“In their eyes, they’re in enemy territory,” said Ludwig. “That likely means they have guards on their tents.”
“And?”
“If you were a noble, who would you want guarding you, your best troops or the rabble?”
“I see your point,” said Sigwulf.
As they advanced towards the tents, Ludwig kept running the numbers in his head, trying to commit his count to memory. Writing things down would have been more accurate, but to walk through a camp with a quill and paper in hand would have aroused too much suspicion, not to mention the necessity for ink. Instead, he had to rely on his recollections.
A well-dressed man stepped out of one of the tents as they passed by. Ludwig felt anxiety swell within his breast as the man looked at him, but all he got was a nod and a brief, “Good evening,” and then the man carried on with his business.
In this area of the camp, the guards were equipped with padded gambesons. Some even had chainmail shirts—a far cry from what the knights might be expected to have, but still of concern, nonetheless.
Next, they passed by archers, most of whom slept on the ground, with threadbare blankets, much as the duke’s army. The similarities to their own forces were striking. Ludwig had to remind himself it was, doubtlessly, the same amongst all the armies of the Petty Kingdoms. Would Elves or Dwarves be similarly equipped, he wondered?
“Over there,” said Sigwulf, nodding to the northwest, where another group of horses was clustered. Not the knights' large destriers, but smaller, more nimble mounts. “What do you make of those?” he asked.
“Let’s get closer,” suggested Ludwig.
As they approached, trying hard to look like they were merely wandering around, they spotted the horsemen. Sigwulf immediately recognized them.
“Mercenaries,” he said.
“Do you know their band?”
“No, but I know their type. They’re raiders, used to pursue a beaten enemy.”
“Then we shall have to ensure we don’t run,” said Ludwig. “How many would you say they have?”
“At least a hundred, I would guess. I can’t be sure of the exact number. It’s too dark.”
Ludwig brought them to a halt. “I think we’ve seen enough, don’t you?”
“Enough to get a good feel for numbers,” agreed Sigwulf, “though I fear it doesn’t bode well for the duke.”
“Agreed. Let’s start making our way back the way we came. The last thing I want to do is get lost in the dark.”
The task was easier said than done, for they had been so consumed by the desire to count men, they had paid little attention to where they had wandered. As a result, they found themselves in an unfamiliar area of the camp, and Ludwig had to fight down his impending sense of panic.
As luck would have it, they were inadvertently saved by an enemy noble. Passing by his tent, they heard him mention he needed to relieve himself, so they quickly ducked into the shadows. The man headed off towards the trees with Sigwulf and Ludwig following.
All looked well until a guard decided to challenge them.
“You there,” he called out.
Ludwig turned, feigning innocence. “Who? Us?”
The guard came closer. “Who are you with?”
“The mercenaries,” said Sigwulf.
“Which ones?”
Sigwulf turned pale.
“The Bent Swords,” said Ludwig, moving closer to the man
“Who?”
Sigwulf picked up on the diversion. “The Bent Swords?”
The look of confusion was soon replaced by shock as Ludwig’s fist slammed home. Blood exploded from the guard's nose as he fell.
“Run!” shouted Ludwig.
“Guards!” called out the fallen soldier. “Alarm, intruders!”
The call was soon taken up by others. As Ludwig rushed past Sigwulf and into the trees, his foot snagged on a plant, and he tumbled to the forest floor. Sigwulf quickly pulled him to his feet, and they both rushed through the trees, their faces stung by the low-hanging branches.
“Where are they?” called out Ludwig.
“Cyn!” shouted Sigwulf but nothing came back in reply. They slowed, now deep in amongst the trees. Ludwig was trying to get his bearings, but one group of trees looked much like the next.
“We’re lost,” he said. “I can’t even tell which way’s east.”
“Nor can I,” admitted his companion. “I suspect we were heading south when we entered the forest.”
“Yes, but we’ve followed the path of least resistance. We could have got completely turned around as far as I know.”
Ludwig felt the desperation building. All this work to collect vital information, and now they had no way of getting back to the duke. What a colossal waste of time!
“This way,” said Sigwulf.
“Are you sure?”
“No, but unless you have a better idea, it keeps us moving.”
“All right, but take it slow. I don’t need to lose an eye on all these branches.”
They tried to keep to a straight line, but the underbrush and the darkness made it difficult. Wandering for what felt like forever, they finally reached the edge of the forest, only to spot the enemy camp stretched out before them.
“Saints alive,” said Sigwulf. “We’re back where we started.”
To make matters worse, a large group of soldiers were carrying torches, heading almost directly towards them.
“Back this way,” said Sigwulf. “At least we’ll be moving away from them.”
They heard crashing as the enemy began searching, the light of their torches flickering off the boughs of the trees, casting an eerie glow throughout the forest behind them. Ludwig cursed when Sigwulf managed to snap a twig, the sound a direct beacon to their location.
“Over there,” yelled someone, as the torchlights grew brighter.
“Let’s split up,” said Sigwulf.
“No,” said Ludwig. “If it comes to a fight, we’re better off to stand together.”
“Then you go. I’ll stay and delay them.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You have to. The information is too important.”
“And leave you to fight them off alone? What would Cyn say?”
“Very well, then we’ll both run.” Sigwulf dashed forward, but in the darkness, he smashed into a tree. Ludwig heard the grunt as he struck, and then the great man staggered back. “That hurt,” he said.
“Slow down,” said Ludwig, “or we’ll kill ourselves.”
“If we slow down, we won’t have to kill ourselves. Those men will gladly do it for us.”
A horse neighed, and they both froze.
“This way,” whispered Ludwig. The enemy was so close now that the trees' boughs reflected the light, illuminating the surrounding woods. They pressed on, determined to put as much distance as possible between themselves and their pursuers.
Ludwig halted and drew his sword as the horse drew closer. Sigwulf pulled out his own weapon, and then they stood, side by side, ready for anything that might come.
The first rider had just appeared to their front, bearing down on them, when something flashed out of the trees and struck the man on the head. Next they knew, the rider fell, an axe protruding from his helmet.
The mount ran past them, but Ludwig ignored it, for not a moment later, two more horsemen appeared. Out of nowhere came Beornoth, swinging his axe overhead, bringing it down into one's chest, and knocking the man from the saddle to crash to the ground.
The third rider halted, then drew his sword, his eyes scanning the area when a bush suddenly exploded with action. Cyn’s mace smashed into the man’s shin, the blow so hard you could hear the bone break. The cavalryman screamed out in agony, reaching down to clutch the wound and then Cyn silenced him forever. He fell back, still in the saddle, but no longer alive.
She reached up, pulling him down, then took hold of the reins. Behind them came screaming, the underbrush coming alive with t
he sounds of men rushing to battle.
“This way,” she yelled, racing past them, a horse in tow.
Ludwig had a brief glimpse of Beornoth retrieving his axe, and then they were all fleeing in the wake of the riderless horses. One of the beasts had halted its headlong flight, choosing instead to nibble at some plants. Ludwig grabbed the reins and hauled himself onto its back, then kicked with his heels, forcing the beast to rush forward, carrying him along with it.
They soon cleared the trees, and Ludwig could finally make out his surroundings. A field opened up before him, but the most welcoming sign was the gully they had originally followed to get to the camp in the first place.
It led them in a meandering manner to the south and then farther east, opening up into a shallow depression. From here, it was only a short distance to the ruins, and by the time the sun was starting to make its appearance, they were back amongst the rest of the company.
Ludwig set about quickly writing a letter and then dispatched it to the duke with all haste. They sent three riders, mounted on the captured horses, to carry word to the army of the enemy's strength. Once they had left, he and Hagan met out of earshot to determine their next move.
“What are your thoughts?” asked Ludwig.
“That we should retreat,” replied Hagan. “Our task here is done. We have discovered the enemy's numbers and passed word back to the duke. What else is there to accomplish?”
“I would suggest we remain awhile longer. I know the risk of discovery is great, but the duke will need to know should the enemy begin to march.”
“They are aware you infiltrated their encampment. Won't they come looking for you?”
“It's a reasonable assumption,” said Ludwig, “but I think it worth the risk.”
“Very well, we shall remain here, but we’ll come up with a plan for withdrawal. We may have to retreat with little notice.”
“A wise precaution.”
Hagan stared westward to the distant smoke of the campfires. “It won’t be much longer now,” he said. “The enemy will march, and then a mighty battle will be fought. I hope we have the forces to defeat them.”
“We are outnumbered,” said Ludwig, “yet I feel we have a chance provided we can pick the terrain.”
“Even against such numbers?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time a smaller army defeated a larger enemy, but it's rare.”
“You’ve read of battles," said Hagan. "Tell me, what is it that allows the weaker to defeat the stronger?”
“It’s hard to say, but at a guess, I’d say spirit.”
“Spirit?”
“Yes," said Ludwig. "The ability to fight on despite losses, to stand your ground when all appears lost. Battles are won and lost not through inflicting losses alone but by breaking the morale of the enemy. If we can defeat their will to carry on, we will have won.”
“You make it sound so easy. Is there a secret to breaking their will?”
“Inflicting casualties can certainly help, but it’s more about denying the enemy objectives.”
“What kinds of objectives?” Hagan asked.
“Something like a defensive position. People can get fixated on one thing to the detriment of others, and that’s something we, in particular, are going to need.”
“Why? What’s wrong with us?”
“Our army is fractured, Hagan. The duke’s rule has led to nobles who argue and fight amongst themselves. If the enemy realizes that, they can sweep us from the field. For Saint’s sake, all they’d have to do is defeat the two top barons, and the rest would collapse. It would be like pulling the legs off a table. Tell me, who are the two most powerful barons?”
“That would be Hurst and Baldwin. Of course, the duke himself has more troops, but I suppose those will be held in reserve.”
“As they should be,” said Ludwig. “I imagine he’ll need them to fill in the lines as men die.”
“Is it truly as bad as all that?”
“You’ve seen the numbers, and it isn’t good. By my reckoning, the enemy has close to four thousand men. That’s about a third again as many as we’ve been able to muster. What do you know of Andover?”
“What, in particular, would you like to know?” asked Hagan.
“Is their king anything like our duke?”
“In what way?”
“Does he encourage his nobles to fight amongst themselves?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” said Hagan. “My understanding is he’s a ruthless ruler who doesn’t put up with any kind of dissent.”
“That would fit with his attitude towards the Therengians.”
“Why? What does he do to them?”
“I’m told he executes them.”
Hagan shrugged. “I suppose that’s one way to deal with them.”
Ludwig stared at the man, not believing his ears. “Dealing with them? We’re talking about living, breathing people. How can you be so callous towards them?”
Hagan wore a blank expression. “They’re not like us, Ludwig. They’re an entirely different race, like Elves or Dwarves.”
“Would you have the same attitude towards those elder races?”
“Of course. After all, they’re not Human.”
Ludwig was at a loss for words. He shook his head, trying to make sense of it, then an idea came to him, unbidden. “It matters not the colour of our skin or the appearance of our face. We are one people, united in our desire to live in peace. Those are the words of Saint Mathew, written over a thousand years ago, but still full of meaning. Do you consider yourself a religious man, Hagan?”
“I do, and I am humbled by your words. This war, and the events surrounding it, have brought out only the worst in most of us. You, on the other hand, have remained pure of heart and stout of soul. I thank you for the reminder we are all one people"—he grinned—“conceivably even the Dwarves and Elves.”
“You talk of race, but Mathew only refers to people. It is, I think, an important distinction.”
“It is, and one I'll strive to bear in mind. I'll remember those words in the future. I promise.”
“And the Therengians?”
“I shall endeavour to accept them as the Saints would wish. Of course, I can’t disobey the duke’s law in that regard. They are still banned from holding office.”
“True,” said Ludwig, “but one day, you’ll be the baron, and your influence at court may sway the opinions of others.”
“Yes, and the duke can’t live forever.”
A call from Simmons drew their attention to the west. It appeared the enemy had decided to march.
40
Withdrawal
Summer 1095 SR
* * *
The first sign of trouble was a small group of horsemen trotting across the field, heading directly for the ruins.
“Do you think they know we’re here?” asked Hagan.
“I doubt it,” replied Ludwig, “but this place is likely of interest to them if only to see what it contains.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“He means plunder,” said Cyn, moving up beside them. “Soldiers don’t make much and are always on the lookout for any sign of valuables.”
“What could possibly be of value in an old building like this?” asked Hagan.
“You’d be surprised,” she replied. “Many’s the farmer who buries their treasures, then fails to retrieve them.”
“We can’t let them find us.”
“We have little choice in the matter,” said Ludwig. “It appears they’re going to investigate this place whether we want them to or not.” He scanned the interior, looking over the men. “We should prepare to withdraw.”
“With cavalry out there?” asked Hagan.
“It’s only a small patrol,” said Cyn. “I say we lure them in and take care of them.”
“And by take care of them, you mean…” Hagan's voice dropped off.
“Kill them, of course. What else would you do with
an enemy soldier?”
Hagan paled. “But that would be murder.”
“This is war, my lord,” said Cyn, “and I might remind you they’re the ones trying to invade YOUR land.”
“Yes, of course.”
“She’s not asking you to do the job yourself,” added Ludwig. “We have plenty of men for that.”
Hagan looked mollified by his remarks.
Ludwig turned to Cyn. “Spread the word. Everyone is to remain quiet but vigilant. Get the archers up here, to the second floor. It’ll afford them the best view.”
“What shall I do?” asked Hagan.
“For now, simply remain still, but once we’ve taken care of that lot, the rest of the army won’t be far behind.”
“How do you know this isn’t just a patrol?”
“Simple,” said Ludwig. “The smoke from their campfires has ceased. That means they’re on their way.”
The men took up their positions. Ludwig marvelled at how strange it was that more than a hundred of them could remain so silent when needed.
The enemy horsemen came closer as Simmons, who would occasionally peek out of the window, relayed their progress in hushed tones until finally he flattened himself against the wall and went silent.
Ludwig heard the muffled sounds of the horses' hooves as they trotted through the grass, then slowed, nearing their target. Their harnesses jangled, and then at least one of them dismounted, making his way towards the south end of the structure.
Simmons nocked an arrow but waited to draw back the string, shifting slightly to get a better view. The horseman reached the end of the building, rounding the corner to come face to face with Sigwulf. The big man reached out, grabbing the rider by the throat and forcing him to the ground. The man never knew what hit him. His legs thrashed about as the life was slowly choked from him, but Sigwulf’s grasp on him prevented him from alerting his companions.
The body went limp. The other riders, showing no concern for their comrade, began chatting, and at least one of them laughed about something.
Ludwig motioned two more archers to the window. Joining Simmons, they drew back their strings while down below, Sigwulf and the others watched their leader for a sign.
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