by Alma Boykin
“Exactly, Marko. Find the rider and bring him to the manor. Leave the horse where it is.”
She turned back to find Lewis watching her, a curious, hooded expression in his green eyes. He nodded, pointed up the road and said, “Thank you Axel. Excellent work. I think I will look at the books now.” A kilometer from the manor he turned in the saddle, asking, “What’s going on, Sarmas?”
“That gaunt beast is your horse, your grace.”
“What?” He checked his mare so Elizabeth could draw even with him.
“That horse is an Imperial cavalry horse. I last saw it under one of my soldiers just before the battle at Malfel. Neither horse nor rider returned, nor were their bodies found. Now the horse is back, and I want to know why.” Her anger rose again. “If the man tried to desert, he is in for a terrible surprise.”
Lewis seemed to be thinking, or so Elizabeth guessed. They rode back to the manor house, alert for wagon and courier traffic, and spook-inducing surprises such as loose poultry. The Appaloosa mare shied from yardbirds. As they passed one of the washerwomen’s cottages, Snowy gave the laundry-line a suspicious glance and eased away from the mass of wet fabric until Elizabeth checked him. “What’s wrong? Rumor says that you tried to eat a mattress just last week,” she scolded. One long white ear tipped back as the other tipped forward. She felt his back starting to hump and she sat more firmly. “Quit.” He relaxed and continued as if nothing had ever caught his attention.
Lewis chuckled. “Was there anyone on the mattress?”
“No, your grace. I am told that one of the laundry maids had emptied the stuffing and left the cover near the paddock fence. Someone,” and she glared at the long white ears ahead of her, “got down on his knees and snaked his head under the low rail, getting within centimeters of the mattress cover.”
“He can’t have been hungry.” They’d reached the courtyard and Lewis dismounted while Snowy halted beside the mounting block, legs square and head up, posing.
Elizabeth climbed down from the mule’s back and walked around him, one hand on his hip so he’d know she was there. “No, your grace,” she called over the mule’s back. “I think he was bored. He needs to work more.” She ran a hand down Snowy’s forelegs, feeling for warm spots. “Perhaps I should loan you out as a plow mule? Or use you to pull stumps?” He shook slobber on her in reply.
While Lewis changed out of his riding clothes, Elizabeth sent a quick note to Lazlo, asking him to come to the manor office. Once there, after one of the maids brought wine and fruit-juice, and some bread and meat, Elizabeth dismissed her usual escort and pointed to the door, swirling her finger. Lazlo nodded and locked the door.
“You said you had deserters. How many?” Lewis poured wine, added some juice, and leaned back in the chair. He looked completely relaxed, but Elizabeth knew better.
“Thirty two, your grace. At first we had thirty-four missing and unaccounted for, but two of the men turned up with Col. Marcy and Col. Darnton. They’d been injured and could not, or were not permitted, to come back to the Donatello camp until their wounds had been tended to.” As she spoke, she turned, looking at the books on the shelves beside her. “Where is,” she muttered under her breath. “Ah,” and she rose on her toe-tips, pawing at the top shelf until a slim volume fell down. She caught it and turned back to Archduke Lewis and Lazlo Destefani. “My question, your grace, is what do I do with deserters?” She sat and began paging through the copy of the laws of war. “According to this—”
Lazlo cleared his throat and she looked up, eyebrows raised. He seemed to be trying to close his already-laced shirt collar. What? Then she caught Lewis studying her with great interest, a little smile on his face. She glanced down and felt her face burn: her vest and shimmy had shifted down, exposing part of her bust. Unable to think of anything else to do she reached down, tugged the vest back up and tightened the laces at the neck of the shimmy, closing it completely.
“According to the Imperial laws of war, deserters are to be executed if caught,” she began again, pretending nothing had happened.
Lewis coughed. “When did they disappear? If it was before fighting commenced, they are deserters, to be treated as such. But if they fled or got lost during battle or after the fighting ended, well, my understanding is that is a gray area.” He drank more wine.
Elizabeth stared into her cup, idly noting the ceiling beam reflected in the reddish-black liquid inside. She heard Lazlo clicking his tongue before he said, “Your grace, my lady, I don’t know. Lt. Hans Sparli said that all his men were present and accounted for at the start of the battle, and Lee said the same thing. Lt. Mike Scott, Godown give him rest, can’t be asked.” She sipped the wine-laced-juice, enjoying the cool, dark sweetness as Lazlo continued, “I do have Lt. Andy Todd’s notes, and he says that three of the support troops, two horse-tenders and a general runner, vanished two nights before the battle, along with three horses.”
“You said that you’d seen the horse we found during the pre-battle formation?” Lewis leaned forward, letting Elizabeth refill his wine and add a few drops of juice. “If so, that means the rider is not a deserter, unless somehow one of your missing men found it later and rode it home.” He sat back, careful not to spill his drink. “I’d scold him for not returning, even if he was scared or had an attack of nerves, reclaim the beast, and forget the matter.”
“Won’t that upset discipline?”
Lazlo shook his head as Lewis waved his free hand in languid denial. “Not really. You saw them at the start of the fight. You found them after the fight, albeit long after. But they came back. Give them the benefit of the doubt, Sarmas, and you’ll win more loyalty.” Lewis snorted. “Hellfires. Sorry. But only losing thirty-two unaccounted for out of over two hundred green troops? That’s amazing. The usual loss is, what?” He tipped his head back so he could see Lazlo, who stood by the door.
The younger man looked up at the ceiling, lips moving as he thought. “Kemal says one in ten, your grace, two in ten if they are mercenaries paid in advance. My lady,” and he nodded to her, “I’ve heard of thirty and forty percent desertion rates in a bad year if the pay is late and rations low. Twelve percent?” She hunted around for a charcoal nub as Lazlo wrote the numbers in the air with a finger, doing the math, “Thirteen percent loss is excellent for a large unit, especially if we only have, let’s say five true desertions if two people fled just as the fighting started, plus the three that ran earlier.”
“So, what should I call them, then, your grace? The men who straggle back on their own?”
Lewis drained his cup. “Just that. Stragglers. Shame them but show mercy. We need them here, on the farms and in the villages. Don’t run people off if you can avoid it. Now,” he unfolded from the chair and she rose to her feet as well. “Unlock the door before any more rumors get started, and let me go over the books. I’ll see you at supper.”
“Your grace,” she curtsied, then pressed as flat against the wall as she could without brushing the whitewash, edging around the desk so he could have the wider passage on the other side.
Out in the hall, she sighed. “I’m an idiot, Lazlo.”
He shook his head as her maid stared, eyes wide with surprise at hearing a noblewoman say such a thing. “No, my lady, you are young and inexperienced.” He laughed, flashing white teeth. “So am I, but I grew up playing with Kemal’s sword and listening to his and Sul’s and our father’s stories. Da strapped me to a saddle and took me out on drills as soon as I could balance on a horse’s back. You know how war is supposed to be fought, my lady, in theory. Trouble is, with all respect, the world never learned theory.”
“True. In theory, white mules are prone to illness, cripple if they see a rock, and die young. Everyone knows how well that applies to an actual white mule.” She shook her head, mirroring his gesture. “Thank you, Lazlo. I’ll let you get back to work.”
He touched his forehead in a salute. “My lady.”
The next day, as Elizabeth rode Sno
wy over the practice jumps in the training field, she caught sight of someone climbing the fence and waving. “Tcha!” She urged, sending the mule sailing across the small stream that trickled through the field. They leaped one more obstacle, then trotted over to the waiting man. He wore an Imperial uniform and her heart sank. Godown, no, please. Let me rest for another week, please, please, holy lord of mercy. “Yes?”
He saluted. “We found the missing man, Colonel, and have brought him to the manor. Found three others from the list, too.”
“Very good. Have Capt. Destefani assemble the men at the manor. I’ll meet you there.” Should she? She looked from the fence to Snowy’s neck and back. “Tsa!” They cantered forward and she guided him to a low place in the fence separating the two paddocks. He surged under her, clearing the rail with ease and landing on the familiar ground in the empty brood pasture. He slowed to his running walk for the return to the house.
Lazlo or Annie Lei must have anticipated her next request, because when she strode into the house she found one of the maids carrying her uniform jacket and skirt. “In here,” and they ducked into the empty dining hall. Elizabeth stripped off her skirt and vest, pulling the heavier dark blue skirt and stiff jacket on instead. With the collar fastened, the jacket hid her shimmy, making it seem as if she were in full uniform. “I’ll need my,” and they found Lt. Hans Sparli outside the door, holding Elizabeth’s swordbelt and saber. “Thank you.”
Archduke Lewis clattered down the stairs behind them, spooking the maid. “You,” he pointed at the woman, “are dismissed.” She curtsied and bustled off. Lewis finished fastening the buttons on his jacket. “Right, Colonel, I understand the lost have been found.”
“Some of them, your grace.” She turned to Sparli.
The bulky man nodded before remembering and saluting the archduke. “Ay, your grace, Colonel. Three are from the after-battle list, but one is on Andy’s naughty page. He’s acting right cocky, your grace, Colonel.” He paused. “Andy was at the mill when we passed, so he’s coming quick as he can. Glad we found him.”
“Indeed,” Lewis nodded, grave. “We need as many witnesses as possible.”
He deserts and comes back here. He can’t be that stupid, can he? She knew that none of the men, even the camp tenders, were “slow.” Her conscience refused to allow her to bring a man to war if he couldn’t understand what was going on. Since the man couldn’t be “slow,” that left stupidity or overwhelming cockiness, assuming that no one would catch or punish him. She gathered her skirts and followed Lewis into the courtyard, blinking at the sunlight reflecting from the pale stones and whitewashed lower walls.
As her eyes adjusted to the bright light, she recognized Lazlo and one of her messengers. More soldiers and a few reservists surrounded four men. Three appeared nervous, the youngest almost radiating guilt, like a child caught up an apple tree in spring. The fourth man looked around, taking in the scene with utmost confidence, as if he were the one in charge. His stare irritated Elizabeth and she wanted to confront him right there. Instead she took a deep breath, calming herself down. She would not drop to his level.
Sparli handed her a piece of paper with the names on it. She memorized them and, Archduke Lewis at her shoulder, advanced on the quartet. “Hans Knoller, Sgt. Mark Cooper, Ladis Wellman, Tom Suttler,” she stated, pitching her voice to carry so everyone in and around the courtyard could hear it. The youngster, Ladis, ducked, head down, refusing to met her eyes. Hans Knoller grinned, revealing very bad teeth.
“You did not return after the battle with the rest of your fellow soldiers.” None of the men argued or tried to challenge her. The guards in front of them stepped aside, allowing Elizabeth to come nose-to-nose with the three absconders. “Why?”
Cooper, always awkward, stammered, “My lady, er Colonel, ah, I lost track of the battle when my horse bolted. Couldn’t find my way back, so I turned south and east. Met with Tom and a few others, found our way home.”
“I see.” She turned to Ladis. His dark tan face seemed almost white and he peered up at her from behind shaggy hair, his head down. “And you?”
“Got scared, lady,” the teenager whispered. “Couldn’t kill, not after seeing the others do it. War’s not what I thought. Found some others and came home best I could. Brought my war gear back with me, lady.”
“Did he?” She looked around, and one of the soldiers nodded. “All of it?” Another nod. “Thank you.”
“And you Mr. Suttler?” The tanned, brown-haired man shifted back and forth but didn’t answer. “Well, Mr. Suttler?”
He ducked his head, almost as hangdog as Ladis beside him. “Got sick from the killing, m’ lady. Just wanted to come home. Once,” and he finally met her eyes. “Once was enough. People’s not shahma nor cows; I’m not cut out for a soldier.”
She stepped back from the three and looked to Archduke Lewis. “Although these men absconded and became stragglers, leaving their fellows to carry more duty, they stayed to the battle and began it. With your permission, your grace, they will be caned, one stroke on the back from each of their fellow soldiers who had to do additional work and take additional duties, and lose half their pay. Their fellow stragglers will be treated the same way.” If some of the other men chose to be easy on their neighbors, then it was up to them, she’d decided. As small as the world of Donatello Bend manor was, shame would do more good than pain.
“Approved, Colonel.”
She turned to the remaining man. Capt. Destefani came with her as she approached Knoller. He hawked and spat before giving her a lascivious grin. Lazlo stepped forward and clouted the man in the head. “Col. Sarmas is your commander, not some whore. Keep yourself civil.”
Elizabeth pretended to ignore the exchange. “Knoller, witnesses claim that you left Malfel before combat began.”
“Do they?” He gave Destefani a sideways glare, “Colonel.”
“They do.”
Knoller spat to the side. “They’re blind or liars. I shoveled shit ‘till we broke camp, then shoveled more shit during the battle. Got tired of it so I came home.” He folded his arms, small black eyes narrowed, daring her to take offense.
“Captain, is Lt. Todd here?”
A man, out of breath, panted, “I’m here, Colonel.” Andy Todd limped up to them and saluted. “Damn. Pond scum does float,” he observed, pointing at Knoller.
“That will be enough of that, Lt. Todd,” Elizabeth snapped. “When did you last see this man?”
“Two days before the battle, my lady. I sent him and Cal to get the wagon horses. Cal came back with the horses. Said Knoller claimed he had a second pair of horses to get and had vanished in the wagon ring. No one saw Knoller again, so I put him on the list before the battle.”
She nodded, turning to Knoller. “Do you have any witnesses in your defense, Mr. Knoller?”
“Don’t need any. Don’t have to serve under any fucking foreign skirt, ‘specially one sleeping her way through— ow!” Destefani slapped the man across the face. “Fuck it, you’ve no right—!” He swung at Destefani and missed. A scuffle began as Todd and Destefani wrestled the man back. Elizabeth beckoned with one finger and two more soldiers piled in, tying Knoller’s hands behind him.
“Last chance, Mr. Knoller. Do you have any witnesses to support your claim to being in camp during the battle?” Elizabeth thought she did a good job staying calm, better than the men.
“So I deserted. Nobody with a brain stays around a fight they ain’t started.”
Destefani snarled, “You took the emperor’s coin to do work, not to flee.”
Knoller kicked at Lazlo and snarled back, “Ain’t no more of a cash-grabber than you are, soft-sworded Jennaman.”
Elizabeth turned to Lewis again. “Your grace, this man deserted before battle. He assaulted a fellow soldier. The penalty for desertion is death by hanging. With your permission, the sentence will be carried out in one hour, allowing time for the priest to speak with the condemned.”
; “I confirm your sentence, Colonel.” The archduke’s voice carried to every part of the courtyard. “He shall be hung by the neck until dead. His family will retain his duties to the manor and his debt to the crown.” Several of the men and women watching flinched at the words. Elizabeth felt a flicker of sorrow for the man’s wife and children, but she wouldn’t countermand the archduke’s sentence.
Elizabeth saluted and turned back to Destefani. “See to it, Captain.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
She spun on her heel and marched into the manor house. If the men rough him up, I don’t want to see it. Someone in heavy boots came up behind her and she whirled around to find the emperor’s brother almost on her heels. “Your grace?”
“Write out and sign the warrants, Col. Sarmas. I’ll counter sign them.” She did as ordered.
An hour later she watched from atop Ricardo’s back, Lazlo at her left hand and Lewis on her right, as Knoller swung from a large tree not far from the fortified house. “Leave the body until sunset, then call his family to dispose of it as they see fit.” May Godown have mercy on his soul.
Then she returned to her chamber and threw up. She regained her composure in time for supper, but excused herself from the evening’s entertainments. She recited the Office for the Dead for Knoller before crying herself to sleep.
Two days later Archduke Lewis of Babenburg took his leave. The morning felt changeable and cool, making animals and people restless, and Lewis’s mare stamped and shook, eager to run. “Finish your reports, Col. Sarmas, and see about the bridge.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“And do not let the men touch those trees that I had marked. They are too valuable.”
She nodded. “Yes, your grace.” The wind blew her skirt, playing with the hems like a kitten batting and flipping the tan fabric.
Lewis studied her once more. What was he looking for? She felt fine, if still very tired. The slash on her forehead had healed, leaving a little scar in her eyebrow. The cooks and kitchen staff seemed determined to help her regain her lost weight, not that she was complaining about the surge of fruit and nut-laden treats. They’d broached the apple beer the previous night.
