
Marian climbed down from the turret, jumping to the ground and drawing her katana. Hell of a way to treat good steel, she thought, as she scratched a circle around the feet of the enemy leaders. The Tartessians flinched back from her. A reputation was useful now and then.
"Decide before you step out of that circle-life or death," she said, drawing her sword through a cleaning cloth and sheathing it over her shoulder in a single quick snapping movement.
A habit of reading history was useful too…
The Tartessians went into a huddle, waving arms and yelling at each other; Swindapa came to stand by her side, translating bits into her ear now and then. At last they faced her, drawing themselves up and then going to their knees with bitter dignity.
"What are your terms?" they asked.
She kept an expression of distaste off her face; it was just the local custom, but she still didn't like seeing people kneel.
"All free citizens and their families to leave within two hours, taking only what they can carry. I'll allow carts for small children, nursing mothers, and the sick and old, but don't try my patience. Soldiers to be paroled on promise of staying out of the rest of this war."
So far Isketerol was sticking strictly to that, although the slash of indelible ink the Islanders put on each surrendered soldier's forehead-with a promise to shoot them out of hand if taken in arms again-might have something to do with it. The arrangement rested on solid mutual interest. Tartessos got to keep the men, who could work for now and fight again later, and the Islanders were spared the trouble of guarding and feeding prisoners. Since the alternative in cases like this where they couldn't take them back was killing them or cutting off their trigger fingers, she was profoundly glad Isketerol had gone along with it.
"Slaves to be freed, except those who wish to go with the rest of you."
A surprising number always did. House niggers, she thought, and then chided herself. A lot of them wouldn't have many options, particularly women with young children.
"Where are we to go? The highlanders are loose in the land; that is why so many have fled within our walls!" the mayor burst out. "If you drive us out defenseless, they will kill us all before tomorrow's sunset!"
OK, that's a valid point… and we did arm the mountain men.
"Twenty soldiers may keep their rifles, with ten rounds each," she said. "Men may keep a sword or spear, if they have it. You ought to be all right if you keep together and head straight for the Great River, that way." She pointed southwest. "That's my final word, so don't try wheedling."
She made herself watch as the citizens shuffled out of the gates, bent under bundles of their belongings-there would be a thick scatter of abandoned household goods all across the countryside, soon enough; the smart ones would have confined the loads to money, a change of clothing, and all the food they could carry. The curses thrown at her were easy enough to take; the sheer hopeless misery of sudden poverty wasn't, or the crying of the bewildered children trudging by holding on to their mothers' skirts.
If I can order it done, I can watch, she thought, her face like something carved from ebony. Swindapa wiped away a tear.
"And this bit isn't much more fun," Marian muttered, once the Tartessians were gone.
Like all the towns they'd seen, this one had a broad central square; she wasn't sure if that was old Tartessian custom or something Isketerol had imposed. Right now it was crowded with about five hundred people, mostly men in rough clothing, with a scattering of women. Some of the slaves looked gaunt and terrified, or bore the marks of shackle and lash, or the scars of working with hot metal and inadequate protection. Others still were just the usual work-roughened Bronze Age locals. All of them hung back from the frightening novelty of the armored car, which gave a useful circle of free space. Marian took a long breath and looked down on the sea of expectant bearded faces turned toward her and shouted:
"You are free!"
Swindapa turned it into Tartessian, working in smooth unison with her partner. Marian relied on trained lungpower; no need to terrify them more with the megaphone. Stu
"We ca
If we tried, we'd slow ourselves down and the Tartessians might be able to mousetrap us.
"We will give everyone here a rifle and ammunition."
From the town armory; stolen goods are never sold at a loss, as the saying goes.
"You may take what you will from the houses and storehouses." More cheers at that; a lot of the poor bastards would get no further than the wine jars, and still be sobering up when the Tartessian army arrived. "But be quick, for we will destroy this town."
She pointed northward. "You may run for the mountains and the forests, or try to make your way south to our bases. Either way, move fast, for the Tartessians will send soldiers here soon, and we are not staying. My advice is to take weapons, clothing, food, and tools only, and to run far and fast."
The crowd cheered again and broke up, murmuring. Some were wandering around aimlessly, others heading for something long desired. A few thoughtful or timid ones were making for the gates, determined to catch up with their former masters.
Sighing, she dropped back into the turret. "Let's get to work."
"I'm thinkin' that ours was the first major battle in history where both sides retreated afterward," Patrick O'Rourke said quietly, warming his hands at the stove.