The knoll lay but a spear’s throw away. A rough palisade was already rising as Captain Thiadbold ordered the defense. As their wagon rolled in, it was commandeered at once to fill in a gap in the wall. Anna leaped off the wagon just as Thiemo pulled Blessing free. A moment later, Lions got their shoulders under the wagon’s bed and tipped it up on its side. Its contents spilled everywhere. A bag of grain ripped, and wheat poured onto the ground while men hurried over it, unheeding. As the other wagons trundled up, they were corralled to fill in gaps in this makeshift redoubt; even oxen and horses were tied up across such gaps. Only the painted wagon of Bayan’s mother was left untouched.
But it was already too late.
A Quman captain with magnificent eagle feather wings had whipped his unruly men into formation. The line split. The main force of the Quman and their leader attacked obliquely on the right flank of the retreating line of infantry, while a smaller force circled around the left, still launching arrows as they rode. Anna hauled Blessing up the knoll to crouch in the shelter of a beech tree, her arms wrapped tightly around the little girl.
So close. Arrows fluttered through the branches. Men shrieked in pain. The line of retreating Lions curled back, trying to protect their back, and to protect the last of the wagons now racing for the knoll. It was impossible that they wouldn’t all be killed before they reached the knoll. They were less than a bow’s shot away.
Lewenhardt took aim and loosed his arrow. The Quman leader’s horse tumbled, throwing him to the earth. A shout of triumph rose from the retreating line of Lions. The old Lion at their center shouted orders. In groups of three and four, men broke from the center, running to extend the flanks so that the line kept extending—at the cost of the center, so far unchallenged. Most of the wagons had now reached the knoll, been tipped over, and set up to fill in gaps, but they didn’t have enough to make it all the way around the knoll.
A few arrows launched from the knoll landed among the Quman attacking the left. A band of ten Lions charged off the knoll to prevent that line of their comrades from being outflanked. On the right the Quman horse rode up to the line but balked at the hedge of spears and shields retreating evenly before them.
“Gotfrid!” cried Thiadbold from the knoll. “Close up!”
As Lewenhardt and other archers shot rapidly, and accurately, the line still out in the clearing moved backward at double step. Leaving a dozen of their men dead on the field, the Lions closed up the gap. A ragged cheer rose from the Lions waiting for them on the knoll. It was a small, bitter victory, probably short-lived. The rear guard was gone, obliterated, except for them.
Far away, Anna heard the ring of battle breaking out as the Quman hit the Saony legion from behind.
“They’re going to wrap up the line of march one legion at a time, from the rear.” Heribert was white in the face, breathing hard, as he grabbed Blessing’s arm and tugged her up to the top of the knoll.
“Won’t go!” cried Blessing, waving her wooden sword, which she had managed to salvage from the overturned wagon. “I have to fight, too!”
Anna slapped her on the rump. That got her going.
All across the clearing, Quman continued to upset and loot the captured baggage. The leader, now on a new mount, began organizing the attack against the knoll. Riders spread out in a circle around the knoll and moved in. Near the top Heribert found an old oak with a bit of a hollow burned out, where some traveler had once hidden out from a storm. Anna shoved Blessing in against her protests and stood with her own body blocking the opening.
The eight slaves had brought Bayan’s mother, discreetly concealed in her litter, to the top of the knoll. Now they crouched around her.
Anna smelled rain, approaching fast.
Quman riders closed. Because their arrows came from all directions, it was impossible to find a tree that could protect on all sides. Some lord’s concubine, a woman with beautiful blonde hair now fallen free over her shoulders, began to curse and throw stones at them—until she was shot dead through the chest.
Lewenhardt and the other archers made them pay dearly. Every arrow Lewenhardt loosed struck human, or horse flesh. The Quman were no fools. Every person on the knoll who picked up a bow was quickly dropped by a hail of arrows. Many of them aimed specifically for the young archer, but he had a way of shifting, almost like a twitch, that moved whatever part of his body was endangered out of the path of the incoming arrow. Still, he bled from a dozen scratches on his thighs and arms. A young boy, a carter’s son, wounded in the leg, scrabbled about gathering spent arrows and placing them at Lewenhardt’s feet.
