Arslan waited for his enemy to charge him, before making his move. The man was far stronger than he, but possessed none of his cunning. He ducked the blow, then crouched, and caught him around the waist, before using the man's own momentum to toss him over his shoulder. His opponent was stunned for a few moments, and he turned to look at him, a little concerned. But, when the man came round, he thumped the ground in submission, and the crowd cheered. Arslan was rarely defeated in the wrestling ring. He stepped forward, helping the man to his feet.

"I think you used a trick," remarked his beaten opponent, Kemal, a member of his own regiment, the Lady of Battles.

"Of course I did. I'll teach it to you, if you wish." The two men wandered off to the temporary bath-house that had been erected behind the siege lines. Arslan had just been made a Chosen Man, a year after being admitted to the ranks of the Unsullied. Like all of the more recent recruits, he kept his birth name. The tales of the cruelties that had been inflicted on the older men, when the soldiers had been slaves, were legendary. These days, the training regime was still a very hard one, so that men and boys died on occasion. But, the senseless carnage of Astapor was thankfully gone for good. Born in some one-horse village a hundred miles from Meereen, Arslan had jumped at the opportunity to join the corps, when their recruiting officer had come by. After two years as a trainee, he had received the traditional spiked cap from Grey Worm himself. The Unsullied were the elite, but that man had been a meteor among the warriors, his courage and skill beyond compare. Men spoke with awe of the victories he had won for the Dragon Queen over the slavers who had held his homeland captive. He shared the fury of the entire corps at his treacherous murder at parley, and burned with the rest to avenge him. Fortunately, Zengi was a worthy successor as Prefect. The man had sworn before his men, and before the Queen, that he would take the city by storm, or die in the attempt.

He relaxed in the steam of the bath, chatting to his wrestling companion, and scraping off the oil he had poured on his skin, before the pair took a cold plunge. After dressing, they shared a pot of sweetened tea, before Arslan made his way to the regimental mess for the noon meal. It was a fish stew, plain but plentiful, like all his meals. As usual, he drank small ale. He was joined by two of his tent-companions, Osman and Brown Flea, an older man, who still carried his old slave name. The older man was a corporal. They talked about inconsequential matters, before the Brown Flea commented "Today's the day".

"Meaning?" asked Osman.

"Meaning we start chucking rocks at them. Want to go and watch?" They were all off-duty, and there was nothing better to do. They finished the meal, and rose to go and see. They walked over to get a view of the nearest trebuchet, called Evil Neighbour. Like the rest, it had been brought over in kit form, before being assembled on the spot. It was protected from the enemy's torsion artillery by earthworks and huge wicker shields, packed with soil. Several dozen soldiers had gathered, standing some yards behind the siege engine. He noticed they were a mix of Easterners and local men. There had been some fights between the various groups, but the commanders knew they had to work together, and a few exemplary hangings and scourgings had restored order. Besides, capable fighting men on the same side mostly respected each other. He watched, fascinated, as a pair of engineers, with spy glasses, scrutinised the city walls, and adjusted the length of the sling that would hurl the ball of stone towards the enemy. At last, they nodded and the long arm of the trebuchet was winched back. The huge counterweight was shaped in the form of a ravening dragon's head. One engineer gave an order, and four Unsullied rolled forward a huge stone ball, at least a hundred and fifty pounds in weight, which was fastened into the sling. At last, the moment they were waiting for. The engineer dropped his arm, the winch was released, and the arm of the great machine flew up, releasing the stone, which flew fast at the enemy. Only to vanish over the city wall! There was a groan of disappointment among the watching men, who turned away, seeking other amusements. Well, Arslan had taken part in other sieges. Not every shot told, but the bombardment would be relentless. Eventually, the walls would begin to crumble. He had never fought in a breach before. He hoped he would be a credit to his comrades.

Margaery Tyrell stood fascinated on the battlement, as she saw the tall arm of trebuchet fly up. Noble ladies of Westeros were not supposed to concern themselves about matters of war, but in practice, they found themselves provisioning armies, standing sieges, sometimes prosecuting whole campaigns, if their husbands or fathers were dead or captive. So, she had always taken the trouble to study military matters. The great ball of stone flew straight towards her. She realised there was little point in trying to evade it now. Oddly, she felt no fear. Either it would smear her across the parapet, or it would miss her. It missed her, but she felt the wind of it, as it flew over the battlement, and crashed through the roof of a warehouse beneath her.

"Margaery, why not remove yourself to a place of safety' said her brother, Ser Garlan.

"I have to show our subjects that I am unafraid. Besides, death in an instant is preferable to being burned alive or crucified, wouldn't you say, dear brother?"

"Not that again!" he groaned.

"Yes, that again, I'm afraid. Just, what were you thinking?"

"We came that close" he held his finger and thumb a tiny distance apart.

"There are no prizes for coming that close. You condemned me and my husband to death, as surely as if you signed our death warrants."

"We have thousands of men, Margaery. Loyal men. And, the Smallfolk are behind us,"

"Can they defeat famine, sweet brother?"

"We have stocks of food to last three months, much longer, if we cut rations for the useless mouths. The enemy will be dying of disease by then."

"I hope you're right. But, Daenerys Targaryen has much experience of siegecraft. I fear we will be the ones dying first."

"Always so negative, sister. "

"Always so realistic, brother. Come, we have proved our courage, let us move to a safer post." They turned for the steps leading down from the parapet.

Notes:

1. I wanted to give the Unsullied a similar role and status to the Janissaries, so I have adopted Turkic names for some of them.

2. Chosen Man is the equivalent of Lance Corporal.

3. The Spiked Cap is awarded to an Unsullied on completing his training.

4. Trebuchets were frequently given names. Edward I had one called War Wolf. Evil Neighbour was a trebuchet at the siege of Acre. Counterweight trebuchets were the most potent form of artillery in the Middle Ages. The most powerful could hurl a stone or metal weight, of up to about 80 kg (176 pounds) up to three hundred yards. They were also used to hurl incendiaries and human corpses at the enemy.