Arthur Imperator by Paul Bannister

another way I planned to subdue the growing numbers facing us. I’d explained it to my tribunes: “We will get the least costly victories through attrition. That is, we can deplete our enemies not by attacking their forces but by simply seizing their resources. It is expensive for us to train, equip and maintain a single soldier, so it’s prudent to use our troops in the safest way possible to reduce casualties. At the same time, we cause the maximum disadvantage to our opponents.
    “Now,” I said, warming to the lecture, “armies operate on supplies. If we seize or cut off those resources, two things happen: we have more, they have less. To achieve this, we can cut the supply line and attack the resources in transit, we can seize them in situ, or third, if the enemy is inside a fortification, we can besiege them and cut them off from their supplies. In all cases, they are much weakened by being separated from their reinforcements, from their food, fresh materials and equipment. We can grind them down even before we bring them to battle.” 
    The tribunes nodded. They understood resource tactics, it was their job to ensure we were well supplied, but sometimes their eagerness to do battle was not the most intelligent option. I coughed as they murmured among themselves. “We should consider one other thing, gentlemen,” I said. “We have to recognize that our enemies may use these same tactics against us, so we should secure our supply lines and dumps. We should keep our lines of supply as short as possible, and move our troops swiftly, not just by road, but also by river or sea to surprise our opponents. Using water transport is far more secure than taking a pack train through a forest or mountains where it is subject to ambush.
    “Our strategy must always be to put as much strength to a given point as quickly as possible, to feed and supply it and to keep it unified.” The group nodded agreement, and I felt a thirst coming on. “Time, gentlemen,” I said, “to consider another supply necessity,” and I gestured for a slave to bring in wine.

 
    XIV Taken
     
    Guinevia sensed danger, a prickle at the nape of her neck, a brightening of the light around her, a heightened awareness of the sounds of the forest where her carriage horses plodded nearly silent across the pine-straw-padded track way.
    She was on the third day of her journey into northern Wales and was suddenly, uneasily, aware that her escort of four troopers had been halved. That morning, as they forded a moorland stream, all four soldiers had mustered to heave the carriage free of clinging mud. One of them had stepped on a loose rock and stumbled. At that exact moment, the carriage wheels had come free and lurched forward. One ran over the man’s foot, breaking a couple of small bones. The man had fallen sideways, wrenching his knee so badly as he fell that the joint swelled up like an apple. 
    The sorceress had debated continuing the journey with the half-crippled man riding in the carriage, but she needed it for the child and his nurse. Already, with its passengers and the supplies she had loaded for Myrddin – preserves and herbs, sacks of good grain and seed vegetables – the horses had been struggling, and the worst of the journey was to come. Adding a big man to their load would not help matters. Instead, she had opted to send the fourth trooper back six or seven miles to a hamlet where he could hire a carriage to carry his injured companion to a refuge. The uninjured soldier could follow on by himself to catch the party before they reached the wildest peaks.
    So the guard on the little group was smaller, and Guinevia suddenly felt in danger. She called the group to halt, scanning the forest around them for the threat she intuitively knew was there. It was about the worst thing she could have done. A whirr of arrows lanced out of the undergrowth. Two struck the first trooper in the thigh and ribs, a third smacked wetly into the other