Sword of the Crown

by Paul J Bennett

  Beverly looked on with disgust at the Knights of Shrewesdale, for they had been responsible for her disgrace years ago. She ordered the Bodden Knights north on the road and was about to follow them when she spotted a familiar face. Telling them she would catch up, she rode over to see the huge knight with an axe strapped to his back.

  “Sir Heward,” she called out as she approached him.

  The great man, startled by the call, looked over at her. He nodded in greeting as she got closer.

  “How goes the march?” she asked.

  A grim smile creased his heavily bearded face, the thick black hair all but hiding his mouth, “Not as well as I would have liked, Dame Beverly, though I hear your fortunes have risen.”

  “Indeed they have,” she replied, “I am now a Knight of the Hound. I assume you still serve Lord Shrewesdale?”

  “I do,” he replied, though she thought she detected some contempt in his voice.

  She leaned in closer so as not to be overheard, “Is there a problem I should know about?”

  He glanced about, but the next nearest knight was out of earshot, “The earl is not the nicest man, as you’re well aware. He’s had the men marching for hours without a break.”

  Beverly was surprised, the earl was a cruel man, but even he must realize that the men needed rest if they were to fight eventually.

  “I take it,” she said, “his knights are here to keep the men in order?”

  He nodded grimly, “Yes, there was a lot of grumbling this morning, the men were hungry.”

  “Hungry? Surely they were fed?”

  “The earl believes the men should be able to fend for themselves. As a result, a number of them have begun raiding the local farms.”

  “Those are Mercerian farmers,” Beverly said, shocked. “We can’t go about raiding our own people, that’d make us worse than the rebels!”

  “He is the Earl of Shrewesdale, one of the king’s closest advisors,” he replied. “Who would dare tell him otherwise?”

  She immediately saw the problem. “I’ll mention it to the princess, and perhaps she will have some way to influence him.”

  “I doubt it,” the big man replied, “but you’re more than welcome to mention it, just don’t tell her it came from me.”

  “I won’t,” she promised.

  * * *

  The ride back to the brigade gave Beverly time to mull over her options. The princess would not be impressed with the news, that much she was sure of. What she would do about it was a whole new problem.

  She caught up with her knights in time to see the rest of her brigade coming into view. The camp was just being set up, and Hayley had been busy planting sticks to mark out the camping areas for each unit. The knights dutifully trotted to their assigned area while Beverly rode over to the command tent.

  Gerald was talking with her father, while Anna was looking over a map, spread out over a collapsible table. The whole scene reminded her of a miniature version of the map room in Bodden. She stepped gingerly over the sleeping Tempus who opened one eye to look at her, and then closed it again.

  “Your Highness,” she said, nodding to Anna.

  “Beverly, you have news of the other brigades?”

  “I do, Highness, though I don’t think you'll like it. They march, but the men don’t look happy. The earl hasn’t issued any food to them.”

  “How can that be? Doesn’t he expect them to eat?”

  “He expects them to live off the land, Ma’am.”

  Gerald and Fitz stopped their conversation at the words. “Surely,” said Fitz, “he’s not that stupid?”

  Beverly looked at her father; he was only saying what they were all thinking. “I heard those words from one of his knights,” she said frankly.

  “What are we to do about it?” asked Gerald.

  Anna pulled a sheet of paper from beneath her map, “We can’t do anything yet, we have our own problems getting food, thanks to the disorganized supply train.” She looked at Gerald and Fitz, “You two have done an amazing job of organizing the supplies, but the congestion on the road is proving troublesome. Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do about it. Once we have our own supplies in hand, we can perhaps do something about the earl’s lack of planning.”

  It was not what Beverly had hoped, but it would have to do. Better to get our affairs in order first, she thought.

  They made plans for the next day's march. Hayley rode out with some Elves to pick out the next campsite and thankfully, there was still no sign of the rebel earl’s army.

  * * *

  The next morning came early, but their wagons had arrived much earlier than the evening before. Each man had cooked more food than required, carrying the extra food with them on the march in case of further supply problems. The camp was awash with the sounds of the morning as soldiers ate and dressed for the journey. Tents were disassembled and placed back on the wagons. Baron Fitzwilliam had seen fit to buy up what tents he could for the army, and the men appreciated the use of them, for overnight there had been a light rain, and the field was wet.

  The Bodden Knights were just finishing when Beverly noticed a rider approaching. As he drew closer, she saw it was Sir Heward, and he appeared to be in a hurry. She waved at him, and he altered course, riding toward her.

  “Dame Beverly,” he said, “I must see the princess at once. Will you take me to her?”

  “Of course,” she replied.

  She led him in silence toward the command tent. Anna was finishing her orders as they approached, while others were taking apart the shelter.

  “Your Highness,” said Beverly, “Sir Heward asks for an audience, he’s one of the earl’s knights.”

  “Of course,” Anna said, “What can I do for you, Sir Heward?”

  The tall knight looked down at his feet before talking, “I’m afraid I must ask you for help, Your Highness,” he said.

  “How so?”

  He raised his gaze to meet the young princess’s eyes, “The earl’s troops are refusing to march until they’re fed,” he said.

  “And rightly so,” said Anna. “How is that a problem?”

  “I’m afraid the earl has ordered his knights to force them to march.”

  “Who else knows of this?” she asked.

  “He sent me to assemble the knights,” Sir Heward continued, “I am to take them to the campsite and force the soldiers to march.”

  “You mean kill some men and force the others to march?”

  “Yes, Highness, I thought it might be better to come here first.”

  Anna tapped her chin absently with her fingers, “I would suggest you return to your knights and assemble them,” she said. “You might want to take the long way and take your time going to the campsite. We shall see if we can’t solve the issue before you arrive.”

  Sir Heward bowed deeply, “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said, “I shall do as you have suggested.”

  “Beverly,” said Anna, “you and Fitz come with me. Gerald, you have command until I return.”

  “Yes, Highness,” replied Gerald, “I’ll see to it.”

  It took less time than Beverly thought it would to ride to the Earl of Shrewesdale’s brigade. They had camped in an open field around a loose collection of fires. As the three riders approached, Beverly watched the men gathering in small groups, holding firmly onto their weapons; these men were expecting a fight.

  Anna stopped short of the men and dismounted, walking toward the soldiers. She strode toward the nearest fire and warmed her hands.

  “It’s a cold morning, isn’t it,” she said to no one in particular.

  There was some grumbling from the soldiers, but none advanced toward her.

  She was looking around the camp as she spoke, and her eyes rested on a distant wagon. She smiled and turned to face the men. “I’m told you have not been provided with food, is this correct?”

  Heads nodded, though no one spoke up.

  “What’s that wagon over ther
e?” she asked, looking across the fire.

  “That belongs to the earl,” said one of the men.

  “Dame Beverly,” she said, “come with me.”

  They walked over to the wagon and peeled back the tarp that covered its contents. Hidden beneath was the carcass of a freshly killed cow, along with a sack full of bread and some blocks of cheese. Beverly spied a large barrel of wine and a box containing some handpicked vintages. She looked at the princess who merely nodded her approval.

  “You,” shouted Beverly, “come and take this food, distribute it as best you can. Make sure you cut it up into smaller pieces, or you’ll be cooking all day.”

  She began pulling out the bread, tossing it to the crowd that was quickly forming. The noise level rapidly increased as soldiers realized what was happening, until the cheering was drowning out individual voices. Off to the side, Beverly saw a trio of knights approaching and moved to intercept them.

  “What’s going on here?” one of them demanded. “That’s the earl’s property. You’ll be hung for this.”

  “You’d have to take that up with Princess Anna,” said Beverly, pointing at the wagon, “she’s right over there.”

  She followed them over to Anna, who was waiting patiently for their arrival. The crowd quieted, and the distribution of food suddenly halted as each man paused to see the outcome of this encounter.

  One knight stepped forward, ready to speak, but Anna interrupted them, “I believe it’s proper to bow when addressing royalty,” she reminded him.

  The man was caught unprepared, and Beverly witnessed indecision forming on his face. He finally bowed, and then spoke.

  “Your Highness, the earl will not be pleased. These men have stolen his property; they must be punished.”

  “Let’s go and see the earl, shall we?” she said. “Do lead on gentlemen, I have a few choice words in mind.”

  They turned to lead her to the earl’s tent, Beverly and her father following along behind.

  Upon entry, the knight walked over to the earl, who was seated and whispered in his ear.

  The earl stood up, his face growing red as he did so. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

  Baron Fitzwilliam spoke, “You should address the princess as Your Highness, Lord.”

  Shrewesdale looked to the baron and then took a breath, “Your Highness,” he said in a calmer voice, “it is not your place to interfere with the running of my brigade. You have overstepped the bounds of your authority, and I must protest.”

  “Of course, Lord Montrose,” said Anna, “shall we go to Prince Henry and talk to him about it? I’m sure my brother is a reasonable person.”

  Shrewesdale looked at her and gulped, as the realization of his position hit him like a brick wall. “I…hardly think that’s necessary, Highness,” he corrected himself. “Perhaps I have overreacted. Still, I would appreciate you coming to me before issuing any commands to my men."

  “Oh, but they are the king’s men,” said Anna. She turned to Beverly, “Tell me again, Dame Beverly, who is the king?”

  Beverly strained to hide her smile, “Your father, Highness.”

  The young princess turned back to the earl. “My father’s soldiers have to fight a battle soon against the Earl of Eastwood. They can’t very well do that if they haven’t been fed, so let me be clear about this. You will ensure you properly feed the men, or I will see to it that both my brother and my father are aware of your incompetence. Is that clear?”

  To hear such authoritative words come from such a small girl startled Beverly, and she saw a look of surprise on her father's face as well.

  Thirty-Seven

  The Enemy Stands

  Spring 960 MC

  Beverly could not believe it had taken six long days of marching to meet the enemy. Mind you, they had not travelled very far each day, for only the Princess's brigade was up and ready to go at the break of dawn. The soldiers' campfires blazed as the setting sun brought the darkness to life. There would be a battle come morning and then, prayed Beverly, the whole rebellion would be crushed, and the Earl of Eastwood either killed or brought to the king for justice.

  His men were camped to the east of the road, looking west. Tomorrow, the king’s army opposed them with better than two to one odds. Beverly was suspicious. She looked at the men in the distance and wondered what the earl was planning, for surely he would have been better to retreat to Eastwood and defend from within the city rather than face a foe that outnumbered him.

  She was pondering that very thought when a voice interrupted her.

  “I suppose you’re used to this,” said Hayley.

  Beverly turned at the sound of her voice, “I see you’ve strung your longbow, expecting trouble?”

  “I don’t believe in taking chances,” she said. “You never know when the enemy might try a raid.”

  “We’ve got pickets up,” said Beverly defensively.

  “Oh I know,” the brunette replied, “but the same can’t be said for the rest of the army.”

  Beverly was startled, could this be true? She shook her head, not really surprised, “If it were up to Valmar, we’d snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.”

  “Pardon me?” said Hayley. “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but the consensus is that Marshal-General Valmar is incompetent.”

  “Surely not, he’s the marshal-general!”

  Beverly shook her head and put her hand on Hayley’s shoulder, “I’m afraid you’ve a lot to learn about being in an army. Valmar only commands because he’s the king’s friend. No one has ever accused him of being a strategist.

  Hayley looked across the field. The sun had finally sunk to the west, and the long shadows had disappeared to be replaced by the darkness. Lights had sprung up across the field, and she watched as even more were lit. “There’s a lot of them,” she said, more to herself.

  Beverly turned back to look, “Not as many as you might think, we outnumber them by a significant amount. It has to be a trap.”

  “A trap?”

  “Yes, only a fool would stand and fight here when they’re so outnumbered. We must find the princess; she’ll want to know.”

  “Actually, that’s why I’m here. Prince Henry has summoned a war council; the princess wants you with her when she goes.”

  Beverly’s eyes went wide, “You should have told me sooner, this is important.”

  “It’s all right, she sent for your father as well, and he’s some distance off. You won’t be leaving in a hurry.”

  * * *

  Marshal-General Roland Valmar lifted the bottle of liquor and scrutinized its contents. “It’ll all be over this time tomorrow, Your Highness. Would you care for a drink?” He held the bottle up toward the young prince, but Henry shook his head.

  “You’re very calm, Marshal-General; I can’t say I share the sentiment.”

  “Nonsense, Highness,” he said, “we outnumber the enemy, all that’s left is to march forward tomorrow and give him the drumming he deserves. We’ll present his head to your father, that’ll please His Majesty.” He chuckled at the thought.

  The tent flap opened, and the servant indicated the others had arrived.

  “Well, Highness, it seems it’s your time to shine. The leaders are all here.”

  “Lead on, Valmar,” Prince Henry said and followed him into the large tented area.

  The Army commanders were sitting patiently awaiting the prince's arrival. Valmar was shocked to see the young princess present. He had gone out of his way to ensure that she did not receive an invitation, but he nodded his head in recognition. His eyes fell upon her knight; the red-headed Fitzwilliam bitch that he so detested. He scowled as Prince Henry began talking.

  “We are poised on the brink of a great victory,” he was saying. “Tomorrow, we shall defeat the rebellion once and for all and bring the Earl of Eastwood to justice. I now turn it over to the marshal-general to detail the orders.”
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br />   The group nodded, and Valmar took his place at the head of the table that held the roughly sketched map of the area.

  He took a moment to look at the map with a grave face, as if he were thinking deeply. “The enemy,” he began, “has deployed here,” he pointed with his finger, “but he has left himself vulnerable. We shall commence the attack at first light and finish with him by noon.”

  It was Baron Fitzwilliam who spoke next, “Marshal-General, I wonder if you might enlighten us with the plan for the attack?”

  Valmar looked at the ageing man and sighed inwardly. The baron was said to have some influence amongst the nobility; he’d best treat him with respect. “Of course, Baron,” he replied. “We shall engage an assault along his entire front with our heavy infantry. He won’t stand; he’s been on the run, and his men are already defeated. One firm push and his army will disintegrate.

  “Are you telling me,” said the young princess, “that your plan is to simply advance the whole army to engage the enemy?”

  Valmar smiled in his most condescending manner, “That is precisely what I’m saying, Highness. To those of us skilled in the art of war, the answer is obvious. His men are worn out, desperate, they’ll crack the instant we engage them.”

  The princess looked to Baron Fitzwilliam, and Valmar saw an understanding pass between them; this must be put to rest quickly, he thought.

  “While I understand your interest, Highness,” he said, “you should respectively leave the matters of war to the more capable of us.”

  She turned to the baron, “How many battles have I been in, Baron?”

  “Two, Your Highness,” he replied.

  “And how many of those did I win?”

  “Both of them, Highness,” said the baron with a grave face.