Chapter 17 : Sabina Rustica
Chapter 17
Sabina Rustica
The Arvenians tried to come up with a plan to strike the manor they now knew as Sabina Rustica. Several ideas were discussed when a horse-drawn carriage appeared on the road up the hill, followed by two canvas-covered carts pulled by pairs of mules. The lookout spotted them and quickly raised the alarm. Anci took several men and went out to investigate. Before long, they recognized Thomas and the golden-haired Felicity. Swiftly descending from their hideout, Anci waved them over and guided them to the camp, where the others were waiting.
To everyone’s surprise, Felis had kept her word and brought several seasoned men, most in their late thirties or early forties. They were duelists, watchmen, and thief-takers, and together they made an intimidating group. Some wore proud mustaches, while others were clean-shaven. Dressed in gambesons and brigandines, they looked ready for battle, and their carts were loaded with poleaxes, swords, helmets, and shields.
Lansius helped himself to a sturdy hunting spear, keeping his sword as a last resort.
Felis introduced the seven hired men-at-arms first, then presented their leader. “This is a special friend of mine, Calub the alchemist, and his assistant, Jardin.”
Calub was a tall, tanned man with short, curly hair, and he wore a milky-white leather coat. He offered a slight bow, followed by Jardin. While Calub had the look of a scholar, the shorter Jardin carried an imposing presence, his beard and muscular arms making him seem like a living dwarven statue.
“Fire grenade.” Anci’s eyes flashed.
Calub heard the remark and smiled. Lansius guessed the two would get along easily.
With the sun already halfway down in the west, they resumed discussion of their battle plan. With Felis’s group, they now had around forty men, but it was still hard to come up with a plan against a fortified compound.
“Palisade walls with almost no gaps. Armed men, patrols, even stables inside. So watch for horsemen,” Anci reported, sketching the compound’s layout in the dirt from memory, based on the drawing Lansius had made earlier.
“From the smuggler, we learned that the compound holds at least a hundred men, possibly more,” Hugo informed the newcomers.
“Looks rough,” the dwarven-looking Jardin commented.
No one spoke for a moment, so Anci took the initiative. “It’s within our strength. I say let’s storm them from two sides.” He used both hands to illustrate a pincer attack.
Lansius refrained from commenting, but he felt it was far too risky. They did not have the numbers, and against a well-defended place, it was near suicide.
Calub shook his head, likely sharing the same concern. “You are numerous, but not in age or experience.”
Hugo nodded, though reluctantly.
“Indeed, many are too young,” old Thomas said of the Arvenians.
Lansius, who had spent more hours than anyone else studying the compound and the surrounding ground, wanted to suggest a different approach, but his background as a mere clerk weighed heavily on him. He even felt he had no right to be there.
Meanwhile, Felis seemed eerily at ease among these men. “We only have five crossbow users, myself included.”
At her words, Hugo looked slightly uncomfortable. Lansius suspected that, like him, Hugo also doubted Felis’s ability, but they could not risk offending her or her associates. They needed as many hands as possible.
“The spear and shield will do just fine,” Anci remarked. “The boys have met the women and children I rescued earlier, so their morale is high.”
No one contested Anci’s words, but the decision lay in Hugo’s hands.
Of the three squires, Thomas was older, but he had only recently become a retainer. Before that, he had been little more than a foot soldier. Anci, on the other hand, was younger and held less authority than Hugo.
“Anci, take Thomas and twenty men. I’ll take another twenty,” Hugo began. “You’ll attack first and draw them out. Keep them occupied while I strike from the west side and stage a rescue.” He then looked at Lansius. “We’ll leave the younger ones in your care. Just wait here. If we need help, we’ll come to you.”
By the Ageless, that’s only a bit better than Anci’s plan.
Lansius glanced at the rest of them, but nobody said a word.
Where in The Art of War does it say that forty men should storm a well-defended compound held by more than a hundred?
Thomas, Felis, and Calub turned their backs, signaling that the discussion was over.
A wave of panic washed over Lansius. His memory was a mes, yet he still felt that his grasp of tactics, sharpened by the countless hours he had spent studying historical battles, gave him insights the others did not have.
Despite the sudden dryness in his mouth, Lansius forced himself to speak. “Do you mind if I share my thoughts on this attack?”
Everyone paused. Calub looked at Lansius and, after a soft snort, asked, “You’re what, a scribe?”
“A clerk,” Lansius corrected, “but I have also studied warfare.”
Hugo and Thomas looked doubtful. Meanwhile, Felis gave him a surprisingly encouraging look, while Calub nodded once to show he was open to hearing him out. However, it was Anci who broke the silence.
“Meh, we’ve heard the slowpoke. Might as well listen to the clerk.”
Lansius knelt and quickly drew a rectangle, a series of lines, and a circle in the dirt with a stick. It was a larger-scale drawing than Anci’s, showing the area around the manor in broader detail. Hugo, Thomas, and Calub were immediately drawn to it and knelt down as well.
“This is our target, the manor on the next hill.” Lansius pointed to the rectangle. “And this is the only road from there leading to us.”
Calub followed the crude map, nodded, and asked, “And what is this circle in the middle?”
“There’s a lake between us and our target, just beside the road,” Lansius explained.
“The lowlands,” Anci remarked from behind.
Lansius continued. “My plan is not to attack them at their strongest point, but to lure them out and fight them at a location of our choosing.”
Old Thomas glanced at Hugo, who was deep in thought.
At last, Hugo asked, “And how do you propose we beat them once they’re out?”
Lansius placed three stones on the map and said, “We’ll bait them here. Then one team will hold them in place while another flanks them from behind.”
The plan began to take shape.
Calub was the first to speak. “My men and I can form a defense. Even with a small force, we could hold off dozens if the ground is right.”
“A bait and ambush might work better than a straight surprise attack,” Anci commented.
Hugo seemed to be warming to the plan.
“But first,” Lansius warned them, “this can only work if we eliminate their horses.”
***
The Manor
An elderly guard reclined in solitude beneath a large tree near the manor’s palisade gate. Though the sky was overcast, the summer heat was still relentless. He had hung his doublet on a nearby branch, allowing the breeze to cool him down. Since morning, he had toiled to maintain discipline among his men, resolving minor quarrels and ensuring order in the newcomers’ dormitory.
The sounds of steady plowing and weeding bore witness to his efforts. Everything was well organized, just as his master had demanded.
Following the Arvena war, Sabina Rustica Manor, also known as the Den, experienced an influx of “newcomers.” They were assessed like commodities; those with potential were further cultivated to garner a higher value, while the mediocre were assigned to work in the shops or on the farm.
Contrary to popular belief, female slaves did not fetch high prices. What drew a premium were skilled individuals. Unprincipled nobles would pay handsomely for laborers, carpenters, or scribes. Laborers were employed on farms or orchards; carpenters for private construction projects such as concealed rooms on estates; and scribes to handle illegal dealings and transactions.
There was minimal risk of leaks, as slaves were bound to their masters. This loyalty made them ideal candidates for sensitive roles, such as serving in the inner chambers where family affairs were talked about openly.
Not all requests were malicious. Occasionally, a secret adoption would be arranged. There were other specialized roles, such as female bodyguards, as opposed to eunuchs. Nonetheless, it was indisputable that these slaves would never experience freedom again.
At the heart of this illicit operation was Bogdan, an old veteran of the northern uprising. As the caretaker, he directed his laborers to expand their fields. He had ambitious plans to enlarge the complex, which already included an additional farm, dormitory, and vineyard.
For Bogdan, the manor symbolized his reward, sustenance, and retirement, all in one. Though not the owner, his role as caretaker granted him near ownership. Sabina Rustica afforded him a life far superior to what his social standing would otherwise permit.
This advantage extended to many of Bogdan’s accomplices, including the elderly guard who now enjoyed his tranquil private garden. The day was far from over, yet he was already contemplating his evening meal, a game of dice, and spending time with his mistress.
As the old guard swatted flies away from the festering wound on his right hand, he was reminded of the incident two days prior, when he had been careless with an Arvenian woman. While punishing her, an unexpected guest had arrived, and Bogdan needed him to bolster security.
A sly smile crossed the old guard's face as he pondered the retribution he would exact upon her once the guest had departed.
Clang—Clang—Clang!
As if doused with icy water, the old man sprang to his feet, scanning his surroundings before focusing on the sentry atop the manor house.
The sentry finally noticed him and yelled, “Three horsemen!”
This revelation alarmed the old guard. The Den was only expecting a carriage from Arvena sometime this week, but no one had mentioned horsemen. Hastily, he donned his doublet, grabbed his poleaxe, and sprinted to the gates. “Does anyone know about this?” he asked his men.
“No, boss. No one heard any . . .” one of his men replied.
He clicked his tongue, sensing something amiss. “You lot. Come with me.”
Four men groaned as they emerged from the wooden gatehouse. The heat was oppressive, and they had been secretly drinking.
“Where’d these horsemen come from? I thought the boss bought off all the local baronets and knights,” one queried.
“Maybe they’re just the guest’s men?” another suggested nervously.
A third grumbled, “I didn’t sign up for this."
“You signed up for rape, loot, and arson, but not fights?” the fourth taunted his comrades, inciting a commotion.
“Silence or I’ll cut off your noses!” the old guard barked.
The five men stood and waited until the three horsemen were close enough to shout at. They could see the horsemen wore brigandines and ring mail, but bore no banners.
“I’m Archibald, a champion from Arvena. Prepare to die!” the lead horseman declared.
“What did he say?” The men glanced at each other. Their instincts told them to flee, and so they did, legs pumping at the first sound of hoofbeats.
The old man readied his poleaxe, but he knew he stood no chance. At last, he too turned and sprinted away.
“Crossbows! Crossbowmen!” he shouted, calling for support from behind the gates.
The three horsemen thundered after the fleeing men, who cried out desperately for their allies to open the gates. The riders quickly caught them and struck without mercy. Three of the fleeing men went down at once.
“Crossbowmen!” The old guard made his final plea before a lance pierced his back.
Fulfilling the old man’s dying request, a meager two shots were fired from the slits near the gate. Both missed their marks.
The horsemen laughed as they cut down the last man, who went limp before his face hit the ground.
Two of the horsemen dismounted, dragged the victims away, and stripped them of their gear. “Wow, look what I found—a gold ring and a necklace. These guys are loaded!”
The leading rider, Anci, laughed and turned back toward the gate. “Is there no manhood left inside?”
Above, the sentry hammered the iron bell again. Its clang drove the men in the manor toward the gatehouse. They had yet to learn what had happened when something shattered against the palisade wall. A heartbeat later, the left side of the gate burst into flames.
“Fire!”
The guards panicked and recoiled from the gate as smoke began to rise.
“Buckets! Get the buckets! Have the slaves fill them!” one of the ranking men shouted.
The men sprang to work. They needed a great many buckets, but in the end they managed to put the fire out. That was when the master of the manor, Bogdan, arrived on the scene. “What are you waiting for? Send the riders out!”
Black smoke still billowed from one side of the gate as the heavy wooden door swung open. Eight riders brandishing swords and lances galloped out in pursuit of the three horsemen.
Seeing the new threat, Anci led his two comrades in a hasty retreat.
The eight riders from the Den relentlessly pursued Anci, charging downhill toward a glade where the dense forest met a large pond. Their eyes were fixed on the man ahead, and none of them noticed the men lying in wait among the trees. The moment they entered the glade, armed men rushed out from the woods with spears and swords, catching the unsuspecting pursuers off guard.
“Ambush! It’s an ambush!” the riders cried as the spearmen struck. The riders tried to wheel their horses around, but another group of spearmen moved in to block their way out. At the same time, others pelted them with rocks.
“Have courage!” the leading rider shouted, trying to rally his companions. But he failed to notice Anci, who had turned back and was now closing in from behind.
The two groups of horsemen drew nearer. Distracted by the men in front of them, the riders from the manor never checked their rear. It was a fatal mistake. Anci rode past the group and drove his lance into the leading rider’s ringmailed back. The point punched through, and with a gasp, the rider toppled from his horse.
That brutal end sent the remaining riders spreading in panic, their faces twisted with fear.
“Yield, or I’ll do the same to you, slavers! Decide now!” Anci shouted at the nearest one as more of his allies formed up beside him.
Despite the threat, three riders made a desperate dash for the exit.
...
“Spear front! Keep formation!” Lansius shouted as the three riders came galloping toward his group. As a clerk in young Lord Arte’s retinue, he had been given a small command.
Eight men, some older and some younger than him, lowered their spears and polearms. Behind the front line of spearmen stood four crossbowmen with Felis among them. Lansius prayed the force under him would be enough to blunt a cavalry charge.
“They’re not stopping,” Felis remarked, almost cheerfully.
What kind of girl is she...?
Lansius swallowed dryly and turned to the crossbowmen. “Pick your targets.”
At this range, he had no reason to doubt their aim. “Loose!”
The four crossbowmen around him and Felis pulled their triggers. The sounds of bowstrings and wooden prods snapping back into place filled the air, followed by the sharp whistling of bolts.
Two steel-tipped bolts found their targets. One struck a rider, while the other hit a horse. Both veered off course.
Small cheers erupted from Lansius’s ranks.
“Not yet, one more!” Lansius moved to the front row to fortify their undermanned wall of spears. Standing shoulder to shoulder with the other men, together they planted the end of their spear into the ground like a stake and held it firmly.
The lone horseman, less than forty paces away, continued to gallop, appearing mad enough to force his way through.
Lansius wanted to rally his men, but the words wouldn’t come. Others clenched their jaws or ground their teeth as they stared at the approaching terror. The charging horse made each of them feel as if it were targeting them personally.
This isn’t going to work, we’re too thin . . .
Doubt and fear dawned on him as the ground shook from the thundering hooves of the warhorse. Taller than a man and weighing more than nine of them combined, the warhorse alone was a formidable opponent.
Its large black nostrils flared as the beast went against its instinct to keep away from the column of men. It continued galloping, leaving a trail of dust and dirt in its wake.
Lansius’s fingers turned white from gripping his spear tightly. The other men trembled, cowered, but braced themselves for the inevitable.
Suddenly, a deafening yet familiar whistle cut through the air from behind him. Lansius resisted the urge to turn, his focus locked on the horse charging straight at him. Then he caught the sudden change in its movement. The powerful beast began to falter, its stride turning uneven, as if refusing to continue the charge. With a sharp swerve, it veered off course while its rider slumped lifelessly in the saddle.
“Oh, I got it,” Felis declared, her tone dripping with casual confidence.
Only then did Lansius look back and see Felis, who had clearly fired the last shot. The other crossbowmen were still busy reloading.
Realizing they were out of danger, the men cheered loudly. Many could barely stand straight, and the ground reeked of urine, but they raised their fists in the air and taunted their opponents.
“Great shot!” Lansius said to Felis, amid a chorus of compliments from everyone else.
Felis chuckled but didn’t celebrate. “Compared to running goblins and the labyrinth’s foul beasts, they’re nothing,” she muttered quietly to herself.
Lansius took a deep breath. They had stopped the riders from breaking through, but the battle wasn’t over. In the distance, he saw another rider challenging Anci.
“Anci’s horse seems tired,” one of the crossbowmen observed.
Lansius squinted his eyes.
“Nah, he’ll be all right. The man is a natural,” Felis reassured.
“You can tell?” Lansius inquired.
“The way he controls the horse. He’s not relying on the reins, as the nomads do,” Felis explained.
Ah . . . Indeed, nomads even used bows on horseback.
Just as she had predicted, Anci bested the final challenger like a seasoned fighter dealing with a raw recruit. After that, the few remaining riders finally threw down their weapons. Seeing this, Thomas, Calub, and several other men rushed in from the far side to seize them.
***
The Arvenians finally secured the captured raiders, who had surrendered their weapons and horses. Anci dismounted, checked his horse for injuries, and gave the mare a pat when he found none.
Thomas approached him with a waterskin. “I can’t believe this actually worked.”
Anci took the waterskin, drank from it, then lowered it for his horse to drink as well. “Your friend has a sharp mind.”
“I never knew he was more than just a clerk,” old Thomas muttered.
“Maybe you never asked?” Anci suggested.
Thomas chuckled.
Calub approached the two. “Sorry to interrupt, but I think we should send a messenger.”
“No need. Our little marshal is watching from over there.” Anci gestured toward the line of spearmen guarding the path to the manor.
Thomas followed Anci’s gaze and spotted Lansius among his men. He let out a snort, while Calub glanced between them, still trying to grasp the humor.
Among Sir Peter’s retinue, Hugo had always acted as though he were in charge, much to Anci’s annoyance. Despite his laid-back manner, he could be rather bossy. Seeing someone else in command gave Anci a great deal of satisfaction.
“So . . .?” Calub wasn’t sure what to do next. There wasn’t a clear chain of command in a ragtag war band like theirs.
“No need for a messenger. I’ll speak to Lansius myself. I’ll be heading back up anyway,” Anci said.
“You’re going uphill again? Oh . . ." Thomas asked, half guessing at the plan Lansius had laid out. “The second step, or is it the third?”
Anci tried to count on his fingers.
Watching them, Calub, an alchemist used to working through complicated steps, easily recalled the stages of Lansius’s seemingly complex battle plan. “The first step was the bait. The second was luring them here. Now comes the third.”
The other two readily nodded in agreement. Having tasted a small victory, they were eager for more. That success was proof enough that Lansius’s plan was worth trusting.
With renewed confidence in their strategy, they began preparing for the next steps. Anci and his fellow riders took a short rest, giving their horses time to recover. Even after the break, Anci noticed his mount was still breathing hard, so he gave the horse an affectionate pat and chose a fresher one from the captured stock.
He then rode over to Lansius’s group to go over the plan once more.
With the sun at their backs, Anci set off uphill at a relaxed pace with four other riders. As planned, five footmen went with them, each leading one or two horses. The moment they came into view, the manor stirred to life with the sound of hammering metal and shouted orders.
Grinning, Anci paraded the captured horses and called out in a loud, clear voice, “My gratitude for these fine horses. Have you anything else to offer?”
This time, the slavers answered at once. The gate swung open, and armed men began pouring out.
“Charge! Punish these fools!” Bogdan commanded, clad in bright brigandine.
Anci took in the scene and saw seventy men forming up against him, with another thirty emerging from a hidden position on the far side of the compound. Caught off guard by the breadth of their line, even he hesitated for a moment before pulling back in disorder, losing two captured horses in the process.
The enemy had answered far more aggressively than expected.
Sensing weakness in Anci’s retreat, the slavers hurled their full strength into the pursuit, eager for blood.
***