“The duke’s second wife was niece to the King of Andover.”
“Wouldn't that bring the two countries closer?”
“Normally, yes," said the sergeant, "but after her death, the duke took up with a woman from Reinwick.”
“That’s a duchy,” said Ludwig. “My stepmother is from there. It’s on the northern sea, isn’t it?”
“It is, sir, and that’s the problem. Reinwick and Andover are rivals.”
Ludwig struggled to understand. “Rivals in what way?”
“They both compete for trade, sir, and control over the ships.”
“You mean seaborne trade?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“But that’s no reason to invade, is it?”
“No," said Krebbs, "but both realms are in dispute over a small portion of their border.”
“Let me guess, the duke sided with Reinwick.”
“That’s what I’m told, sir. The king took it as a personal affront. A betrayal, if you will.”
“There seems to be a lot of that going around,” noted Ludwig. “First Lord Gebhard, and now the King of Andover.”
“They can’t help it, sir. They’re both proud men.”
“Proud? That kind of pride kills men. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“We’re soldiers. That’s our lot in life.”
“Do these people not care for the men under their command?”
Sergeant Krebbs looked at him as if he were a ghost.
“What?” said Ludwig. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but it’s not the way of things. Caring for your troops? I’ve never heard such a strange notion. We’re here to fight and die. That’s our role.”
“You may rest assured, Sergeant, I would never ask you or the other men to risk their lives in battle without a chance of surviving.”
“That’s awfully decent of you, sir, but the decision isn’t yours to make.”
“I’m your captain,” said Ludwig.
“Very true, sir, but it’s the duke who’ll make all the decisions about how the army will be used. I’m afraid you’ll have little say in it.”
“I would imagine the nobles have more influence.”
“Only those with the most troops, sir. Our little group is terribly small.”
“And who has the most troops?”
“That I don’t know," said Krebbs, "but one thing is for certain, the barons are sure to spend lavishly to get the attention of His Grace.”
“Does the duke have any troops of his own, or does he rely solely on his barons?”
“He has his own, sir, but the bulk of the army is controlled by his nobles.”
“That must make it awfully hard to fight.”
“I suppose it would,” said Krebbs, “but I have little knowledge of such things.”
“I shall have to remember to ask Kurt about it.”
“Kurt, sir?”
“Yes, Kurt Wasser, the man in charge of the supplies. He and I are old friends.”
“Good for you, sir. He could probably tell you more about the duke’s army. Any word on when we’re marching?”
“Not yet,” replied Ludwig, “but judging from the number of men on this field, it can’t be far off. If we stay much longer, we’ll eat up every loaf of bread in the city.”
“It won’t be any easier on the march, sir.”
“No, I don’t suppose it will.”
“I saw those friends of yours today, sir.”
“Friends?”
“Yes, those mercenaries you used to work with. They’re camped right over there,” Krebbs said, pointing. “You might want to wander over and say hello.”
“My duty is here,” said Ludwig. “And in any case, they’re likely camped with Lord Gebhard’s men. I don’t want to draw attention to us. There’s too much bad blood already.”
“Probably a wise move. When do you expect the baron will arrive?”
“I imagine he’ll be here any day now. He must have set out from Regnitz some days ago, and I’m sure he’d be making much better time than us.”
“Let’s hope so, sir," said Krebbs. "I‘d hate to have to march without him.”
* * *
Lord Wulfram rode in the very next day with Rosalyn at his side while a wagon and driver followed in their wake, loaded up with tents, furnishings, and presumably other supplies such as food.
Word came to Ludwig soon after they were spotted, for it was the gossip of the camp. People were making wagers on what Baron Stein’s reaction would be were he to encounter Lord Gebhard.
As soon as he heard of their arrival, Ludwig sought them out, finally locating them as servants were putting up their tent near the duke’s own pavilion in amongst the other Lords of Erlingen.
Rosalyn was the first to notice Ludwig’s approach. She tapped her father on the shoulder and pointed as a smile graced her features.
“Ludwig,” called out the baron. “Is all well?”
“It is, my lord. The men are settled in, and their food taken care of. I’m sure they’d appreciate a visit if you have the time.”
“I can’t at the moment,” said Lord Wulfram, “for I have to go and visit the duke, but I’ll see if I can’t get away this evening. In the meantime, perhaps Rosalyn can take my place?”
Ludwig turned to the baron's daughter. “My lady?”
“I should be delighted. Will you lead the way, Sir Ludwig?”
“Certainly.” He guided her through the camp, steering her well clear of the refuse that was beginning to accumulate.
“Tell me,” she asked, “do all camps smell this bad?”
“It’s quite common, from what I’ve heard. Though admittedly, one gets used to it in time.”
She held a kerchief to her nose as they walked. “They never warn you about such things when describing battles in books.”
“You’ve read of battles?”
“To a degree,” said Rosalyn, “although doubtless not as much as you.”
“You surprise me. I’ve known few women to take an interest in such things.”
“Nevertheless, are there not Temple Knights of the fairer sex?”
“Of course, but they are not common on the battlefield.”
“I wonder why not?”
“For the same reason none of the other orders are here,” explained Ludwig. “The Church does not wish to intervene in petty conflicts.”
“Isn't their very presence meant to prevent such conflicts?”
“One would certainly think so, yet I have heard of no such expeditions in years,” said Ludwig. He stopped suddenly, casting his eyes about.
“Is something wrong?”
“I must admit to having taken the wrong route. I’m afraid we must backtrack.”
“Easily enough accomplished,” said Rosalyn.
They turned around to retrace their steps.
“My lady?” someone called out.
They both turned to see Hagan Stein, who had been addressing a common warrior, but on their passing, had looked up to see the Lady of Regnitz Keep.
“Master Hagan,” said Rosalyn. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Why ever not?” Baron Stein's son replied. “After all, my father’s army is here, as is yours, I presume.”
“I stand corrected.”
“My lady, allow me to apologize once more for the brutish behaviour of my father. Had I but known what he had intended, I never would have co-operated.”
“Your words are soothing, Master Stein, but how do I know they are said in earnest?”
Hagan knelt, drawing his dagger and handing it to her, hilt first. “If I lie, then you may take this and plunge it into my heart.”
She looked down into his eyes, although whether to gauge the truth of the man's words or merely to appreciate his good looks, Ludwig couldn’t say.
“Very well,” she said, taking the dagger. “I accept your statement as true, but I shall hang on to this…”
She paused. “I may have need of it in the future.”
“As you wish,” said Hagan.
Rosalyn turned, ready to resume her steps, but the young man was persistent.
“Excuse me, my lady.”
She returned her gaze to him. “Yes?”
Hagan struggled with his words. “Might I… that is to say…”
“If you wish to ask me something, Master Hagan, then you’d best make up your mind. Have you a question for me or not?”
“I do, my lady.”
“Then out with it.”
“I wonder if you might do me the honour of dining with me this evening?”
She stared at him for a while before finally replying. “And where, pray tell, would we eat? At your father’s tent?”
Ludwig saw Hagan’s face fall. The man was obviously well-intentioned but completely at a loss as to how to reply. Instead, he merely stared back, slack-jawed and open-mouthed.
“I thought as much,” said Rosalyn. “Come, Ludwig. It's time we were away from here.”
They turned from the humbled man, but no sooner had they taken three steps when he spoke once more.
“Torburg,” he called out.
A hint of a smile floated across Rosalyn’s face, and Ludwig had to wonder if she wasn’t enjoying this a little too much. “What of it?” she demanded as she turned.
“There's a tavern there,” said Hagan. “The Buck and Doe, do you know it?”
Rosalyn reddened. “I have heard of it, but I hardly consider it suitable for a lady of refinement, do you?”
“Of course not, my lady.” The man was obviously struggling to find a solution, but Rosalyn, sensing his nervousness, decided to put even more pressure on the poor fellow.
“If you can think of no other, then I should leave.”
“No,” said Hagan, his voice gaining a desperate edge. “Name the place, and I shall take you there.”
“A bold statement,” she said. “I might pick somewhere expensive.”
“No expense would be too great if it would allow me your company,” said Hagan, his manner rushed, his face flush.
Rosalyn smiled, allowing him to see her pleasure. “You can be exceptionally eloquent when needed.”
“So you will consent to my invitation?”
“I shall give it some thought.” She turned once more, and without so much as a goodbye, began walking away.
Ludwig, caught completely off guard, had to hurry to catch up. “What was that all about?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Don’t play games with me, Rosalyn. You encouraged him. Are you sure that’s what you want to do, considering who he is?”
“As you are fond of saying, he is not his father.”
“Despite that, they share the same house, do they not?”
She halted, again catching Ludwig by surprise. “Why, Ludwig, are you jealous?”
“No,” he replied, “only concerned for your well-being.”
“Then perhaps you’d better accompany us as my chaperone?”
“Does that means you intend to take him up on his offer?”
“Yes," she said, "but I have work to do first.”
“Work? Anything I can help with?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I need to find the most expensive place to eat in all of Torburg.”
32
Debacle
Summer 1095 SR
* * *
Ludwig wolfed down the barn bread, then sipped his watered-down wine. Provisions were growing scarce, so it was a meagre breakfast this morning. The duke’s idea of food was bread and porridge, but the oats had run out, and now only the bread remained—slim fare for fighting men.
He spotted Lord Wulfram making his way towards him and stood. “Good morning, my lord.”
The baron smiled. “Good to see you, Sir Ludwig. I trust you slept well?”
“I did, my lord. Did you come to visit the men?”
“Alas, no. I’ve been summoned to a council of war, and I thought to take you with me. Interested?”
“Most definitely,” said Ludwig, “although I lack the wardrobe for such august company.”
“It’s a council of war, my friend, not a social event. Come as you are. You’ll earn more respect for it. Best get your sword though.”
“You think I’ll need it?”
“Yes, if only to discourage insults.”
“Insults?”
“Yes, when the duke’s men gather, there’s seldom harmony. You can expect a good deal of arguing, and I shouldn’t like you to get caught up in all of it.”
“Does it honestly get that bad?”
“Oh, yes,” said Lord Wulfram. “I’ve seen steel drawn on several occasions despite the fact that the duke has outlawed such actions. Now, let’s get over there before all the best wine is gone.”
They picked their way through the tournament field, going around tents and campfires. They had to halt briefly, as a wagon rolled by, and then the duke’s tent came into view.
“I should probably warn you before we enter,” said the baron.
“Warn me about what?”
“The Barons of Erlingen can be a prickly bunch when it comes to station. As only a knight, I'd recommend you say as little as possible.”
“Then I shall speak only if directly addressed.”
“That’s a sensible approach. I wish more thought as you do.”
The guards eyed them as they approached, but they obviously knew Lord Wulfram, for they merely nodded at him. Ludwig followed the baron into the tent, an immense structure, rivalling the size of a tavern inside. The duke’s coffers had spared no expense, and its interior was lavishly decorated. A small group of men nodded their heads in greeting as Lord Wulfram entered.
“There he is,” said a considerably rotund individual. “Have any men left, Wulfram?” They all chuckled at the baron's misfortune.
“I do, Helmer, as well you know. You shan’t keep me from serving my duke.”
“That’s it,” spoke another. “Never say die!”
Lord Wulfram leaned over to Ludwig to whisper. “That’s Rengard Pasche, the Baron of Rosenbruck. He and I go way back.” He raised his voice. “Where’s His Grace?”
“The duke will be here shortly,” replied Rengard. “He’s busy dealing with a personal matter.”
“Personal matter?” said Wulfram.
“Yes, it looks like his new wife is not too happy about him going off to war.”
“What’s this, number three?”
“Four, if you include that one in his youth.”
“That hardly counts,” said Wulfram. “The Church never sanctified it.” He turned to Ludwig. “Our duke likes his women.”
“This new wife,” said Ludwig. “Is that the one from Reinwick?”
The baron looked at him in surprise. “You’ve heard of her?”
“Only insofar as her birthplace is of interest. My stepmother is from the same place.”
“Is she now? Will wonders never cease. You and she might be related.”
“She’s my stepmother, not my actual mother. That hardly makes us relatives.”
“I suppose that’s true, but still, imagine the strange fate it would be if you were.”
“Are we onto fate again?”
Wulfram laughed. “I suppose we are. Sorry, I shall try to keep my mind on the subject at hand.”
“Which is?”
“This war.” Wulfram turned to Lord Rengard. “How many men did you manage?”
“Nearly two hundred,” his old friend replied. “And you?”
“Only twenty-four. Still, it’s better than nothing.”
“Is it?” said Lord Helmer.
“Come now,” said Rengard. “You should be more charitable.”
“Well, I suppose someone has to fetch the wine.”
“Ignore him,” said Wulfram. “He’s only showing off because he has one of the larger contingents.”
“Larger? Try the larges
t,” added Helmer.
“We’ll see,” argued Rengard. “Not all the nobles have arrived as yet.”
“Oh?” said Wulfram. “Who’s missing?”
“Hurst, and you know what he’s like. I bet he’s got more than anyone, the duke included.”
The third man stepped forward. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Wulfram?”
“Of course, where are my manners. Gentlemen, this is Sir Ludwig of Verfeld. He has sworn to my service for the duration of this conflict.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Lord Kruger, Baron of Grozen. You’ve met Rengard and Helmer here?”
“I have now,” said Ludwig.
“So you’re from Verfeld. That’s in Hadenfeld, isn’t it?”
“It is, my lord.”
“Tell me, does King Otto still rule there?”
“He does, or at least he did when I left.”
“Saints alive, he must be ancient by now.”
“He’s only slightly older than Lord Wulfram,” noted Ludwig.
“There you have it,” piped in Helmer. “The man’s positively decrepit.”
A tall, thin man entered the tent, the scent of flowers wafting along with him.
“Lord Hurst,” said Wulfram, “we were just talking about you. May I introduce Sir Ludwig of Verfeld?”
“Nice to meet you,” the new visitor replied, his voice high and nasally, then he immediately turned his attention to Helmer. “Has His Grace arrived yet?”
“I’m afraid not. He’s dealing with a marital issue.”
“That’s what he gets for bedding a commoner.”
“The duke’s wife is a commoner?” asked Ludwig.
“Well,” said Hurst, “from amongst the lower ranks of the nobility, but it’s almost the same thing. Tell me, young Ludwig, are you married?”
“No, my lord.”
“Then do yourself a favour, swear off women until a proper marriage can be arranged for you. It’ll do you better in the long run.”
“How so?”
“There can be no love in marriage. It only complicates matters.”
“Don’t be absurd,” interrupted Wulfram. “That’s probably the worst advice I’ve ever heard.”
“We can’t all have loving wives like you did, Wulfram. Some of us have more important things to take care of.” Hurst looked into Ludwig’s eyes. “Have you ever known love?”
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