Warrior Knight

by Paul J Bennett

  Hagan stood, open-mouthed, unable to articulate words.

  Ludwig smiled, turning to his new master. “Are you ready to address them, my lord?”

  “What is this woman doing here?”

  “She’s not a woman,” replied Ludwig. “She’s a soldier.”

  “Hey, now,” said Cyn, "can’t I be both?”

  A chuckle ran through the other sergeants.

  “That’s quite enough of that,” snapped Hagan. “I shall not have my leadership questioned.”

  “No one is questioning your right to be here, Lord,” said Ludwig, "but Sergeant Cyn is an experienced veteran. We’re lucky to have her.”

  Hagan looked her over, though his face still showed doubt. “A veteran, you say?”

  “She’s been a mercenary her entire life.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Cyn was about to say something until Sigwulf placed his hand on her forearm. She remained silent.

  “You wanted to see us?” prompted Captain Ecke.

  “I'm your new commander,” said Hagan, “and as such, I insist you show me the respect due my station.”

  “Of course, my lord,” said Ecke. “Is there anything else you’d like to address?”

  Hagan looked at Ludwig. “This,” he said, “is Sir Ludwig, with whom I believe you're already acquainted. He will function as my aide, relaying orders as I see fit. Naturally, as commander, I shall be far too busy to look after the minutiae myself, so you should get used to seeing Sir Ludwig amongst you, carrying out my will.”

  “Minutiae?” said Krebbs.

  “He means the small stuff,” clarified Sigwulf.

  “Now,” continued the younger Stein, “I am needed at the duke’s side. I shall leave you to it, Sir Ludwig.”

  Ludwig nodded his head. “Of course, my lord.”

  They watched him thread his way back through the camp.

  “What in the Continent was that all about?” asked Ecke. “He didn’t need to call us all together for that. He could have simply sent word.”

  “He’s a man out of his depth,” added Sigwulf. “Thank the Saints Ludwig’s here.”

  “That’s SIR Ludwig to you,” said Cyn.

  The huge sergeant grinned. “So it is. So, SIR Ludwig, what are your orders?”

  In answer, Ludwig turned to Ecke. “If I remember correctly, Captain, you have a few men who can use a bow. I’d like to group them all together, along with those from Sergeant Dornhuffer’s group. I know they’re crossbowmen, but I’d prefer to have all our archers together.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Good,” continued Ludwig. “We’ll add in Lord Wulfram’s archers as well.”

  “Anything else?” asked Ecke.

  “Yes, since we’re now all part of one big company, we’ll be marching together. For now, we’ll keep Lord Gebhard’s original men in front, with the Grim Defenders coming second. Lord Wulfram’s will follow along afterwards.”

  Ecke smiled. “Keeping the enemies at bay?”

  “More or less,” agreed Ludwig, “but they’ll eventually have to work together if we are to fight in battle.” He looked skyward, trying to clear his thoughts, but found no inspiration. “If tomorrow is anything like the last few days, it’ll be a hard march. We’ll form up on the road at first light, but we won’t begin moving until everyone is ready. Any questions?”

  “What about camping tomorrow night? Do we still maintain separate campfires?”

  “No, I want the men to realize we’re all part of the same army. I’ll give it some thought as we march, but I’m thinking we’ll adopt the same technique as our mercenary friends.”

  “Sir?” said Krebbs.

  “He means,” said Sigwulf, “we’ll organize the campfires in lines.”

  “Yes,” added Cyn, “and post proper guards.”

  Ludwig smiled. “That’s exactly what I mean. Now get back to your people. We have work to do.”

  * * *

  A servant showed up just before daybreak, bringing the grey horse Hagan had promised. Ludwig took the reins, eager to climb into the saddle, but his muscles were soon complaining. It was not that the horse was difficult to handle, but his legs and back had not been riding for some time and rebelled against this recent activity.

  He saw little of his new commander. Lord Hagan, as he now liked to be addressed, showed up at noon to see how the men were faring but offered little in the way of encouragement or even actual interest.

  Ludwig was content. True, he had no end of issues to deal with, but he felt valued as if his mere existence now had meaning. Men would ask for brief rests, complaining their legs were sore, or they would beg for a water stop to fill their skins. His job was to keep them moving, though not to wear them out, for their strength must be conserved if they were to fight a battle.

  By mid-afternoon, they topped a rise, revealing the army stretched out before them. To Ludwig’s eyes, it was far larger than that which had set out from the capital, and he had to remind himself they had been expecting others to join them. He thought back to Lord Anwald. He had not been present when they had left Torburg, and so he must have met the duke’s army on the road. Perhaps others had done so as well?

  To him, the army was immense, easily numbering two thousand individuals. He couldn’t imagine a force that could defeat them. What, then, could the enemy muster? Were his own men all marching to their doom? He hoped not.

  Later that afternoon, they stopped to water themselves. Ludwig was walking his horse to a stream when he heard the sounds of an altercation.

  “Get your filthy hands off our water.”

  “We have as much right to it as you do,” replied the familiar voice of Arturo, the footman who liked to moan about everything.

  Ludwig tied his horse to a tree and sought out the source of the dispute, arriving to see three of Stein’s men, standing in front of the small stream, denying access to Arturo and his companion, the archer Simmons.

  “What’s going on here?” Ludwig demanded.

  “These men are trying to steal our water,” proclaimed the leader of the trio, a thin man with about as much muscle as an arrow.

  “You own this river, do you?” said Ludwig.

  “No, but we saw it first.”

  Ludwig moved to stand between the two groups. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

  “Yes,” he snarled.

  “Yes, SIR,” corrected Ludwig.

  The thin man stared at him, venom in his eyes. “I serve Lord Gebhard.”

  “As do I.” Ludwig moved in on him, forcibly pushing him back. In answer, the man’s hand went to the hilt of his dagger. Ludwig drew his sword with lightning speed, taking the fellow by surprise by pointing its tip at his neck.

  “Go ahead,” Ludwig said, “pull a knife on me. Let’s see what happens, shall we?”

  The man turned pale. “Sorry, sir, I meant no disrespect.”

  “These men are part of the company now, YOUR company. Sometime in the next few days, there’ll be a battle, and when there is, you’ll need to stand next to each other and fight for your very lives. Do you seriously think it’s a good idea to antagonize them?”

  The man lowered his eyes. “No, sir.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Hahn, sir, Gerrit Hahn.”

  “Get back to the company, Hahn. I’ll have words with your sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ludwig turned on Arturo. “Get your water,” he snapped, “and be quick about it.” As soon as the words came from his mouth, he regretted them. It wasn’t their fault. They were being asked to work with men who they had been fighting no less than a fortnight ago.

  Ludwig felt the icy grip of despair. What if these men failed him on the day of battle? What if he couldn’t get them to set aside their differences? He must strive to bring them together, yet he could think of nothing which could accomplish that feat. He resolved to take up the matter with Hagan at his earliest opportunity
.

  * * *

  They didn't reach their next camp until it was quite late in the day. Without having spoken to his commander, Ludwig was loath to put the men together. So instead, he kept them apart, using the mercenaries to separate them, as they had on the march.

  He issued special instructions to the Grim Defenders, ordering them to use force to keep the two groups apart should it become necessary. As it turned out, no one was willing to break the rules, so the evening passed without conflict.

  Ludwig had just finished brushing down Clay when he heard the sound of approaching hooves. He turned, expecting to see Hagan, but instead, there sat Lady Rosalyn.

  “Good evening, my lady,” he said.

  “And to you, Sir Ludwig.”

  “It’s a bit late for a ride, isn’t it? Did you come seeking me?”

  She blushed, her face easily illuminated by the campfires. “I actually came seeking Lord Hagan. Is he here?”

  “I haven’t seen him,” he confessed. “You might try up by the duke’s retinue.”

  “I've just come from there. I’m told he commands the company at the back of the column.”

  “And so he does, yet I feel he spends too little time here.”

  “Is he ill?”

  “Ill?" said Ludwig. "No, but I suspect he's unsure of himself. Tell me, did you ever have that dinner with him?”

  Rosalyn laughed. “No, I never had the chance. The army set out the very next day.”

  “Perhaps you’ll have an opportunity when we reach Chermingen?”

  “One can hope. I've heard of your new assignment. Is it to your liking?”

  “It is,” he replied, “though I wish I knew more of such things. Some days it feels like there are countless issues to deal with. It's most distressful.”

  Rosalyn looked over the nearby camp. “It looks peaceful enough.”

  He laughed. “Peaceful? You should have seen them earlier today. They were almost at each other's throats over the use of a stream.”

  “They need a firm hand, that’s all. My father says simple men need a leader they can respect, and respect is earned through the infliction of discipline.”

  “Fine words, but I often find the reality is a far cry from what people say.”

  “Are you doubting my father’s wisdom?”

  “No," said Ludwig, "only wondering if it applies to me, in this particular situation.”

  “If his words do not bring you comfort, then you must find your own way to resolve the matter.”

  “Of that, I'm well aware. I'll give it further thought tonight.”

  “Maybe you should pray?”

  He smiled. “Are you mocking me now?”

  “No, but you have found solace in the words of Saint Mathew before, have you not?”

  “I suppose I have, now you mention it.”

  “The Saints were wise people,” said Rosalyn, “and their words meant to inspire, not control. There's much to be said for that.”

  “I see the truth of it, my lady. Unfortunately, I fear I did not think to bring the Book of Mathew with me.”

  She smiled, reaching into her bag slung across her horse's back. “Then it's good that I found you, for I have a gift.”

  “For me?”

  “Indeed.”

  “I can't accept,” said Ludwig, “for to do so would be seen as improper.”

  “Nonsense. I give it to you as a valued friend, nothing more.” She pulled out a small book, its soft leather cover weathered and worn. “It's a prayer book of Saint Mathew. Not the entire Book of Mathew, I grant you, but still of value to those who believe in such things.”

  He took the book, holding it with reverence. “Where did you get this?” he asked. “It's quite the find.”

  “In Torburg. I discovered it in an old shop as I was looking for that expensive tavern. Of course, I immediately thought of you when I saw it.” She smiled. “Consider it thanks for all you have done for my father and me.”

  “I have done no more than my duty, my lady.”

  “Your duty? You have done so much more than that, Sir Ludwig. I shall always think of you with kindness. You’re like a brother to me.”

  “I’m only sorry I couldn’t find Hagan for you. I really have no idea where he might be.”

  “It matters not. He can’t hide forever.”

  “And when you do find him?”

  She smiled. “I’ll make him buy me that expensive dinner.” She turned her horse around and rode off, tearing through the camp without a care in the world.

  Ludwig smiled as she left. Moments later, he caught sight of a horseman under a nearby tree, his face clearly lit by the fires. As his eyes met those of the rider, he recognized Hagan Stein. The man stared at him for a moment longer and then, with a scowl, galloped off towards the front of the column.

  35

  Rivals

  Summer 1095 SR

  * * *

  By the fifth day, he began wondering if they hadn’t become lost. The trees they marched by all began to look familiar, giving him the feeling they'd been going in circles. Only after they passed a small hamlet did he let himself relax, for they were clearly making progress, after all, however slow it might appear.

  That evening the camp was laid out much as before, with the Grim Defenders in the middle. Ludwig, desperate to escape some of the responsibility of command, wandered over to see what Sigwulf and Cyn were up to. He soon found them sitting before a fire, cups in hand.

  “Well, well,” said Cyn, looking up. “Look what the wolves dragged in.”

  “May I join you?” asked Ludwig.

  “Certainly,” said Sigwulf. “Care for some wine?”

  “Of course.”

  “I warn you, it’s barely tolerable.”

  “Yes,” agreed Cyn. “In fact, it’s disgusting, but anything’s better than the water around here.”

  Sigwulf dug up a cup, pouring the pale liquid to the brim. “Here, it helps to gulp it down.”

  They both waited as Ludwig took a sip, then screwed up his face in disgust. “That was truly awful.”

  “What did I tell you?” said Cyn.

  “Would you prefer water?” asked Sigwulf.

  Ludwig caught his breath, the foul taste still on his tongue. “No,” he managed to squeak out. “That'll do.”

  Sigwulf laughed, but Cyn wore a more serious expression.

  “So,” she said at last, “how do you like being a captain?”

  “I could ask the same of you,” Ludwig replied. “How do you like being a sergeant?”

  “I asked you first.”

  “So you did,” said Ludwig. “The truth is I feel overworked and underpaid.”

  “I suppose that makes you more like a sergeant,” said Cyn. “I’d have to say the same thing.”

  He looked at Sigwulf. “You’ve been a sergeant for some time. Does it get any easier?”

  “No, but the pay’s better.”

  Ludwig raised his cup. “Spoken like a true mercenary.”

  They clinked their drinks, each taking a swig of the wine and making a face.

  “That’s foul,” said Sigwulf. “It reminds me of the time Cyn here decided to brew mead from potatoes.”

  “Potatoes?” said Ludwig. “Don’t you need honey for mead?”

  “Normally,” said Cyn, “but there was none in the area. You know us mercenaries, always trying to make do with what we have.”

  “What’s that ever gotten us?” asked Sigwulf.

  “Each other?”

  He grinned. “Yes, of course, and I wouldn’t change that for anything.”

  “Aw, he’s so sweet.”

  Sigwulf blushed, sending Ludwig into a fit of laughter.

  “Go ahead,” the big man said, “laugh it up, Ludwig. Sooner or later, a woman’s going to catch up to you, and then the boot will be on the other foot.”

  “Not me, my friend. That ship has sailed.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Cyn. “There’s ple
nty more out there”—she waved her hand in the general vicinity of the wilderness—“somewhere.”

  A twig snapped in the direction she had indicated, drawing their attention. “See?” she added. “They’re coming for you right now.”

  The distant echo of steel on steel drifted towards them.

  “That’s no ship,” said Ludwig, his drink forgotten. He stood, tossing aside the cup, only to be followed moments later by Sig and Cyn.

  “Alarm!” cried out Sigwulf, his voice booming through the camp.

  “Come,” said Ludwig. “Let's see what beckons.”

  Cyn raced past him, scooping up her mace. Others began taking up the call as men raced to arm themselves.

  “It’s coming from over there,” said Ludwig. “What lies in that direction?”

  “A stream,” replied Sigwulf, “and beyond that, more of our own army.”

  “Then let's get there before our men kill some of our allies.”

  They crashed through the trees into a clearing where a small stream meandered its way through the forest, but the real problem lay in those fighting over its use. Two men, wearing the colours of Lord Gebhard, were lying on the near bank, their tunics stained with blood while a third battled the enemy.

  Ludwig tried to discern who the man fought, but there was little to identify either side in the dim light of the moon. Cyn ran into their midst, striking out with her mace, taking one of their attackers in the thigh, sending him to the ground. Sigwulf gave a bellow and charged in behind her, his sword swinging wildly.

  Others streamed through the woods behind Ludwig, and he saw Krebbs pass him, along with Arturo and two others. The fight grew more intense. Ludwig, giving up on trying to make sense of it, waded into the water, his sword striking out. There were at least twenty combatants now, with the numbers growing as word spread.

  His sword scraped along a chainmail hauberk, and then someone stabbed out with the point of a spear. Ludwig twisted, avoiding the blow, then plunged the tip of his blade into the man's arm, eliciting a cry of pain.

  He had a brief glimpse of Sigwulf lifting a man over his head, then throwing him to the bank. Cyn, meanwhile, was trying to push men apart from each other. Ludwig struggled to understand why, and then it hit him like a brick. These men they were fighting were the Blades of Vengeance.