The drum of hooves on cobblestone filled the valley, river on one side of the army and a gentle slope that gradually fed into the rocky hills on the other. Farmers came to their field’s edge, merchants parked beside the road, watching the march with Julia at its head, flanked by a general and a knight half a horse behind.
She did not lead with a stern expression and narrowed eyes, but a warm smile and a gentle wave for those they passed. Urging his horse forward, the knight, Sir Ludwig, matched her pace. “My Lady, should we set up camp now and reach the castle in the morning?”
Although he spoke in a careful tone, she heard that it was not so much a question as his urging. “Sir Ludwig, while a competent recommendation, I dare say it would make the matter that much easier if they choose to sally forth this evening, thinking us weak,” she said, her voice clear, but not so loud that those beyond the knight and the general would hear. “Rather, let us be in a position to scout at dawn, that we may make preparations with the terrain at hand, and set up a more comfortable camp.”
“If that is My Lady’s orders….”
“Pray do not think I underestimate them,” she said, turning to wave at a group of children who had come to see the soldiers. “They have sat idle for a good while, turning their sword upon starved peasants. It is natural for such a blade to rust. However, if I am proven wrong, then I have trust in those the King assigned for this task. Should I not, Lord Isarau?”
The young man half a horse behind her sighed. “My Lady need not doubt these men,” he said, his voice with a similar timbre to his grandfather’s.
“I have overstepped,” Ludwig said, slowing his horse.
“That which is said in confidence can only be too little. Besides, I understand a certain scepticism of my capabilities. Having said that, it is understood which of us three holds the commission issued by His Royal Majesty, yes?”
A disjointed, “Yes, My Lady,” came from the general and the knight.
So the march continued, reaching the castle’s vicinity in the last of the day’s light. While she had thoughts on where precisely to set up the camp and such things, she left this matter to the general, retiring with the knight to a calm place by the river. The water was broad enough that, without a bridge, it could not be easily crossed, especially so for those seeking battle. While the slope had been gentle enough for farmland most of the trip, it was steeper in this part, the rocky ridge pinching the valley into a pass.
Atop that hill, an old castle stood. Distant from the war in the east, defended by more sturdy fortresses in mountainous passes to the south, it had last seen blood spilt a century ago, an army from the west making a drive for the capital through the less boggy lands this far south. It hadn’t put up much of a fight back then, more of a glorified outpost. She didn’t expect this time to prove any different.
Over the centuries, it had blended together designs. Beginning as a simple motte-and-bailey, the central donjon had been rebuilt in stone in later years, while the wooden palisade circling the defensive building fell into disrepair until much later demolished and rebuilt in stone as well, but it could hardly be called by the same name as the curtain walls of other fortifications.
Ludwig stood at attention as a personal guard should, regardless of his conflicted heart. Those who gained prestige through merit did not understand the world of obligations. While not entirely naive himself, he thought these rulers were simply inexperienced with battle and could be guided.
Isarau, on the other hand, knew well the nature of the beast. That everything was politics and politics was everything. As he gave out orders, he knew that this excursion was part of greater plans intersecting, creating the fabric of aristocracy. There was nothing noble about his peers, he knew. There would be a victory; what price would be paid, though, he did not yet know.
With no need for further travelling, the camp went up in full. It was by no means an extravagant affair, nothing more than tents and waxy sheets, something to keep the rain off the men and the supplies. However, after marching for a good week already, a tent with room to roll over was a luxury well appreciated for the general’s soldiers, as was the steady supply of small beer. Although her militia had only been on the move for a few days, they were much less trained in marching great distances and so similarly appreciative.
Her tent was arranged a suitable distance from the camp and on the side farthest from the looming castle. Once ready for her, she entered to freshen up as Ludwig stood guard outside, a single maid to attend to her. The luxuries available to her were rather limited: a metal bucket of water that had warmed over a fire, and a bar of scented soap. She did not utter a single complaint about the situation.
Once finished and dressed in more suitable clothes than the riding habit she had worn this far, she emerged from the tent, bidding Ludwig to lead her to the general’s tent.
While a merriment pervaded the camp, she couldn’t help but notice the natural divide that persisted between the troops. Of course, she hadn’t expected Isarau’s trained soldiers to accept her little militia, nor had it been a goal of hers. It was simply something she noticed, at all times keenly conscious of the relationships between people.
The general’s tent sat a little apart from the rest, which did not surprise her, finding Isarau the kind who led by example rather than camaraderie. His troops certainly liked him, but it was an admiration more than a brotherhood. A leader who was serious about the right things and tolerant of the right things. In that regard, she saw his grandfather’s influence—at least from what her father had written regarding the old Marquess.
As well as where he slept, the tent served as the place for meetings. Crates made up a large table and he had smaller boxes for seats. Already, loose pages covered the table with notes he had scrawled along the way, mixed with some scouting reports.
At the announcement of her presence, he stopped immediately. “My Lady,” he said, rising from his seat into a bow.
She strode inside, saying, “At ease,” before taking a seat.
He held his bow a moment longer, then sat down again, taking up his pen. “To what matter do I owe My Lady’s company?”
Her gaze scanned over the pages, noticing nothing new. “The matter of strategy, of course,” she said, picking up an old parchment with the first scouting report. She turned it over and, from her sleeve, took a pen of her own. In a few strokes, the general shape of the castle took form, as if a bird looking down upon the land, and from there her touches added the terrain. “A day should give us the necessary time to prepare.”
“Prepare for what? Do we not intend to starve them out?” Ludwig asked, the words coming out rushed.
Isarau said nothing, but put down his pen to watch her drawing.
“In matters of war, sometimes it is prudent to act quicker, that a small loss of life now would prevent greater losses later,” she said, still filling in the surrounding terrain as she spoke. “It may seem like there is no rush now, that these mercenaries will not cause trouble so long as they are locked up in their hole. However, they exist in defiance of the King’s will, every day bringing doubt to his authority. They have already spent over a month doing so.
“On the practical matter of it, they pillaged the late Lord Grosburg’s manor, bringing his wintering rations and more; since then, they have raided the merchants coming this way—who, might I remind us, mostly bring grains and other foodstuffs from the south. If we wish to starve them out, I have no doubt it is us who would starve first.”
Ludwig listened with a certain humiliation, unprepared to be so thoroughly refuted and by a woman of the peerage no less. His only redemption, he found, was in the rather limited company.
“Lord Isarau, do you disagree with my assessment?” she asked, pausing in her drawing to look up at him.
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His expression said nothing, not even his eyes. “It is fair.”
“So then,” she said, returning to her drawing, “if we are not to starve them, the sooner the better.”
“Indeed,” the general said, while the knight nursed his bruised ego in silence.
“I do not think them foolish,” she said. “I would guess that they believe we will attempt to starve them out, so they plan to stay inside the walls and enjoy their feasts, then escape out into the forests.” She pointed out the terrain to the west, on the far side of the castle, a vast forest with uneven footing that horses would struggle with.
Continuing, she pointed out two places above and below the castle: a long ridge to the south and a shorter one to the north. “These are the castle’s main weaknesses. A small force can lay in ambush to the north, while a larger force can move south and then into the forest, avoiding the lookouts on the wall.”
“What forces does My Lady propose?” Isarau asked.
“First things first, this will be the point of attack,” she said, pointing at the north-eastern corner of the walls around the castle. “From my reports, there was a collapse here last year and it has yet to be repaired. At best, they have piled up the rubble, which will easily give way under bombardment.”
Isarau raised his hand, loosely gesturing at her. “That is, My Lady, are we to plan for such a specific result? The accuracy of such devices….”
“On the matter of accuracy, I put my trust in my father’s efforts, that the militia have been suitably drilled on its usage and that it has been designed to the specifications he required,” she said, then offered a smile. “Of course, it may take a few days to make a suitable breach. If another breach is made, I will leave the decision up to Lord Isarau. However, a breach will be made, this castle built with peasants in mind rather than cannons.”
He nodded, then gestured for her to continue.
“With a breach at this corner, keeping the troops downhill, I believe they will attempt to flee and will likely use the breach itself to more easily haul what they can, the back wall difficult to scale in a rush,” she said, drawing an arrow for the anticipated movement of their enemy. “The militia are more lightly armoured and their weapons better suited for fighting in the woods, that we send them around to the back, which will deflect the mercenaries north.” She drew in another line. “Which brings them to pass by the northern ridge, where a sturdy force can block their path. With the militia to the west and the rest of the troops coming from the south, they’re thus forced down into the flatter terrain of the east where the cavalry can charge them and otherwise run down the deserters.”
She paused for a moment.
“I know it is unlikely things will go exactly as this,” she said. “However, I believe these events naturally follow the likely choices they will make, and will leave us in a good position to react appropriately when they diverge.”
“Go on,” the general said.
She looked up, giving him a smile, then returned to pointing at the relevant spots on her drawing. “With Sir Ludwig to accompany the militia, he can make the final decisions on whether to charge the mercenaries or allow them to flee into the forest. While putting them down is preferred, taking back the castle is sufficient if our position in the forest is poor,” she said, then moved her focus to the northern ridge. “I presume Lord Isarau would want to give the order to charge, leading the troops here to engage. It would certainly be preferred to meet them at the correct angle, that they do not have the advantage of fighting down the hill, and that the cavalry can have a clean charge at their flank.”
Discussions on the eventualities continued late into the night, her gentle voice discussing each matter at length with the occasional input from Isarau and Ludwig. That, when they finally did retire and the knight walked her back, he asked, “My Lady has studied the nature of warfare?”
“My family has seen war and I have listened. Of course, I do not think myself an expert from words alone and I doubt I will have sound advice when swords clash. However, on the matter of strategy, I believe I have learned the basics and am willing to consider what may happen at great lengths, that we may be, if not prepared, then at least not surprised.”
He chuckled at that, scratching his chin that hadn’t been shaved since setting out on this assignment. “I would be surprised if we are surprised,” he said, chuckling again at his little joke.
She said nothing, but the ironic smile no one saw spoke to her disagreement with his humoured tone. Surprises were not something she was fond of.
As merry as the camp had been, it was still Isarau’s troops, a certain order maintained into the late hours with a watch and a patrol keeping keen eyes on the castle atop the hill. Their presence had certainly been noticed, but no force stirred this night.
In the morning, with no orders to march, there was a laxness to the general’s troops which the militia did not match. Ludwig, in her stead, took on the duties of leadership, bringing the militia through their morning drills while she watched from the side.
After that, the militia split into two parts, with the quarter that made up the bombardiers getting to work and the rest of the two-hundred-odd settling in. While Ludwig was curious about the pair of bombards she had towed along, he could only watch on from her side, absolutely mystified what dunking paper into a barrel had to do with cannons.
She didn’t linger there, instead going around the camp and, where those of her militia were not engrossed in some matter, she spoke a few words.
“Where does sir usually work?” she asked.
“Ah, that’s—that is, one works at the bakery, ma’am,” the young man said, neck bent at an angle and back arched, forgetting how to salute a superior at this time.
She gave him a gentle smile, not commenting on his discipline. “That is, the bakery near the cathedral, the one by the main bridge, opposite the cemetery, along the plaza, next to the river—or is sir from outside the city?”
His eyes widened, for a moment forgetting even his own name. “That is… opposite the cemetery… ma’am.”
“Baur’s, then. It does quite well, I have heard,” she said.
“Y-yes, ma’am. It does.”
After another gentle smile, she moved on to his companion, as if held up by strings now cut how he slumped the moment she looked away.
Ludwig held a mild admiration of the breadth of her knowledge. While he, as a native to the area, could certainly come up with all the bakeries in the city if given a moment, she had done so without hesitation, knowing both the locations and, apparently, the names.
An unimportant son to an unimportant baron, he had, in a manner, been in her employ since her father passed. However, his years here had been free of war and, until now, he had not been called up to service. There had been times with highwaymen and other scoundrels, but nothing so important that her father had rode out with troops. His prestige over the other knights came from his successes in jousting, more a tradition than a competition these days, nothing like the events of the past. Matters of military, he had read every word he could, listened to old tales by scarred men, and had led small parties against the aforementioned scoundrels.
Yet he had begun to feel a certain inferiority around this young lady, barely of her majority. For every conversation she had, he found her knowing a little more about the city—one she had hardly visited with how she had spent most of the last decade in the capital. It unnerved him in a way he couldn’t put to words.
By the end of the day, it had seemed like she had spoken to every member of the militia. He considered that she really might have. Regardless, there was one person of hers she hadn’t spoken to, waiting until after the evening meal to do so.
“Sir Ludwig, you have a wife and children, do you not?” she said, standing with him by the river as they had the day before.
He blinked, unprepared for such a question and so took a moment to gather his answer. “I do, My Lady,” he said.
Looking over, he saw her softly smiling. “This is a matter not for Lord Isarau to hear of and I am saying that as your superior, understood?” she whispered.
“Understood, ma’am.”
“You are not to engage the mercenaries. If they enter the woods, defend yourselves as necessary. However, do not pursue them, no matter what.”
Whatever he had expected to hear, it wasn’t this. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “My Lady, that is… we are still soldiers. I know that we do not compare to Lord Isarau’s troops, but to expect such cowardice from us….”
“I do not expect cowardice, I expect discipline,” she said, letting those words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “You are to deter them entering the woods. If they do so, then there is no clean victory to be had. I would rather bring home every man, than half the men and some dead mercenaries. Is that understood?”
He couldn’t answer, asked to conflict the oaths he swore.
Still, she did not push him, waiting a while before next speaking. “Your son became a squire this year, did he not? I would think you wish to see him receive his accolade in a few years time.”
“What son wants a coward for a father? I swore an oath to protect…” he said, trailing off there as whatever else he had to say sounded unnecessary at this moment.
“You swore on oath to me. Loyalty is not subservience. Believe in me, as I believe in you. Doubt me in your heart, curse me in your sleep, but believe in me. Believe that, while I may make mistakes or have errors of judgement, I do all things with purpose and with the good of my people in mind.”
He was not swayed, but stirred. In his heart, not belief, but the desire to believe, and it was that desire she spoke to, nurtured. It was not easy to believe someone was infallible, easier to believe their heart was in the right place. And what knight did not wish to serve a just ruler?
“Kindness is a weakness,” he whispered.
She softly smiled as she turned to look up at the castle. “I know who to show kindness and who to show none,” she said.
Although he had given no answer, any answer he could have given was not one she could have trusted, the truth something that would show with time. Likewise, it mattered not whether his oath to secrecy held true. Rather than truth and lies, she knew such things were instead divided into that which would hurt her if known and that which wouldn’t, and she had no reservations about what would come to pass if he divulged this matter to Isarau. If she had needed secrecy, then she would not have spoken so frankly.
The general, she knew, would understand. Even if Ludwig said nothing, it would become clear on the battlefield and, at that time, she would look Isarau in the eye without shame.
So the day of preparations ended.