When you watch all those docuntaries on ancient war, you miss out on all the particulars. The soldiers didn’t just march, they sang together, told jokes and stories, exchanged gossip. So n had wives, even children, among the camp followers. They’d take turns falling out of place to spend ti in their family wagons. Family service, you could call it.
So, when Brundle took up and down the line, introducing to the officers – the equivalent of lieutenants, captains, colonels – and, on the way, the troops, I was initially surprised at how loud a traveling army is. Might as well be a slightly out of tune marching band, but without all the fancy instrunts. Twenty-thousand n strong, plus their families, horses, cattle, sheep, chickens, wagons to carry dry foods and other supplies, the word ‘train’ fit very well. But so would ‘village.’
“Hey,” I said to Brundle, “why don’t we have any musicians walking along with the soldiers? I an, they’re already singing. Why not add music?”
“My lady, perhaps if you listened more closely?”
I did for a while and could just make out soone strumming a stringed instrunt. “Oh! There is music.”
“Yes.”
“But not organized? Like spread out?”
“Sotis an individual conscript will bring an instrunt. It gives him sothing to do, keeps his friends entertained.”
“That’s thoughtful. I wonder if we shouldn’t make an actual post for that?”
“A posting? Just the one?”
“No, I an several, a position for musician-soldiers.”
“Not a bad idea, but we don’t have any gold at the mont.”
“We could call them bards!”
He didn’t seem amused, raised an eyebrow. “Bards?”
“Let’s keep it in mind. Ok,” I switched topics, “tell how the army works. Start with phalanx. How many to a centurion? Centuriang? What was that called again?”
“Centuriad, my lady. Ten n long, ten n wide, one hundred n total. A centurion commands it.”
“Really?” As far as I was concerned, that was a point for the ga for two reasons: stealing from the Romans and two, making the numbers actually work. Believe it or not, but a centurion usually commanded not one hundred troops, but eighty. It’s true. If I had Wikipedia, I’d look it up. “And how many, uh, centuriads do we have?”
“We have one hundred and four, plus a few n extra. We started this campaign with over two hundred. So, of course, left with the Barclay troops.” He looked off into the distance, “We lost too many.”
“We did. It was awful.” The scenes of our lines collapsing rushed into my mind and I shook my head to clear them away. “Let’s stay on track. If I’m not getting this wrong, the total centuriads are divided into two main regints, each with a major?”
“Yes, well, more divisions than that. Anyways, you’ve t Rand and will be eting Gunmack shortly.”
“Gunmack. Gun. Ok, thanks. I’m terrible with nas. Gun. I should be able to rember that.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate you using his nickna.”
I gave him a sideways glance, he was smiling. “And you chose these n because . . .?”
“I’m glad you asked. Rand has been with for a long ti. He’s an extraordinary cavalry leader, excellent judge of tactics.”
“Tactics.”
“Yes.”
“One more ti, just so I have this straight. You know because I’m just a child and all. Tactics,” he was listening intently, probably seeing if his pupil was learning, “is the decision making in the heat of battle, whereas strategy is the plan we co up with before battle.”
“That’s correct. Tactics can also be the steps needed to achieve a strategy goal.”
“Ah, alright. I have this . . . I an, my father had this saying, ‘no plan survives battle intact.’” Little did he know that I stole that from a YouTube video on so German general. I was pretty sure I’d gotten the quote wrong, too.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“That’s essentially correct. Strategy is needed. If done right, an excellent guide, but a good leader knows how to adjust tactics as the battle progresses and changes.”
“And that’s Rand. What about Gun?”
“He’s younger. But a good head on him. It was Gun who kept the remaining phalanx from collapsing in our last battle.”
“Oh! The last phalanx to collapse.”
“Yes, the one you helped free by using the archers.”
“They . . . they were awaiting orders and, with none coming, were just happy to get so.”
“Yes, well, that’s Gun. We lost our major and the two colonels above him in that battle. He’s the next in line.”
“We were both there. He did a good job holding that, uh, centuriad together. Especially against those odds.” His unit was encircled by one cavalry unit, a phalanx and peltasts, with a phalanx on the way. So that was Gun. “They didn’t break until we created an opening for them. He’s a good pick. Alright, moving on. You said more divisions?”
“Yes. Every five centurions are led by a lieutenant, and five lieutenants led by a captain, four captains led by a major-”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down! Let’s see, that’s 500 n, then 2500, then 10000? Why do you switch from groups of five to four for majors?”
“Well, that’s the 10 000-man division.”
“Oh my god this is complicated!” Brundle was giving a blank stare. “Nothing, it’s fine. Right, moving on, two majors who report to you?
“That’s correct. And I report to you.”
I looked at him with a grimace, knowing full well it was just going to get worse, but asked anyways, “And the other, uh, regints?”
“5000 cavalry, broken into two, and the rest are ranged, skirmishers and peltasts.”
“Ok, yes, more complicated. Ugh.”
“Is it? The cavalry themselves are broken into two groups, light and heavy and . . .”
I sort of zoned out then, nodding and smiling, asking questions when he paused, when he was expecting questions. It was very orderly, as you’d expect, like the phalanx. Perhaps too orderly. Real life wasn’t usually like this, but I guess an army needed it. At least they weren’t introducing totally new terminology. Sigh. Another point for the ga scenario.
***
It was late morning, heading into afternoon, by the ti I’d finished with Brundle. I didn’t get the chance to et Gun yet, but at least I rembered his na. Hopefully, he’d be as useful as a gun would be to . Definitely could use a bunch of automatic rifles.
I assured Brundle I could get back without problem and didn’t need an escort. It was simple, I just headed up the train. Looking forward to getting off this horse and having lunch – their dinner – I ca upon a bunch of soldiers burning a single tree. It was dium sized, with lots of thick vines coming off the main arms of the tree, touching all the way to the ground. They were moving! Writhing in the flas the soldiers had set, and branches being tossed all around its trunk.
“Hey,” I directed my horse over there, “what’s going on?”
“Oh, Your Highness!” The soldier bowed low.
My horse was nervous, stepping and stepping, so I asked the man, “Could you take the reins, hold her steady?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Why are we burning that tree and why is it still, ah, moving?” I got down from the horse, petting it, trying to calm it down.
“That’s a strangler, that is. Gotta burn ‘em when we find ‘em.”
The vines twisted and twisted, trying to get away from the fire, but more wood was piled on it, the fire climbed ever higher, blackening the bark. Steam began rising from so of them and their twitching slowed.
“A strangler? I’ve, uh, never seen one before. What do they do?”
“Mostly they jus’ catch animals. This one here, next to the road, well it’s gotta go. It’ll wrap around you in your sleep. Strangle you, you know? If you’re unlucky.”
I walked a little closer, to get a better look. Its branches fanned out and were sparse, like it was trying to copy an umbrella. Thick leaves, but just the one layer, similar to what so people call a shade tree.
The man actually put his arm in front of my, chest level, “Your Highness, it’s not safe to get too close to these. We’ll take care of it.”
“Alright,” I turned to him, “thank you. Very educational. You’re doing good work, thanks for . . . killing it. Could you help get back on my horse?”
He made a step by clasping his hands together, I thanked him as I planted my foot on him, my human ladder, more bows and highnessing, and off I rode to dinner.
***
“Yes, Princess, a strangler tree. I saw them burning it as we rolled by.” Morry explained, sitting at the dinner table. Tread and Brin were lost in conversation with each other, as bizarre as that was. So, I’d asked the big guy what the heck that tree was.
“Why are we burning it?”
Another one of those, ‘are you seriously asking what a spoon is?’ looks. “Well, they kill people. Mainly animals.”
“Why mainly animals?”
“Because there’s more animals than people.”
“Oh. Yeah, makes sense.”
He smirked. “They do exactly as they’re nad. They wrap around your body, maybe your neck, and carry you off to their roots.”
“Damn. A lot of nitrogen in a body, I guess.”
“Pardon ?”
“Oh, most carnivorous plants are after nitrogen.”
“Ni-tro-jen? No, mostly these plants eat animals.”
“Are they even plants?
“It’s got leaves.”
“But plants don’t usually move. Or eat things.”
“Stranglers do.”
“Yeah, alright, point taken. Are there any more carnivorous plants? That I should be aware of?”
“There’s grab grass, but usually found in deserts. And worm-thistle, but those tend to be in high elevations.”
“Grab grass? Like, grass that holds your feet or sothing?”
“Sothing like that. In concert with ants. It holds you still while the ants eat you.”
“Ants . . . eat you?”
“Yes, they live under the grass.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“People usually get away. Smaller animals like mice aren’t so lucky.”
“I don’t even want to know what worm-thistle is.”
“Well, it’s a-”
I covered my ears, “Not listening! Not listening!”
Morry folded his arms, sat back, a very slight smile on his face.
***
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