Musket for a King

by Todd Shryock

  I looked at the daughter, who was looking directly at me with those blue eyes. I turned back to the old woman, nudging her hard with the barrel of my musket, pointing at the bag. “More!” I demanded.

  Defeated, she reached deeper under the floorboards and pulled out more food until my bag was filled.

  “Time to go,” Niklas said, watching the concern grow on the farmer’s face as he saw how full my bag was. “Get to the door,” he ordered me as he slowly back away from the farmer, his weapon leveled. Before he followed me out the door, he looked at the farmer and pointed to his daughter. “You! Hide her better.”

  The farmer looked at him blankly, then nodded once. “Yes. Better next time.”

  We trotted quickly away from the cabin. “Whenever you steal from someone, get away as quickly as possible,” he said. “You never know if they’ll pull out a fowling piece and shoot you in the back or if they have sons hidden nearby who will ambush you. I once saw half a village come swarming out of the woods to chase after the last men leaving the village.”

  “Did they catch them?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, because I didn’t stop running until I was back to the camp,” he laughed.

  Following his lead, we carefully approached our camp, identifying where the pickets were and found a man who was particularly inattentive and slipped by, keeping several thick sections of brush between us and him.

  We wove through the camp, occasionally asking for directions until we found our battalion and then our messmates. Simon and Jannick were cooking something over the fire, a couple of bottles of wine nearby.

  “Hello boys!” Niklas called out, drawing smiles as we approached. The tone of his voice told them we had something good.

  “What have you got there?” Jannick asked, a piece of bread half hanging out of his mouth.

  “What don’t we have would be a better question,” he said. “Ooh, is that wine?”

  Simon pulled another bottle from his sack and tossed one to Niklas. “Liberated from the locals. You should have seen how much wine this man had.”

  “Far more than he could ever drink himself,” Jannick said. “We figured it would be doing him a favor if we helped him empty some of these bottles.”

  We laughed and took a seat around the fire, Niklas digging through his bag to see what he could add to the stew the other two already had going.

  “Room for one more?” asked a shy voice.

  Looking up, who did I see but Karl, his red hair reflecting the firelight.

  We rushed up to embrace him, but he shielded us away. “Please,” he begged, “the back is still a little tender.”

  “Did you eat all the food at the hospital so they would send you back, you fat goat?” Simon asked as we took our seats on the ground. Karl snickered and plopped down next to the fire. “You get fed more there, but they are always poking and prodding you and putting strange things on you.”

  “Like … ” Niklas pointed to his crotch, causing Simon to spray a mouthful of wine onto the fire.

  “No!” Karl protested. “Nothing like that.”

  Niklas raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “I wasn’t sure what you were referring to.”

  “Not that, I assure you,” Karl said. “Now, what is it we have cooking?”

  “All the best the locals could offer,” Simon assured him.

  “I want to hear more about what they put on you,” I said, but Karl ignored me.

  “Let us eat the local’s food and drink their wine and have Henri tell us of the treasure we left behind,” Niklas said, looking at me with a wicked grin.

  “Treasure?” Jannick asked, sitting upright. “What kind of treasure?” he asked suspiciously, wondering why we left it behind.

  “A girl,” I said.

  Niklas threw up his hands in disgust. “A girl? Really Henri? You must slowly feed these wolves the details until the drool runs from their mouths. Describe her in every detail so that they might look into the fire and see the spectacle that we saw just a few hours ago.”

  I took a deep breath as all eyes turned to me. “She … ” I caught myself, stopping my mouth from blurting out every detail at once. I knew Niklas wanted me to draw everything out and embellish it for their entertainment, so I decided to do my best imitation of the storyteller in my hometown, who knew how to keep an audience mesmerized.

  I leaned closer to the fire and lowered my voice so they were forced to lean in closer. “She was the finest creature you could ever lay eyes on,” I said as Simon began to ladle out stew into everyone’s cups. “She descended the ladder, like an angel descends from heaven … ”

  “Ladder?” Jannick asked too loudly. “Did you see up her dress?”

  A sharp blow from Simon silenced him.

  “She came down from the heavens, and when she turned to face us, the air was drawn from our lungs, her beauty was so great,” I continued. “Her hair was like a field of wheat, shining in the autumn sun.” I noticed the smirk on Niklas’ face and how the eyes of the other boys were growing wider with each word. “Her eyes were made of ice blue that only the almighty himself could carve with a loving hand, and her rosy cheeks had been kissed by the sun and caressed by a gentle breeze that returned to heaven, for after touching her, the air was unworthy to touch another mortal.”

  “Whoa,” Simon said softly, taking a swig from his bottle.

  “We were not worthy to be in her grand presence, her glow outshining that of the most powerful queens in Europe, but yet there she stood, her long, thin fingers a perfect white, with not a blemish to be seen. The air around her smelled of sweet flowers in a spring field, and her smile sent us both to one knee, our heads bowed in reverence.”

  “Whoa,” Simon repeated again, envisioning the image I was describing.

  “When she spoke, her voice flowed like honey, each word soft and silky, tickling our ears with a voice of angel, commanding us to rise.”

  I paused, grabbing Simon’s bottle and taking a deep drink before continuing. “It was only then that her white dress that glimmered in the light showed the curves hidden beneath.” Karl moved so far forward from the far side of the fire, I thought he was going to set himself alight. “Mountains and valleys have nothing on her,” I said, slowly shaking my head in disbelief as Niklas’ stifled a laugh.

  “What happened then?” Simon asked, his voice hushed.

  “She looked into my soul, smiled and took me by the hand,” I said.

  “The hand … ” Karl repeated, his eyes growing wider by the second. “Then what?”

  “She led me to one side and pulled out the delicious food you hold before you and offered it to us.”

  They all looked into their cups, as if the stew were ambrosia and I took another deep draw from the wine bottle, the sour taste flooding my mouth and soothing my insides on the way down.

  “And then?” Simon asked.

  I shrugged. “We left.”

  “You left?” he said, incredulous. “You mean, you didn’t liberate her virtue?”

  I scowled in response. “Of course not. We are God-fearing men, and you do not force yourself on one of God’s angels.”

  Simon sighed. “I suppose not,” he said. “But she was beautiful?”

  “The most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen,” Niklas confirmed.

  The boys all sat in silence, picturing in their head the girl, savoring the image.

  “And she gave you all this food?” Simon asked, breaking the silence as he looked into my forage bag.

  “Every piece of it,” I said.

  “I hope I see someone like that one day,” he said wistfully.

  I looked at Niklas, who nodded once in approval, the smirk still on his face. I turned my attention to my stew and enjoyed the best meal in some time.

  Chapter 6

  Early the next morning, we were on the march. I decided that army life was just a really long walk, punctuated by random encounters with an elusive enemy. And when you weren’t marching, you were look
ing for food, which involved leaving the spot where you had stopped marching, so you could walk even farther in the hopes that you might find a little bread or a few vegetables -- or if you were really lucky, a chicken.

  As we pushed deeper into enemy territory, word of our approach spread. The retreating enemy stripped the land of everything edible, forcing us to go farther and farther out in search of food. To make matters worse, they removed the planks on every bridge, felled trees across the road and did everything possible to slow our advance.

  Our existence was that of a giant human accordion. We stood at arms, ready to march, waiting for hours sometimes until the column jolted forward, then just as suddenly stopped an hour later. We were well back in the column and never knew why we stopped. When we moved again, sometimes we crossed a bridge that looked to have been recently repaired by our sappers, but other times, there was no apparent reason for the delays.

  The villages we passed were eerily empty, with doors and windows open, the inhabitants long gone. When you see enough scenes like that, you start to wonder if the army is the only thing left on Earth, that perhaps the almighty started the rapture and left our poor souls behind.

  The food we found -- or were allotted on the rare occasion when our supply wagons both caught up to us and actually had something on them -- was meager, but we always shared what we found.

  The boots of many long-timers in the battalion were starting to wear out, and no replacements were forthcoming. So now, not only were we looking for food, we were also looking for shoes.

  “If the Austrians would just stop and fight, I could get some replacements from their dead,” Simon said as we pulled boards from the floor of a house, hoping to find some hidden cache of food.

  “The Austrians do have nice boots,” Niklas added, working the other side of the room. “I could use a pair myself.” He held up one foot to show us the holes in his soles.

  I felt guilty, for my boots were still in great shape compared to the scraps of leather they were forced to wear.

  “I’ve got something!” Simon said excitedly as he reached under the floor. He pulled up a wooden sabot, typical footwear of the local peasants.

  “I don’t think that is your size,” Niklas said, noting that it was for a small child.

  Simon tossed it aside and continued feeling around under the floor, then withdrew his arm, empty-handed.

  “Nothing?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he said, disappointed.

  “Why would someone hide a shoe under the floor?” I asked.

  “And just one of them,” Simon added, as perplexed as I was about the find.

  “Probably to taunt us,” Niklas said, still pulling boards loose, not giving up hope.

  We worked in silence for several minutes until we ran out of places to look, with nothing to show for our efforts.

  “Did you hear about the men in the other company?” Simon asked as we sat with our backs to the wall, resting.

  “What about them?” Niklas said.

  “They were out looking for shoes, and when they came back, Zorn caught them and took them before the colonel, who ordered them lashed. I guess they begged for leniency, seeing as how they were practically barefoot, but the colonel had an urgent matter and referred them to Lieutenant Hasbling.”

  “Hasbling?” Niklas said. “He’s younger than us and never leaves headquarters.”

  “But he’s the son of somebody important,” Simon said. “So the boy-lieutenant looks at Zorn, who suggests he follow the colonel’s original recommendation for twenty lashes each -- and the lieutenant agreed.”

  “The sergeant should have been lashed for suggesting anything to an officer, especially in front of rankers,” Niklas said.

  I nodded. When around officers, it was best to keep your opinions to yourself.

  “This is pointless,” Simon said, looking around the ramshackle cabin. “We’re trying to steal from people who don’t have anything to steal.”

  “We’re not stealing, we’re liberating,” I corrected.

  “Right,” Niklas added. “Just ask the emperor.”

  “Whose emperor?” Simon challenged.

  “You’re marching where our prince tells us to march, and the prince is under the control of the emperor, so I guess that makes him your emperor,” Niklas explained as he tried to beat the dust off his shako with his hand. “I really need a new hat.”

  “Hats, shoes, coats -- they’re all worn out,” Simon said, poking his finger through a hole in his coat.

  “Tell the local lass you took a bullet there,” I suggested.

  Simon appeared to take the suggestion seriously. “Hmm,” he said, considering it further.

  “Notice that everything is worn out, but our guns are in good shape,” Niklas said, ignoring Simon’s bullet-hole scheme.

  “Coats and shoes don’t conquer empires,” I said, wishing some secret stash of food would reveal itself to me.

  “Well, they would certainly help,” Simon said, apparently done thinking about his fictional local lass.

  Sitting in silence, we rested our heads against the rough boards of the wall. In my brief time with my comrades, I had developed a great deal of respect for them. Niklas taught me how to survive as a soldier, always giving small pieces of advice on how to better clean my gun, search for hidden food or avoid the sentries when coming back to camp. Simon acted as if we had been friends for years and was the sort of soul you knew would do anything for you.

  “We should get back,” Niklas said, finally breaking the silence after just a few peaceful minutes.

  Simon got to his feet and extended a hand to help pull us to ours.

  “We need not worry about the pickets, because we can’t get stopped for marauding if we have nothing to show for it,” Simon said.

  I chuckled and slapped Simon on the shoulder. “If only it were that easy.”

  ***

  Before dawn the next day, we were on the march again, our pace noticeably slower than in the recent past. Men, horses and equipment were all rapidly wearing out from the constant travel.

  Just past mid-morning, Karl dropped out of line and sat down, and we stopped with him.

  “What's wrong?” Niklas asked.

  “My feet are too sore,” he said. “My boots have no soles – look.” He held up his foot to show us the blistered bottom of his foot.

  “We have to get back in line,” Simon said, sounding nervous.

  “Wrap them up,” Niklas ordered. He unslung his pack and rummaged through it until he found several long strips of cloth. “Use these.”

  Karl took them and began wrapping them around his feet like a scarf around a neck. I bent down to help him tie them up, looping them through his boots so they wouldn't easily come undone.

  “The devil arrives,” Niklas warned with a great deal of scorn.

  “What's going on here!” Zorn screamed, pushing me over with his boot. “I didn't say you could drop out of line!”

  “We were helping him protect his feet,” I protested.

  “It doesn't take half the damn company to help this old woman,” he said. “He's worthless as a soldier anyway, but so are you. I ought to ship the both of you back home to your mamas and tell them to send your grandmothers instead.”

  Knowing it would only worsen my punishment, I said nothing, but rose to my feet and quickly helped Karl to his.

  “I should whip the lot of you,” he warned, jabbing the hated walking stick in my direction. “Always skulking about. Get moving!”

  “Any chance we'll get new boots soon, sergeant?” Simon asked as he walked past.

  “Boots are for the ladies in the blue coats. We are Wurttembergers and need no such luxuries!”

  Simon looked at the sergeant's boots, which looked as though they had just been delivered from the cobbler's bench, but moved on.

  “That's right, you rascals, there will be no skulking in Zorn’s battalion,” he called after us. “Get back in line or I’ll have you
all whipped!”

  We trotted along until we found our place in line and returned to the march, leaving the devil behind us.

  “I heard that a wagonload of boots arrived last night for us, but Zorn turned them away,” Simon said.

  “He's reselling them to other units,” Niklas said. “The officers pay no attention as long as their supplies are delivered. Zorn is cutting deals with other units and trading our supplies for money and contraband.”

  I looked at Niklas, wondering how he knew such things.

  “I know people that know the truth,” he said. “Look at us,” he nodded to all the men around us, many with their feet wrapped like Karl or completely barefoot, coats patched with a multitude of colored cloth and shakos that sagged like the roof on an abandoned cabin. “We suffer while he grows rich.”

  “Someone should just shoot the bastard,” Simon suggested.

  Niklas looked at him, his face revealing he had the same thought.

  “We can’t shoot the sergeant,” I whispered as loud as I dared. “The prince would have us all hanged.”

  “In battle, bad things happen,” Karl said.

  “So I’ve heard,” I said, not wanting to be part of any plot to kill the sergeant, no matter how deserved. “And what would be the point? Another equally bad man would take his place.”

  “Bad, probably, but not equal,” Niklas said. “Zorn has no equal when it comes to cruelty.”

  We marched in silence, the dusty road meandering through rolling hills and empty farms, abandoned villages and sparse woods. Men dropped by the road, exhausted and unable to continue on blistered and bloodied feet, no matter how much Zorn and the other sergeants attempted to get them moving again. Our ranks continued to thin as the day wore on. The lack of boots and a steady supply of food – and at times water – had made us all noticeably thinner, and our stamina continued to drop with each exhausting march.

  “What will happen to them?” I asked of the men dropping out.

  Simon looked past me toward the miserable wretches who were being harangued by Zorn and another sergeant. “Someone will sweep them up at the end of the line,” he said. “If they can’t walk, they’ll be thrown on whatever wagons are handy. Some will slink off into the woods and hide, deserting for good.”