There was no bone of hers that hadn’t been rattled, no muscle spared from aching. However, she stood tall with a polite smile—as only was proper for a lady. Those who needed to know her pain, knew; and those who didn’t, didn’t.
Around her was a grid of tents organised to a particular pattern, behind her the largest such tent, albeit still one not much bigger than a place to sleep and wipe down, its only real luxury a table for writing with a modestly comfortable chair. Not that she would call that a luxury, writing very much a necessity for her and her position.
It was far from a quiet camp. Not just soldiers, but wives and children accompanied some, merchants eager to sell luxuries not afforded by her, even women of the night. Although she had expected all of this from her reading and learning, it still struck quite the sight to actually see—this “campaign” different to her hurried marches of before.
However, that had contributed to her reasoning for the march. She wished to see the sight of the baggage train stretching back along the dirt roads, see how soldiers managed with their packs, how well they could assemble an organised camp day after day. Not to mention, it was one thing to know others would follow the march, another thing to see who and how many.
Some freshness lingered in the air from an early summer downpour the day before, accompanied by the scent of freshly baked bread. Horses neighed, men and children made what merry they could, the wind whistled, at times silent and other times a refreshing breeze.
The time now seemed right, so she walked over to the camp’s entrance.
There, her left hand resting on her sword’s hilt, the hills of the Alps lingered on either side, yet most of the sight was simply farmland. Even the nearby town found itself obstructed by the rise and fall of the land. A river, more heard than seen, hid amongst a curved line of greenery that cut through the fields of wheat—and maize. Far from the city of Venice where this basin of grain flowed to, it seemed to her some farmers had turned to the exotic grain, selling instead to the locals and travelling merchants who needed feed for their animals.
The flow of goods followed a strange geography which was almost unknown, not because it was not known, but for lack of a reason to know it. Cities were like pits where the goods flowed down into; the farther away, the less steep the incline. Such a geography did not strictly follow the natural world either, distorted by roads and rivers and bridges and seas. After all, from her reading, Rome had once been as if the world itself, such a deep pit that, standing inside it, one could not imagine a world beyond its reach.
However, the rest of the world had still been there and, once Rome fell, its pit became one little different from other cities. So the endless grain which had poured into it now spilled elsewhere.
Two men emerged from beyond the nearby rise and fall of the land, breaking her from her musings. One she recognised as Henry—Sir Michel’s nephew—and the other she recognised as the mayor of the town just ahead. Not that she had met this mayor before, but she had sent Henry to fetch the mayor and could see accomplishment in his posture. Behind them then came a few more of her men and, presumably, a few of the mayor’s men.
Once the two were a few steps away, they came to a stop and Henry said, “Ma—My Lady, this is Mayor Bruni of Trento.”
Her trusty knight Ludwig stepped up to her side, but gave no greeting.
“Signor Sindaco, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said, making no movement but to show a smile at the end.
The mayor regarded her for a moment, then tipped his fabric cap. “Your Italian is quite good.”
“Do not address me so casually,” she replied, nothing about her expression changing, yet her stern tone gave her smile a certain coldness.
Although he did not huff, he looked very much like he wished to. “Lady… Augstadt, was it?”
“It is,” she said and, after a beat, added, “Your German is quite good too.”
This time he did huff, albeit only slightly. “This soldier of… My Lady’s, he was insistent, but I am busy. Please state the business.”
“Oh, if it is like that, then I shan’t indulge in pleasantries. I am to understand Mr Mayor is recently elected?” she asked.
His expression soured at her addressing him in German now, but she put a question to him and so he answered: “Yes.”
“A six-year term, is it?” she asked, tilting her head.
He clenched his hands for a moment before he answered. “Yes.”
She nodded, bringing up a hand to rest against her chin, then narrowed her eyes. “Mr Mayor should know then that I shall be coming this way with an army before the end of your term with the purpose of besieging Venice. At such a time, it would be in your own and the town’s interest to permit us free passage and to allow us to purchase grain.”
It had been said plainly, yet that made it no easier a thing to listen to, his expression even darker by the end. “My Lady is making a joke? Very funny,” he said, voice thin.
“There is no joke here.” Her tone held no humour and her eyes remained narrowed and mouth flat.
Despite that, after a moment, he laughed an empty chuckle.
She waited until he finished and looked about to speak, then spoke up herself. “Even if you think I am not capable of taking Venice, you should remember how distant it is from here,” she said, her tone unchanged, yet that only served to make her words heavier.
He hesitated, but only for a second. “My Lady, there is much silver mining here,” he said, his tone faster. “We are more than capable of defending ourselves until Venice sends her army, and she will send it.”
She stared at him, stared him down without a flicker of emotion on her face—until she saw his gaze flicker away, at which point she raised her hand. One second, two, five, then—
A twin boom shattered the silence; she lowered her hand.
Her voice unchanged, now heard as a whisper after the deafening sound, she said, “When the time comes, I shall pass peacefully or I shall leave no trace of Trento behind. The only aid Venice may then offer you is a kind word at your graves. That is, of course, if they should come, for we both know how Venice has struggled in recent years. Should they hear of an army, surely they shall hide away on their little island, surrounded by rotting ships, eating what is left of their piles of gold for what little good it does to stifle their hunger.”
Flames flickered behind his eyes. “What is to stop me from telling them of your plan?”
“I already told you not to address me so casually,” she whispered, her head tilted back and tone cold, only to return to how she had spoken before in the next moment. “And please, do tell them. In fact, let us assume they even believe you, then what do you think will happen? Do remember, they are merchants. They do not care about you or the people of the town. No, they shall bleed the mine dry while they can, then run off with the profits as soon as they hear the first whisper of my army.”
Still, he stood there without looking away. “My Lady has quite the imagination.”
“Is that so?” she asked, a small smile colouring her lips. “The Spanish and Portuguese continue to bring back exotic goods in such volume, even the French and British now taking part, with the Dutch supplying us Germans. It is no wonder the goods Venice sells have lost their lustre. Meanwhile, the Greeks have slowly eroded the Venetian presence on their mainland—and, little by little, they grow their navy, gaining experience from all their skirmishes with the Muslims.”
At the end of her monologue, she brought up her hand and touched her chin.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Mr Mayor, do tell me, how should a little city in a lagoon compete once its trade dries up?”
He held a flat expression. “Unfortunately, my imagination is not as vivid as My Lady’s.”
“Understandable. Well then, before you are dismissed, I would imagine one last thing for you: What do you think they will do if they have even the slightest doubt of your loyalty?” She paused there a moment, holding his gaze. “Keep in mind my offer. I have no desire to spill blood; however, if it must be spilt, it shall not be German blood that waters these hills. That is a promise.”
With that said, she turned around and strode into the camp. Behind her, a word rang out that she did not catch, nothing that could be said now of any interest to her. After standing for so long, she simply wished to return to her tent.
The hasty footsteps that soon followed her made her doubt she would have that luxury any time soon.
“Ma’am, please, I’ve seen the town—I can take it.”
She stopped, then slowly turned until she was facing Henry. A few years of honest work had done the young man some good, albeit his youth lingering in his patchy stubble, otherwise not quite so lanky and timid.
Of course, that was not to say he was necessarily a better man than before and now was not the best time for him to test her patience. “Let us consider this a moment of teaching. To begin with, we shall duel.”
He was struck dumb by her last words, so it was Ludwig who said, “A duel, ma’am?”
“Indeed. There should be some space and an audience by the ovens, no?”
She already turned and strode off before she finished speaking, leaving the other two to hurry after her. Reaching her side, Ludwig asked, “A duel between whom exactly?”
“Why, Mr Henry and myself.”
She said it as if entirely obvious, which did not seem the case to either man, both now struck silent. Regardless of their disbelief, she led them to the open area where many men sat around, thick with chatter, eager to be first served once the evening meal finished cooking.
At her arrival, like a wave spreading through them, that chatter ceased and posture improved. Those nearest gave her a salute and a disjointed chorus of, “Ma’am!” rang out.
“Be at ease and enjoy the entertainment,” she said, loosely gesturing with one hand.
Although the crowd settled down, they did not settle as comfortably as before—if only because they now had a show to watch. These were not entirely commoners either, but cousins and nephews of the barons under her, as well as learned men from families that had some wealth and prestige. While their training was still ongoing, they contributed to the officers of the militia, split into three ranks. At the lowest, an officer commanded five men (himself making the sixth); at the next rank, an officer commanded four of these units, totalling twenty-four men; and lastly, the highest officers commanded five such units, making up a full company of one hundred and twenty men.
Of course, these were only organisational officers. Their duties were to ensure their men were in the right place, at the right time, with the right equipment, including meals and sleeping arrangements. Thus, some literacy was required.
On the other side of the hierarchy were the actual knights and nobles that made up the “leaders” of the companies, but those people had another affair to attend at this time. It was also the case that she had no intention of engaging in any battles, so there was no need to bring them along. For that same reason, she had only brought around half of her militia.
However, these officers were still men trained to fight, ready with good armour, and eager to prove themselves worthy of promotion—or to hold on to their position. Any bandits or errant mercenary companies would not find easy prey.
So Henry was not an outlier in his eagerness. Still, a lesson needed to be taught. In the empty space she had found, she chose her position on one side and gestured at the other side for him.
“Ma’am, please, I can’t raise my weapon at ma’am. I can’t raise my weapon at a woman.”
She made no show of her displeasure, yet it came out loud and clear in her words. “You do know there are women in the town? If you cannot bring yourself to strike at me, then what shall you do when a mother comes at you with a cooking knife, desperate to save her children from your slaughter? Should I go back and raise an army of women, that they would win every battle as the other side would not dare raise their weapons?”
A hushed laughter rolled through the crowd. He had already looked humiliated, standing there with a look about him as if he would rather be far, far away, then her words fell, fell hard, bringing a heaviness to his posture. “Ma’am, I—”
She interrupted him by pulling out her sword—a rapier, long and thin—which she stabbed into the damp earth, then began to walk over to him with her hand out. Pressured, he fumbled to take out his own sword and matched her, stabbing it into the ground, then hastily walked to meet her with his hand up.
Only for her, as their hands would meet, to take a quick step forward and flick her wrist. A flash of steel. She did not hold back and drove the dagger hard into his chest, but spared him its point, pommel striking with a muffled thud against the thick cloth over his armour.
And he staggered back, wheezing.
“I believe that would be my victory,” she said, drawn up to her full height and seeming taller with how he bent over, clutching his chest.
“Ma-am,” he coughed out, stretching it across two breaths.
She turned and strode back to her rapier without so much as a glance behind her. “If we should storm the town now, we shall simply be murderers. I would not ask that of my loyal subjects. War is not a game, certainly not one I would drag my people into lightly. So I am here to play diplomacy in the hope that, when the time comes, we may avoid spilling the blood of our fellow Christians.”
No interest at all in what else Henry may have had to say, she continued on back to her tent in a heavy silence.
The moment she crossed the threshold, she felt a chill, finally out of the sun’s heat. Although not an intense heat, she was hardly dressed lightly and the weight of her armour did not help. Still, she could bear it when necessary; when not necessary, she saw no need to subject herself to another burden.
Some burdens, though, sought her out regardless.
Sat at her desk with her eyes closed, she said, “Sir has thoughts on this matter?”
Ludwig let out a breathless sigh. “If My Lady is worried I disapprove of the… lesson, then be at ease. Henry certainly needs a reminder now and then that he is not a gallant knight of stories.”
“However….”
This time, there was some breath to his chuckle. “I am curious that My Lady would give such a warning. If not soon, then some years to prepare for an attack certainly shall not make our… work any easier.”
For a while, she remained so still he began to wonder if she had indeed fallen asleep. He knew better, though, and dutifully awaited her reply.
“Sir Ludwig, if I may, what does victory look like to you?”
It was the kind of question he expected from her and similar to one she had asked before. That did not make it any easier to answer, far from it. “I suppose one where our army is able to fight and the enemy cannot.”
“Victory, to me, is the betterment of my subjects,” she simply replied.
A casually spoken sentence with little more effort than required for him to hear.
“I have no desire to loot these little towns for what riches they hold, such wealth temporary. Ultimately, the strategic result I wish for is to cut these farmlands from Venetian control so that we may pull their grain to our lands and trade our wares with them. To that end, I hope that we may avoid pillaging and otherwise devastating these lands, that we may form a positive relationship with these peoples.”
After a moment’s silence, he cleared his throat. “The mayor….”
The corner of her lips curled. “Tell me, if one cannot meet the besiegers with sword in hand, how should one overcome a siege?”
“Well, I suppose the easiest is to simply outlast them. As long as their attempts to compromise the walls are thwarted, then there is only so much to forage in the nearby area,” he said, his voice soft as he thought aloud more than spoke.
When he looked back at her, he saw that the curl had taken over her whole mouth. “The good mayor should think the same. However, with such a vague time given, it is not like he could salt the earth and lock up the town now. So he must hoard more and more grain, always on edge, and then, when we finally do come….”
He listened closely, leaning closer and closer to better hear her quiet voice, until her pause snapped him out of it. Straightening up, he swallowed. “And when we do come?”
Her eyes fluttered open, smile sickly sweet. “They will have much grain to sell us.”
A sense of inevitability followed her words, which he did not doubt. Far be it from him to doubt his liege; however, this went deeper than that.
An oath was reason enough to dutifully serve without doubt. What he saw in her, though, inspired a loyalty all of its own. Someone who, while not perfect, was earnest and pious and pained by the cruelness of reality, with a far-reaching awareness of how everything connected.
It was something he had not seen in her father. A great man, of course, one who inspired his own kind of loyalty. The longer one spoke with him, the more it seemed like he had every answer to every problem in the world, which he could solve if one lent him ones strength. An intoxicating relationship.
With her, it was more like she was searching for the answers, and he felt compelled to help her find them. Back home, rarely a day went by when she did not meet someone of merit and patiently listen to them with probing questions. She knew well the limits of what she knew and tried to only act within them; however, when required, she still did her best to act outside those limits.
And when the time came to act, she did not hesitate.
“I do apologise,” she whispered, fragile words that drifted over to him.
“For what reason could My Lady possibly have to apologise?” he asked lightly.
Her hand slowly rolled over, then stilled, only to return to her other hand, neatly folded. “I have taken so many from the festivities of the Prince’s marriage. Such a petulant child I still am,” she said.
For a moment, he did not know what to say, but there were times when silence was worse than near any answer. “My Lady, many of us have spoken—not that we gossip. That is… we are My Lady’s subjects. Before that, we were your father’s subjects. For those of us who have sworn both such oaths, we have been twice injured by His Highness, and we shall not soon forget it.”
Silence followed, stretching longer and longer, what distant sounds of the camp leaked in only serving to intensify the silence inside the tent.
Until finally, she spoke. “Then I shall never forget the harm caused to my subjects.”
Such a sweetly seditious line, yet one that brought a gentle smile to him.