"Ready?" Oliver asked them. They gave him respectful nods, as timid of their Lord as they were of the arrows still flying their way. "You," he said, pointing. "Bellow the command – let all our forces know what we intend to do. Tell them to charge."
The man hesitated, apparently surprised to be given such a role. Oliver gave him a nod of reassurance. With these slaves, he was finding that a certain degree of patience and near gentleness was the way to approach them.
Reassured, the man sucked in a deep breath to fill his lungs with air, and he angled his face up, like a wolf howling at the moon.
"CHAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
The man shouted. Oliver grinned, but threw his shoulder into the pushing pole just as the rest of them did. The bellow had worked better than he had expected. It even caused a pause in the Macalister arrow fire, as they hesitated. Both big, and loud, those slaves that Greeves had found for him were something special.
