And the next moment he was cantering up the road after the tail of Stephnos’s column.
We were in sight of the hills and the defile that I wanted to reach before we came on the first sign of the enemy, who had evidently not been so fast as we expected. We marched through a little hamlet, and in the middle of it were some dead men—Brown Sakae, Philos said—and two wounded horsemen of Stephnos’s troop sitting on the roadside talking to the villagers. Both sides had reached the place simultaneously, and the scuffle which followed had ended in the enemy bolting back.
We reached the defile, and I breathed a sigh of relief at this unexpected good fortune. Halting my column, I rode up with Philos to the top of the hill on the right, and there in front of me was the enemy force—not an inspiriting sight in view of our numbers. They were about two miles away, long low dust columns, and behind them the smoke of burning ricks and thatch. Closer to us were parties of mounted men, and perhaps a mile ahead in three parties Stephnos’s little force. Looking through my glasses, I saw one of his troops chasing back an enemy party. As Wrexham had said, Master Stephnos was a thruster all right.
We had won by a short neck, and the next thing was to get into position as quickly as possible.
Just at this point the Astara, quite unfordable, closes in on to the road from the left as you look toward the Shaman country. At the point where we were it was not more than three hundred yards from the road, and behind us it swerved out in a wide curve southeastward. About half a mile in front it was joined by a sluggish stream running in a marshy depression, which curved round our right flank toward the hills. Between the marshy stream and the main road was the hillock we were standing on, perhaps two hundred yards long and one hundred and fifty feet high, while on the opposite side, between the road and the river, was a lower, smaller hill.
It was an ideal position for a small force to delay an enemy, since our left flank was absolutely secure, so long as we held the lesser height, while the approach across the stream and marshland on our right was anything but easy. All around the bigger hill, about halfway up, ran a thick thorn hedge enclosing an orchard. The smaller hill had on the forward slope two or three mud buildings and a small stone wall, which would give some cover to the defenders.
“We stand here,” I said to Philos. “One company on the small hill, two companies on this one, with our right extending down toward the marsh. The fourth company and the mounted men will be behind us as the reserve under you. I shall be up here. It will be a fight in which we must make the most of our shooting and try to prevent them closing, since once they close their extra numbers will tell.”
The company commanders had followed us up, and I explained what I wanted. The small hill I gave to a young cousin of Philos, who seemed a steady, determined youth. The mounted archers had been drawn in, so I sent for two of the Greek-speaking N.C.O.’s, and kept them by me as messengers and interpreters.
Within ten minutes the men were in their places, and I did a hurried walk round. They were all very quiet and resolute-looking: big bows strung and quivers forward, while many of them had arrows stuck upright in the ground in front of them or laid on top of the wall. I said a few words to the officers, emphasizing the importance of holding on and making the most of our position and our bows.
“Never fear,” said Philos’s cousin. “We hold here as long as there is a man to draw bow. Our homes are but a few miles behind, and our women, and we and they know the Shamans. They will pass this only over our bodies.”