Chapter 5

Deep in the heat of summer Roja gathered all of the men, hunter, crafter, and warrior alike in front of the village, outside the wooden palisade wall. He watched the captive men and women water and weed the fields to prepare the harvest to come. A huge space in front of the growing town a thousand paces on a side had been marked out with white painted stones.

"From now on, there will be three kinds of warriors. The lowest rank of warrior will be for the boys newly grown to manhood, the weak, and the ill-trained. These men will march in front of the army on the field of battle. They will carry our missile weapons. They will be trained in three kinds of missiles. They will learn the thrown spear, called the javelin. Then they will learn the sling which throws the lead bullet. And when they are fully trained, they will learn the bow of war."

Deenar the miller called out, a small and dark man dressed in simple home spun wool. "But Roja. Many of us are not warriors!"

"Wrong." Roja smiled at the man. "When the enemy comes, will he spare your throat just because you mill grain? Will he spare your son? Your daughter? Will your flesh not burn when they put the torch to your house?" The miller looked at him with frightened eyes.

"EVERY man here is a warrior. Every man here will fight. Every man here will learn to stand straight and face death, or these hands here..." Roja held his hands up. "Will choke the life out of him, and throw him out in the field to be eaten by wolves."

"Let the men of other villages grind our grain. Let them plow our fields. Let them bend before the whip. You ... you will bow before no one. For we are men."

"Choose Deenar. Die like a dog, or stand like a man." Roja looked at the miller.

"I will fight, Roja." The miller said in a small voice.

Roja turned back to the men and picked up a javelin he had made from a straight and light ash-wood shaft and a needle sharp steel point. "This is the javelin. It is a fearsome weapon, and no man here should think less of the boys and men who wield them. Look."

Roja hefted the javelin lightly in his hand, and then turned to face a tree from which hung a stout bronze shield. "The men we will fight carry these shields, heavy ones."

Men grunted in affirmation of his thought.

Roja tossed the javelin, almost off handedly and it stuck, quivering in the shield. "And now it is heavier still." Men laughed.

"Solost, come here." Roja pointed to a strong lad of fifteen summers who came forward from the mass of men, running one hand through his blond hair.

He handed the boy another javelin. "Now men. I have let Solost, Jolo's son ... who I have fed..." Men nodded, knowing that Roja had taken the boy in and sheltered him. "I have let him practice with the javelin. Look what it can do in his hands."

Roja nodded at the boy. Solost balanced the thin spear in his hands for a moment, and then, taking two steps at a run, threw the javelin with a mighty overhand hurl that left him nearly bent over parallel to the earth. The spear flew straight and fast, quivering slightly. Then with an impressive 'thunk'-ing sound, it pierced the heavy shield through and passed out the back of it.

Roja laughed. "Now ... it is heavier yet ... so heavy its owner has to go lie down." He saw the men look at each other, faces smiling and eyes wide.

"That is the javelin. Who here wants to be on the receiving end of that?" He smiled as the men laughed. "Solost. Now the sling."

The young man took what looked to be a wad of cord from his hip and shook it out to reveal a well made sling. The sling was made of stout wool cord with a diamond shaped opening woven into the middle. Solost took an ovoid shaped lead stone from his waist pouch and set it carefully into the split in the sling. Winding up with an overhand spin that set the sling at forty-five degrees to his shoulder, he looked to Roja who then nodded back.

The released stone flew at the shield with a muted whirring noise, but when it hit the entire shield shook and clanged against the tree.

"Hard enough, it will break the arm holding the shield. Hard enough, it will knock your helmet off and stun you. Hard enough, and it will shatter a knee or crush the bones of the hand." Roja explained.

"Now the bow."

The men stood quiet as Solost ran back to where Roja had set his equipment. Solost returned with a kind of bow that they had never seen. It was made of laminated layers of wood and horn, formed into a curve out from the hand holding it, arching up into the air, and then curving back toward the archer.

"This bow is stronger than any bow you have ever used. Look." He nodded at Solost again, who took up a steel tipped, barbed arrow. The young man took careful sight of the shield, and then let fly. The arrow flew straight and flat, and passed completely through the shield, out the other side, and vibrated quivering from the tree. Roja heard the men murmur to themselves with appreciation.

"So you see? The first rank of men are deadly. This is where our young men will go. There they will learn to see the enemy and not run. When battle is joined, they will fade back behind the ranks of men on foot and move to the flanks of those men. There they will fire arrows and stones into the ranks as they fight."

A tall man dressed in the dark leather of a huntsman spoke up. "Roja, what of the older men?"

Roja smiled. "Before I tell you about the older men, first do as well as Solost. No man here eats until he can hit the shield with the javelin, with the stone, and with the bow. No one."

An undercurrent of good humor, but also of anticipation ran through the men at Roja's words. Trask, Trovo, Frant, Droff, Cogo and other captains of the men came forward and broke them out into teams. Soon several shields hung from the trees and men set to work practicing. Rojo looked on with careful eyes. Any man he saw complaining soon found himself waking up in the dirt, shaking his head to clear it from the open handed slap he'd received.

Rojo stood over one such man. "You think you are above this? Solost is a lad of but fifteen summers, and already he would gut you and leave you to die in the dirt. If I train you hard, it is so you will live, and not die." He leaned down and looked into the man's face. "Or do you already intend to leave your woman a widow, to be raped and killed? Your sons to be killed?"

"No, Roja. No." The man spat a string of bloody spittle into the dirt and got to his feet. His eyes were hard for a second, and then softened. "I understand."

"Good!" Roja shouted, first to the man and then to them all. "Bleed now, here. Curse me now, here. Be angry now, here. Later, when our enemies are before us, when they go down screaming to the god of the underworld, when we take our pleasure of their women and wear their gold and silver on our bodies and drink their wine ... THEN be glad that you cursed and bled here. Better to bleed a little today, than to die tomorrow."

The men practiced throughout the day and into the evening. Before the day had passed, many had passed all three tests and sat eating their dinner, but many did not. As evening passed into night, torches were brought out and practice continued. In the morning, only nine men had not passed all three tests. Of the nine, four suffered some form of physical hardship, and Roja dismissed them to go practice other trades, never to enter the halls of the warriors again, to be treated as men just above the captives.

When a low undercurrent of discontent ran through the men upon seeing this, Roja turned and faced them, his face angry. "What? Do you want those men at your side? Do you stake the life of your son on them? No? No?"

He scanned the others, and many dropped their faces. "Because that is just what you will be doing if you stand next to them as a warrior. There can be no weakness in the battle line. None." He walked over to the miller Deenar and held him by the shoulder. "This man may not be young, but he has earned his place in the line of battle. He has thrown the javelin, fired the bow, hit with the stone."

"Now, who would you have with you? Deenar the warrior, or Deenar the miller?" Men shouted out for Deenar the warrior. Roja looked in the older man's face. "Never forget, Deenar. Let other men serve you. Let their women serve you. You are a man of strong blood. A line of warriors, kings, and heroes begins in this place. Never forget that you were here this day, standing straight as a man when others did not."

Deenar's eyes gleamed wet in Roja's gaze, and he smiled to be seen so. In the end, only two men did not pass the test of the first line of battle. One man was quite old, unable to throw the javelin hard enough, but unwilling to give in and admit defeat. Roja nodded to him and called him over.

"What is your name, old man?" Roja asked.

"I am Gura, father of Droff." The old man met Roja's gaze evenly.

"Your time has passed."

"I will ride with my sons, Roja." Gura smiled at the big man.

"I do you honor, but you have no place here. Your time as a warrior is over."

"So you say."

"Droff, come here." Roja shouted at the practicing men.

Droff came trotting over, surprised to see his father among the warriors. "Yes, Roja?"

"Stand here beside your father." He pushed two shields on the men, giving them time to adjust to the weight. "Now, Gura. Defend your son from the left."

Roja took a stride to Gura's left and began to thrust his sword at Droff. The old man pushed his shield in the way and stepped into the thrust with a grunt. Roja stepped to the side again and repeated the thrust at Droff. The old man blocked the blow again, and all three wheeled another step.

Thrust and wheel, thrust and wheel, Roja's blows were steady and firm. After a minute, all could see the top edge of Gura's shield begin to quiver as his arm tired. After another moment, Roja's sword hammered down on the top of Gura's shield, and opened a path to Droff. His sword stopped, point held right at the edge of Droff's throat. The practice field became quiet.

Tears came to the old man's eyes then. "You are right, Roja. I have no place here."

"There is no shame is being old, Gura. Only in cowardice. You have earned your rest and your honor. No man here doubts that. Now your honor is here." He clapped Droff on the shoulder.

"Your son carries your honor." He looked for a moment to the other men, making sure that his words were heard by all. "Your son. Never let him show cowardice, never let him be less than a man. To die in battle brings glory. To live in cowardice destroys everything. A warrior's death guarantees a share of the spoils, a place in the hall of men, freedom for your sons and theirs. The life of a coward will bring exile, starvation, and death."

The last of the men that had not passed the test of the first line was also older, and had listened to Roja and Gura. He nodded to Roja and handed him the javelin he had been practicing with. "I am Kulan. My son and his son are here. They will fight and grow strong. If they do not, there is no place for them at my fire ... it is as you have said." With that, he slapped Gura on the back, and the two left the practice field together.

"Good!" Roja shouted at the practicing men in the gathering dusk of a late summer day. "When all of you are good with the javelin, sling, and bow, I will teach you how to fight in a shield line. Look!"

Roja motioned over several of his captains who he had trained for this. Droff, Trask, Frant and Cogo all took up sword and shield. The shields were tall and broad, not the small round shields the men were used to.

"These shields are heavy. Make no mistake about that, but you will be glad of them." Roja laughed. The four men held their shields slightly overlapped and turned a little to the side. In between the gaps in the shields came out short, stabbing spears with hooked steel heads.

"Watch." Roja hefted a small round shield and a short sword and came at the men. As one, they turned to face him, shields forward. Each time Roja stepped in, four spears came at him. Each time, four shields pushed forward. At just the right moment, a spear hooked Roja's shield and pulled it forward as another slipped in between Roja's arms and pointed at his throat. Roja dropped the shield and backed away. "And now I am dead. See?"

Many men nodded. "These four men ... all of you will work as a unit. As a team. Together."

"Look." He said, and just then Solost hurled a javelin at the four men. As one, all four shields overlapped and hit the dirt as the men crouched behind them. The javelin hit and bounced from the steel boss on the front of the shield it had hit, and all four men stood again and stepped forward. Suddenly all four shouted and four short spears stabbed out.

"That ... THAT is death to our enemies." Roja raised his sword over his head. That is our second line of men.

"Now the third. Our best men." Roja took up one of the heavy square shields. "If you are selected for the third line, you fight after the javelin men have thrown their spears and passed through the line. You fight after the spear men have used and thrown their spears, or have become wounded or tired. They pass through the line. You are left, the third line. The hard men. The men that do not turn."

"Sword and shield." He continued. "You are the ones that kill the enemy. The first line angers them, taunts them, draws them in. The second line tires them, harasses them, wounds them. All this time they are fighting ... fighting. And you remain fresh, ready to battle. The second line of men retire and you step in. Our best. You are the ones that kill them. Hook, slash and thrust."

Roja's sword flashed in the light. "You look for one opening, and you stab into it. One wound can kill, break an arm, hamstring your man, it doesn't matter. Once wounded ... all that man wants is to get away from you and your shield that smashes at him." Roja shoved his shield forward fiercely. "You batter him, wound him, and he retires. Another tired man comes up. Then another. Soon the enemy has no gut for the fight and tries to turn ... And that is when they all die..." Roja shouted into the clear air. "Why? Because behind you are rested men with javelins and spears, ready to kill them all as they turn. Ready to chase and slaughter. Wounded, tired men turn and are destroyed. And we conquer! We are victorious!"

As summer turned toward fall, and fall cooled toward winter Roja taught them to overlap their shields slightly. He taught them to defend the man on their right, to count on the men on their left. When they could stand in the shield line and reliably work their spears as a small team, he added a second line of spearmen and swordsmen behind the first. He taught them to thrust forward in rhythm, counting and timing their blows. The men learned to fight as a line, then as a square. Hour after hour of long practice with gleaming steel swords brought a glint to their eyes and a hardness to their faces. Those that objected to his teaching were beaten the first time, and never heard from again if they objected a second time. A few of the best of his warriors were selected by Roja to learn to fight from horse-back. He showed the leather workers the secrets of a cinched and padded saddle, and how to make stirrups and a high cantle that would allow the men to charge with lances. The men and horses learned to trot, to canter and wheel. The cavalry men learned to charge in line with the charging foot behind them. Roja's discipline of the men was fierce, dissent was not tolerated. After a long year of work and several deaths, the men were ready for their first skirmishes.