The corridor narrowed as both men reached their destination, draperies hanging raggedly from their posts and carpets unkempt, dust bunnies running rampant at the motion of a stir of two men walking. It had been some while since Walter had had the time to clean anything, but when Hungary was the last remaining bulwark now facing an army that outnumbered them easily three to one, preparation for the war to come took precedence over sanitation.
"Your eagerness to quell Islam out on the battlefield may be the death of the men you order," Walter tried to relax his stiffened body.
"Manservant, before I remind you of your place in this war-"
"Is there any conversation I can have with you that would not include your incessant nagging of my rank as manservant?" Walter asked as honestly as he could.
A cold shoulder as a response was enough. "No."
Walter sighed; God did have a flair for the ironical when deciding that Lord Rodriguez should be the tactful advisor and Walter the lowly, bumbling servant.
"Let me advise you to hold any feelings and sentiments you may have to yourself. We will succeed, through God's will. Your pessimism overshadows your faith. Do not let your faith waver in these troubling times. United, we will be a force to be reckoned with," Rodriguez's adamant voice drowned out as he opened the last door impatiently. Walter paused, motioning for Rodriguez to lead the way into the map room.
The Regent, Lady Erzsébet, little Matthias, Lord Ulrich, Baron of Eyczing, and Lord Ulrich, Princely Count of Celje, and Vincent were all waiting, each bent over the myriad maps sprawled and spilling over the tables.
Looking up, The Regent gathered them to the middle of the room where the largest map was placed atop the large master table and waited until each man had encircled the area.
"I want to inform all of you that more men answered my call than I could have hoped for," The Regent stated with pride, "Lord Rodriguez has gone above and beyond to inform anyone who is not our enemy about what is occurring in the south. Unfortunately, there are two problems at work: one is the mission of saving Prince Ladislaus from his deranged relative, and the other is remaining on the battlefront to stop the Ottomans from advancing any closer into the mainland."
"It is my hope that we will return quickly with the Prince," Lord Ulrich, Princely Count of Celje stated, "The sooner we place Prince Ladislaus on the throne, the sooner we unite the kingdom."
"The Ottomans cannot cross the Danube," Vincent changed the subject, noting that the only benign expression as he spoke belonged to Matthias, "That river must be protected like the crown jewels."
Lord Ulrich of Celje turned sharply to Vincent, "Pardon, but I had thought going over the rescue mission to save our future king was more important than an army."
"That 'army' just took Constantinople by storm from the Byzantines," Vincent fired back, "There is no one standing in the way but us now."
"Agreed," The Regent focused their attention back to the map, pointing to Wallachia on the map, "Which is why I've sent more than a third to protect Wallachia's borders. Vincentislav II should be able to hold his own from there."
Rodriguez placed his hand down, tracing from Hungary to Austria, "And what of the men who will join Lord Ulrich, Baron of Eyczing, and Lord Ulrich, Princely Count of Celje, on their journey to free the Prince?"
The Regent sighed, lowering himself into a seat, "They have their own forces."
"Yes," Rodriguez pressed, "But that does not change the fact that I have couriers banging on my doors at all hours of the day asking for more men to help retrieve Prince Ladislaus."
"We do need more men, my lord," Lord Ulrich of Celje pressed, "I can only bring as many men as I have."
"Yes, however, Lord Ulrich, Baron of Eyczing, had combined his forces with yours, and that amounts to more men than you could possibly need." The Regent's tone sounded final. "I am already outnumbered. I cannot spare you more of my men."
"Perhaps if-"
Matthias stepped in front of his father, "Can't you tell that we're not giving up more men where they're not needed?"
The Regent grabbed his son from the waist and pulled Matthias back to plop the boy onto his lap, chuckling as his son giggled.
"Listen to the child. We cannot risk sending more men west," Vincent leaned over the table for emphasis, "If not everyone, then territories south of Austria and Poland must focus on the Ottomans. If we turn a blind eye to the turmoil happening now, down here, and send men west to safety, the Ottomans will trample us on their way to conquering all of Europe into a Dar al-Islam."
"A what?" Lady Erzsébet asked, previously forgotten that she was present.
Lord Ulrich of Celje felt his armor rattle in anger, "Look here, boy, sending my men west is not to 'safety'. My men are risking their lives for a cause as noble as yours."
Vincent turned to Lady Erzsébet, though a wave of nausea hit him as their eyes connected, "It...it has multiple meanings, my lady, from an area under the rule of Islam to the more literal meaning of 'the home of Islam'. They will convert or kill anyone in their path to create a world of only one divine religion. Their religion."
"Look at me, traitor!" Lord Ulrich of Celje slammed his gauntlet-fist onto the table, "How dare you ignore me."
Vincent met the Princely Count's glare with imperturbable composure, "I didn't realize that lords were privy to idle, immature name-calling. There is no honor among childish games."
"Defending one's honor is a privilege reserved for a man who has some! Now, I am telling you that we need the Prince to unite the Kingdom of Hungary against the enemy, but in order for that to happen I must have more able bodies!"
Vincent seethed as he felt his stance tighten, "And I'm telling you that if we spare more men for you, by the time you save the Prince there won't be a kingdom left to protect! It will have been demolished!"
"Gentlemen," The Regent reined them back, "That's enough. Go at each other's throats on the field or in the arena, but not in my map room," his voiced wavered angrily for a moment. All quieted down once more, but for the explosive glances Vincent exchanged with Lord Ulrich of Celje.
Lady Erzsébet cupped her mouth, referring back to the Ottomans, "The Barbarians from the south to come and ransack Christianity? They will not brainwash us. They will not conquer us." The maneuver didn't settle down any nerves.
Vincent repressed the urge to correct her narrow-minded term 'barbarian'. He knew, speaking from firsthand experience, that the Ottomans were far more religiously tolerant and remarkable innovators compared to the Christian filth that still was blind to the invention of gunpowder in all its forms and abilities. The irony of the ignorant calling the more tolerant 'barbarians' simply based on which side one belonged to left a bitter taste in Vincent's mouth, but he refrained from rocking the capsizing boat.
"You have been quite silent," The Regent turned to Walter, who was previously watching with dull interest, "Have you any opinion, Walter? I would not hesitate to call you friend. Speak your mind."
He kept his shoulders straight from bending to a disrespectful shrug, "Me, correct your decisions? If I am but your manservant, then the regent I must serve stands before my eyes," Walter cleared his throat, "If I could speak candidly-"
"You always can," Matthias allowed, playing leader for a moment before frowning at his father's delay. The Regent nodded his permission.
"The sooner both Lords depart, the sooner will their return be," Walter finished, "United with their forces, on top of the allies we've already gathered, we may be able to match the Ottomans."
Rodriguez shook his head, "It could take months for Prince Ladislaus to be freed, and I doubt that the Ottomans will wait for all of our forces to be gathered."
"Well, the soldiers won't get anything accomplished by occupying space here," Walter countered, never failing to smile politely in the face of Rodriguez's acerbic scowl. That man desired nothing more than the honor of first blood for God, as if to prove himself worthy; but Walter doubted that God needed an agent of dea
th to do His biding.
"Perhaps I misunderstood your motives. I thought you were in support of our armies at full strength against the enemy. If your true desire is to scatter our forces across the whole of multiple kingdoms, then, by all means, let us hear it."
"Gentlemen," The Regent interrupted as he wove his fingers together in contemplation, "Time and place." It seemed that all his men were high strung to get the war at least underway. It was understandable. The preparation was giving all commanding officers anxiety. At least once the war was started all would be able to channel that angst into fighting. The wait was what was acutely mind-consuming.
"Apologies, my lord," they both said in unison and out of habit.
"Both Lord Ulrichs leave at first light to Austria. I suggest we wave them a farewell and hope that a good omen soon leads them to victory. In the mean time, our soldiers will stay planted here and Wallachia's forces there. I suggest everyone get their rest," their leader concluded.
"Thank you, my lord. And we will join our forces together on our trip home," Lord Ulrich, Baron of Eyczing stated. His first statement in the entire gathering, and apparently that was all that needed to be said.
His promise rang rather hollow, to Vincent.
But the sudden noisy creak of a door broke the silence of the room as a young knight requested permission to enter.
"My lord," Pip opened the door and waited for The Regent to nod him in, "We have put an end to the riots outside of the castle. I have men patrolling the streets, at every corner." The new knight walked delicately in, noting the heated faces of both Walter and Lord Rodriguez, and the disinterested look on Vincent's face. The Wallachian was always somewhere else, and perpetually plotting, Pip suspected.
"Well done, Sir Pip. I expect those patrols to lead into tomorrow. You all should now get some rest for the morn. We will see the men off to Austria and then, Vincent, I want you to travel to Wallachia and make sure that Lord Vincentislav II is putting the men I ordered down there to good use," The Regent dismissed them but also watched Vincent's face liven.
"My lord, it will be done," Vincent bowed his head, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Finally, he would finally be on a mission by himself, and he would be able to assess the situation in Wallachia. Vincent hungered for what was rightfully his, but that little secret was safe with no one.
The Regent repeated one last time to Lord Ulrich of Celje that he could not give him more men, and watched both Lords storm out of the room, unhappy and swearing profanities. Their leader turned to his wife as the other men bowed graciously and left. Letting Matthias go to run around the room, he stretched his legs out before him from the seat. It was the first short moment in days he'd been able to be exclusively alone with people he fully trusted.
Erzsébet bent down to outline his face, "Such fatigue weighs my husband down."
"Mmm, I have been feeling ill," he relaxed his shoulders as her lithe hands rubbed the back of his neck, "A room full of determined men, each with their own opinions, each with their own motives…Did you see the look on Vincent's face when I told him to leave for Wallachia?"
Erzsébet paused, kissing his cheek from behind as he sat, folding his arms across his chest.
He stood suddenly, encaging his wife within his arms and pulling her into his embrace, "I can only be grateful for the people who keep me standing, who keep me strong enough every day to rule over an entire kingdom. Perhaps after the Prince is returned, I will be demoted back to general," he added, privately delighted with the idea -the only demotion he would ever be thankful for.
"I pray every day for your strength to endure what is coming," she confessed.
He planted a gentle kiss on her, "Then you must pray for your survival. My fate is attached to yours."
She glanced at their son who was passed out on the rug, already snoring softly, "Let us hope that all of us will survive."
Images of her lineage destroyed in the face of the onslaught could not be tempered with faith. She, like many other wives on both sides, was plagued with night terrors of what was to come. After witnessing years of war already, no one could deny her what she knew was capable of happening. She was a survivor, and her husband a veteran, but that had not changed the fact that they knew the dance of conflict. Nevertheless, one glance at the innocence she had fought so hard to preserve in her baby boy simply washed most of the angst away.
"Do you think we will prevail?" The Regent snapped her back to reality, consequently tightening his grip slightly. He felt her nod against his chest.
After a pause, Erzsébet smiled, "I do believe we will. Our Lord and Savior will see it through."
"I saw you basking in your new title, knight," Vincent grinned as he sauntered down the hallway.
Pip did not refrain from smiling, "Of course I would. I will use it and all its power for extortion."
Vincent paused, faking sincerity as his eyes widened, "You're telling me that you are going to use your title as little more than a means for getting what you desire in life? To get what you want, when you want it? My God, you will be a most uncommon knight."
"Sarcasm," Pip laughed, "Yes, I know it is the stock and trade of what every other titled man does, but I cannot help it if what I truly want was right in front of me all along," he scuffed his new-polished plated boot onto the rug as they continued on their stroll.
Vincent's eyebrow rose, already guessing, "Lady William, no doubt."
Pip's eyes flicked at his and then crashed to the ground, "Oui."
"Whatever your endeavors, I wish you the best of luck," Vincent turned a corner and parted ways with his conversation partner.
"Sir Vincent," Pip lowered his voice an octave, "Don't you have your eyes set on Lady Richard? The whole castle is raving about it."
Vincent laughed heartily, mildly perturbed of the gossip circling him, "I've no hope of marrying her, Sir Pip. I do not think I will intentionally tie myself to another."
Pip gawked for a moment before his face relaxed into a methodical softness, "I wouldn't either. Believe me when I tell you that the bar wenches of the taverns I go to keep your belly full and your bed warm. Hell, I had the highest tally when it came to wenches I had bedded. The most in all the castle guard," his chin upturned in slight pride, "But…well, they all pale in comparison to Lady William. Much as I hate to admit," he added.
Vincent shook his head slowly, tantalizing Pip with his scornful jeer, "She's tied you. Hook, line, and sinker."
"Might I ask why you would not want to marry?"
Vincent hesitated, never being questioned for his disinclination before, "It is bad enough to be at war one's whole life. That I should need to come home to a dependent wife who lives her life in rags, attached to me, would be intolerable. I have no riches to share. I have no home in which to live, nor do I have a title that any noble or regent would gladly recognize. I am a traitor to both my enemies and my allies, and I have devoted my life to exterminating all who would raise a weapon to Christendom," he paused, shrugging as his indifference calcified, "Tell me which woman would want to live with those strings attached, and I will gladly take her into my arms."
Pip fell silent, shuffling on his separate way, "You're right. No woman in her right mind would want a life like that."
Vincent bowed his head to that, "I'll be off then," and the two departed.
Indeed, no one recognized that he was a lord in his own right, nor did he feel particularly pressed to force the matter. They even mispronounced his name, but Sir Vincent would do…for now. The land he inherited that title from brandished him a traitor, and the people who imprisoned Vincent stripped him of that title to give him a new one. If not for reading the books of his lineage his father demanded he read, Vincent was sure he would have forgotten all.
But Wallachia would be his, soon enough. Intriguing, that The Regent would entrust him to make sure Wallachia was safe. Vincent could guarantee this, of course, but he could not guarantee Lord Vincentislav's safety. It would call
upon all of Vincent's strength not to slit that man's throat where he stood.
He shook his head; enough of that. That moment would be savored when the time came.
Vincent paused occasionally to look out of the narrowly carved stone in the shape of a cross. Thin and concealed enough to provide not only exceptional range but also protection, it was where the archers from the castle walls would draw their arrows and shoot down at intruders storming the draw bridge. Glancing out, he could see nearly to the edge of where the sun had set, now illuminated by the moon's light. Squinting, for a moment he wished he could see the Ottoman army from there.
Continuing onward, he suddenly heard hushed sounds. Vincent proceeded with caution, sticking himself to the wall as he neared a corner. The whispers increased until he could make out voices; one a woman's, another a man's. Vincent inched closer until he was able to peer around the corner and down the next corridor.
Walter was speaking to Richard, shushing her at every sharp syllable.
Vincent peeled himself off of the stone wall, but stayed within the shadow of the corner, listening.
"That is when we will all give both Lords a farewell on their journey to Austria to save the Prince," Walter informed her.
Richard's hair was growing in slightly, but her eyes drooped and sagged, stature all but completely hunched over, "Wonderful. I hope they succeed," she coughed into her sleeve.
"Their armies leave at first light, so you must get up-"
"Walter, are you blind?" she gestured to the whole of her body, "I have the worst pounding in my head of my entire life, my whole body aches, and I cannot stop sneezing," she wheezed.
Walter instantly put a hand to her head, "You are quite warm," concern flashed before his eyes, "Perhaps I will talk to your father tonight. Just...just get some rest now."
"Thank you," she took his hands, "Thank you, Walter. I know you know I hate the formalities of farewells, but I hope to get over this winter illness, and I doubt standing in the chilly morning waving until the last soldier is out of sight will help my chances of improving," she tightened the blanket around her shoulders and curtsied him a goodnight.
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