priests, and some warriors, so that all the world might know that the end belongs only to God."
Abraham said nothing, nor did he move as Gianavel walked away.
***
Emmanuel was almost stunned when he walked into Pianessa s command post and saw the marquis reclining on his hunting chair, staring morosely at the distant mountains of Rora.
He waited, curious, until Pianessa spoke.
"Do you know what I think, Savoy?" he said mildly.
Cautiously, casually, Emmanuel continued forward. "You are the general of my army, Pianessa. I would like very much to know what you think on the eve of a great battle upon which the future of my kingdom hangs."
Pianessa sighed deeply. "I think ... that the Waldenses are not meant to depart from those mountains."
A solid silence.
"The will of God, Pianessa?"
The marquis shrugged, tired or depressed—a rare moment. "I know nothing of the will of God, Savoy. I am a soldier. I fight where I am sent to fight. I kill whom I am sent to kill. But the Waldenses have been attacked again and again. They have been dispersed, scattered to a dozen countries, massacred by the thousands, and still they return to these mountains, like Moses to Sinai."
At the young Duke of Savoy's silence, Pianessa looked over. "You think I have not read the Scriptures, Savoy?" His voice, even for a moment, lost its cold brutality. "Yes, the Waldenses remind me much of the Israelites. They are killed over and over, and still they return. This land, to them ... it is sacred ground."
The aura around Pianessa was something Emmanuel had never sensed around the general before—a persona of defeat. "Do you doubt victory?" he asked cautiously.
Seconds passed before the Marquis de Pianessa rose and walked slowly back to the map. He leaned across it, shook his head. "I will kill them all, Savoy. I was only...musing."
Whatever comfort or even information Emmanuel had sought when he first entered the tent was completely trampled by Pianessa s grim mood. He backed away quietly and turned to leave.
"One thing, Savoy."
Reluctantly, Emmanuel turned back and waited.
Pianessa was grim. "What will you win if you take these mountains from Gianavel?"
Fear—actual fear—enveloped Emmanuel's heart. It was one thing for Father Simon to warn him that God might be against this war. It was another for a pagan general to warn him that God himself might fight beside Gianavel.
Without a reply, or even thinking of a reply, Emmanuel moved to the stables.
***
Gianavel knelt and thirty-four men followed, listening closely.
"Our defense is as good as we can make it," he said quie tly and calmly "But the hardest aspect of any battle is changing your defense to meet changes in the attack. The side that changes the fastest will have the advantage. More the reason to take out their commanders quickly. Make sure you're far enough down the slope to target them. They won't be at the front."
"I wouldn't be either," commented Hector.
"Have men with mirrors stationed on the slopes above your positions. If you have to retreat up the slopes, use quick flashes. What one side does, the other does as well."
"As Joab and Abishi did," grunted Bertino.
"Exactly," said Gianavel. "None of us have the advantage of a military education. We have only our experiences and the stories of our fathers. But we know what David, Joshua, and Gideon did when they fought against their enemies. Their tactics were sound. We will do the same things."
Hector laughed once, nodded.
Faces grim and resolved met Gianavel as he gazed at them all in turn. "You are men," he said, and the words strengthened them as no accolade ever could.
Gianavel nodded, lifted his rifle.
"Let's go," he said.
The last of the heavily armed battalion disappeared along the highest switchback that curled around the farthest height of El Combe as soldiers struggled to drag the reserve cannon over the narrow, rocky ledge. Dust cyclones swirled in their wake like a storm leaving tatters of itself on
Abraham said nothing, nor did he move as Gianavel walked away.
***
Emmanuel was almost stunned when he walked into Pianessa s command post and saw the marquis reclining on his hunting chair, staring morosely at the distant mountains of Rora.
He waited, curious, until Pianessa spoke.
"Do you know what I think, Savoy?" he said mildly.
Cautiously, casually, Emmanuel continued forward. "You are the general of my army, Pianessa. I would like very much to know what you think on the eve of a great battle upon which the future of my kingdom hangs."
Pianessa sighed deeply. "I think ... that the Waldenses are not meant to depart from those mountains."
A solid silence.
"The will of God, Pianessa?"
The marquis shrugged, tired or depressed—a rare moment. "I know nothing of the will of God, Savoy. I am a soldier. I fight where I am sent to fight. I kill whom I am sent to kill. But the Waldenses have been attacked again and again. They have been dispersed, scattered to a dozen countries, massacred by the thousands, and still they return to these mountains, like Moses to Sinai."
At the young Duke of Savoy's silence, Pianessa looked over. "You think I have not read the Scriptures, Savoy?" His voice, even for a moment, lost its cold brutality. "Yes, the Waldenses remind me much of the Israelites. They are killed over and over, and still they return. This land, to them ... it is sacred ground."
The aura around Pianessa was something Emmanuel had never sensed around the general before—a persona of defeat. "Do you doubt victory?" he asked cautiously.
Seconds passed before the Marquis de Pianessa rose and walked slowly back to the map. He leaned across it, shook his head. "I will kill them all, Savoy. I was only...musing."
Whatever comfort or even information Emmanuel had sought when he first entered the tent was completely trampled by Pianessa s grim mood. He backed away quietly and turned to leave.
"One thing, Savoy."
Reluctantly, Emmanuel turned back and waited.
Pianessa was grim. "What will you win if you take these mountains from Gianavel?"
Fear—actual fear—enveloped Emmanuel's heart. It was one thing for Father Simon to warn him that God might be against this war. It was another for a pagan general to warn him that God himself might fight beside Gianavel.
Without a reply, or even thinking of a reply, Emmanuel moved to the stables.
***
Gianavel knelt and thirty-four men followed, listening closely.
"Our defense is as good as we can make it," he said quie tly and calmly "But the hardest aspect of any battle is changing your defense to meet changes in the attack. The side that changes the fastest will have the advantage. More the reason to take out their commanders quickly. Make sure you're far enough down the slope to target them. They won't be at the front."
"I wouldn't be either," commented Hector.
"Have men with mirrors stationed on the slopes above your positions. If you have to retreat up the slopes, use quick flashes. What one side does, the other does as well."
"As Joab and Abishi did," grunted Bertino.
"Exactly," said Gianavel. "None of us have the advantage of a military education. We have only our experiences and the stories of our fathers. But we know what David, Joshua, and Gideon did when they fought against their enemies. Their tactics were sound. We will do the same things."
Hector laughed once, nodded.
Faces grim and resolved met Gianavel as he gazed at them all in turn. "You are men," he said, and the words strengthened them as no accolade ever could.
Gianavel nodded, lifted his rifle.
"Let's go," he said.
The last of the heavily armed battalion disappeared along the highest switchback that curled around the farthest height of El Combe as soldiers struggled to drag the reserve cannon over the narrow, rocky ledge. Dust cyclones swirled in their wake like a storm leaving tatters of itself on
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