JANISSARIES

"By nightfall they will be at the villa of Patroclus Sempronius," the scout commander reported.

"So far?" This was ruin. Sempronius was a cousin of the Empress. Worse, the considerable town of Sentinius was just beyond. Caesar would never, never forgive the prefect who allowed a Roman city to be sacked by barbarians. They would have to be stopped, and quickly.

"How many legio

"Three thousand, prefect."

That would include all the regulars and a considerable number of the reservists under their local leaders. Marselius sighed with regret: he could remember when a full four thousand regulars were kept in the camps. Ten years of peace in this province had robbed it of half that number. Caesar did not care to keep armies larger than necessary, for fear they would rebel.

"Three thousand should be more than enough," Marselius said.

The legate gri

"What indeed? Sound the trumpets. Before the True Sun sets, I want the legion between Sentinius and these tribesmen. We will attack them in the morning when two shadows show clearly."

Rick sighed with relief when he saw Tylara return at the head of her cavalry. He still didn't like her going out on patrols, but had to admit that she was the most effective scout commander he had.

The villa where he stood was a good example. It was large and comfortable, and she'd not only waited for the advance guard before charging the thin screen of armed retainers defending the place, she'd also kept the troops from looting and burning it. Now it could be systematically stripped of its valuables. There were over a thousand bushels of wheat in the granary, and the barns held both wagons and horses to transport it.

He went down the broad steps to meet her, and helped her down from her horse. Not that she needed help, but he found he liked being close to her.

"I have seen the legion," she said. She spoke quietly, so that no one else heard.

"Where?"

"About thirty stadia."

The Romans used miles, a thousand paces of a legionary, but Tylara's people had stayed with the ancient Greek measure, about a quarter of a kilometer. "What were they doing?"

"They had dismounted and were pitching tents. I left five men to watch them. Two have crept close to the Roman camp. If the Romans begin to saddle their horses, they will bring word instantly."

I may just have fallen in love with you, Rick thought. That is, if I didn't weeks ago. He looked up at the suns. About an hour of daylight, and another three hours of dimmer but adequate light from the Firestealer.

"We'll fight them here," he said. "It's as good a place as any." There was a lake-not large, but big enough to stop heavy cavalry-five hundred meters to the south. It would do as an anchor for the right flank, and there was a game preserve, thickly 'wooded, a kilometer off to the left. Fifteen hundred meters was a pretty long line to hold with the number of troops he had, but it beat hell out of trying to form squares in open country.

"Pity they didn't come last night," Rick said. "We had a better position between those hills. But this will do fine. Let's find your father. We'll have to get the men into position while there's still light."

The preparations didn't take long. Rick had told them over and over the importance of bivouacking in a battle position, and eventually it had sunk in. He didn't have to adjust the fronts of the regiments at all.

The First Pikes were forward and to the left, at the edge of the woods, with a foam of armed camp followers stiffened with a few archers in the woods itself. The Second Pikes, his largest force, were two hundred meters behind and three hundred meters to the right of the First Pikes. The diagonal between was ditched, and stakes were set. Each stake was driven into the ground so that it slanted forward. They were set in a checkerboard pattern, three-foot intervals between stakes, so that the First Archers could move through the thicket. Behind them was Mason with his battle rifle.

Slightly behind and all the way over to the lake was the Third Pike Regiment. This left a gap directly in front of the villa of nearly eight hundred meters between the right edge of the Second and the left edge of the Third. He filled that with the remaining archers, and in front of them he had the troops dig ditches, drag up wagons and brush, and dig a random pattern of small hoof-catching holes.

"I want lanes between those obstacles," he told the engineer officer. Lanes would fu

The engineers were a group of slaves liberated from looted farms. They'd been promised their freedom and a share of loot in exchange for their help. Rick's offer to pay them had surprised the slaves almost as much as it surprised his own troops. Some of them had even offered to enlist, but Rick refused. During the battle, they'd be locked in their barracks. He didn't need untrained and untrustworthy men wandering around at a crucial moment.

At dark Rick threw another screen of light cavalry forward to observe the enemy force. The other troops were allowed to fall out and make camp, leaving their weapons in place to mark their exact. position on the battle line.

He rode around the encampment for an hour, stopping to talk with groups of clansmen around their watchfires. Julius Caesar had used a pickle to illustrate obscene jokes on the night before Pharsalia. How could you measure the morale value of a pickle? Rick settled for more conventional pep talk, emphasizing the surprise the Romans would get when the star weapons began knocking them off their horses.

Eventually it was done, and he could go into the villa for his own di

"There's one more order," he told a staff officer. "I'll hold you responsible for seeing that the cooks are up at dawn. I want hot porridge for every man in the outfit before the sun's an hour high."

The man who until a few hours before had been master of the villa sat across the table and glowered at Rick and his officers.

"Caesar will have your head," he blustered.

Rick examined him curiously. The man was fat, about forty Earth years in Rick's estimation, and didn't look any more like a Roman than a heavy cavalry brigade resembled a legion. Rick wondered which group of kidnapped expeditionaries had furnished his ancestry. That was one question it would do no good to ask.

"As Yatar wills," Rick said. "But you're likely to lose yours before Caesar knows of ours."

"I am cousin to Caesar," the man protested.

"Caesar will ransom me."

"We'll see. At the moment I want information. How many troops will we be facing in the morning?"

"I am Spurius Patroclus Sempronius, and I do not betray Rome," the fat man said.

"Hah!" Baiquhain stood and drew his dagger. "We'll see how he likes being sent to Caesar a piece at a time."

Sempronius turned slightly green, but he set his lips in a tight line.

"No need," Rick said gently. "My scouts have told me all I really need to know." He turned back to the prisoner. "Tell me this: what keeps the slaves from revolting? There were over a hundred here."

"Three hundred. Why should they revolt? They are well treated. And Caesar's legions would crucify them."

That or a variant on the theme was the answer to just about every question. Caesar's legions kept order and Caesar's officers collected taxes. Caesar's freedmen ran the post office, and Caesar's slaves kept the city sewers in repair.

"Is there no Senate?" Rick asked.

"Certainly. I am a senator of Rome."