Conflict

by Pedro Urvi

  “I see you’re already acting like a leader, that’s good, young prince, very good,” Urien said, smiling broadly.

  “I was just trying to raise the spirits of my soldiers,” he said, his eyes on the three men guarding the tower.

  “You’ve certainly managed it,” Urien said, smiling once again.

  “Let’s walk a little, Urien. There’s a lot I need to talk with you about.”

  Prince and Counselor walked along the battlement, passing by the soldiers guarding it.

  When they reached the main door of the wall, the Queen’s Gate, flanked on both sides by two regal towers, they stopped and looked out for a long time in the direction of the enemy camp.

  “It’s a desolate view, isn’t it, Your Highness?”

  “Yes, Urien, it is. And it foretells nothing good, rather the opposite,”

  “How many enemy forces have our watchmen reported?”

  “Thirty thousand men, your Highness. Three armies: the Thunder Army under General Olagson, the Snow Army with General Rangulfsen in command and the Blizzard Army under General Odir.”

  “What do we know of the three generals leading these armies?”

  “The three are old acquaintances: men of proven valor, strong, much to be feared in battle. Odir is a cretin, but a dangerous one. The men fear and hate him, and that’s important in battle. He controls his men through terror and humiliation, which might be an advantage. Olagson is a great fighter and a good leader, his men love him and would follow him to Hell itself, which is certainly worrying. But the one we need to fear is Rangulfsen. He’s the most intelligent of all the Norghanian generals, and a great strategist. If we enter war, and I say if, he’ll be the one in charge of planning and strategy.”

  “I see… Who’s the overall leader?”

  “Count Volgren, your Highness, an intelligent man and politically well-connected in Norghana. We don’t know much about him, he’s always moved in the shadows, under cover of the late Duke Orten, or perhaps hidden behind his shadow. Since the death of the King’s brother he’s become King Thoran’s right-hand man. Unfortunately we don’t have too much information about him. What we do know is that his political career towards the heights of power in the frozen kingdom has been meteoric. He has more influence and power than the King’s cousins themselves, his own blood. And this means a great deal, particularly in Norghanian culture where blood counts above everything else. This ignorance of ours about Count Volgren’s character and intentions worries me greatly.”

  “Do you believe they will attack presently?” Gerart asked uneasily.

  “Not yet, your Highness. They have thirty thousand men, heavy infantry mostly, and I doubt they’ll attack before they’re joined by a fourth army, so that they’ll hope to have forty thousand men. That’s what I’d do if the decision were mine to make.”

  “Why do you say that, Urien? They already outnumber us by far as it is.”

  “Quite correct, your Highness, but the psychological factor is very important for the men’s morale. We have twelve thousand men defending the fortress. Currently they have nearly triple our number, but with a fourth army each one of our men will know he’ll have to kill four Norghanians. And that, your Highness, will significantly dampen their spirits.”

  “You’re entirely correct. Just thinking I have to face four of those hardy men of the snow is hard to come to terms with.”

  “And you’re a leader and a great fighter. Imagine a simple soldier without too much trust in his skill with the sword…”

  “I understand, Counselor.”

  “Besides, the siege machines haven’t arrived yet. They won’t launch an attack without them. Once those dreadful catapults, battering-rams and devastating assault towers arrive, then they’ll attack, but not before.”

  “In that case we’d better get ready and strengthen the walls, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Right, my young Prince. It’s vital to strengthen the whole wall, and particularly this gateway we’re standing on, the entrance to the fortress. The wall is our only defense. This fortress was built with only one wall and the Great Tower inside it. The wall was built high and deep, it will hold the attack, it’s one of the strongest I’ve ever seen. And yet I don’t know whether it could hold against a prolonged siege.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll take charge and organize the reinforcement of the wall, and digging a wide moat behind the gateway in case it gives way.”

  “A moat? What would be the purpose of that?”

  “If the door should fall it’ll be the only way to contain the avalanche, an enormous moat in the shape of a U, ten paces wide in each direction and nine feet deep. But don’t you worry, I’ll take charge of it.”

  “As you see fit, Counselor. You have my full trust.”

  “That’s why you have me at your service, your Highness.”

  Gerart smiled, he knew the advice of wise Urien would be invaluable. He looked into the fortress. From the wall everything seemed smaller, more distant. Beside the wide barracks, which were still in the last stages of being remodeled, he could see Count Helmar, the General of the Eastern Army, sitting at his table playing cards. He swept his eyes over the wide courtyard, where he recognized the General of the Northern Army: Count Longor showing off his ability with the sword as he practiced with several of his officers.

  “What do you think of them? Be honest, we have no time for delicacy.”

  “As you please, your Highness, I’ll speak honestly. First and most important, and this is not to be taken lightly, we must remember that they are faithful to the crown, to your father. This takes on greater importance in times of war, since otherwise the enemy might buy them off and use them against you.”

  “I understand that, and give due importance to it.”

  “That said, they’re both noblemen and the lords of prominent counties with wide territories in the north and east of the country. They’re used to doing…let’s say what pleases them…without giving any explanation. Your father allows them a certain freedom of action and a certain license. They’re not used to taking orders, and I fear this might be a problem when the orders come from a young Prince, one as young and inexperienced as you. Pardon my frankness, your Highness.”

  “There’s nothing to pardon, Urien, it’s the truth. I don’t intend things to appear otherwise. I know my limitations well.”

  “But it must be absolutely clear and unequivocal that you are the one who gives the orders, your Highness, and that they must obey without hesitation or reserve. Otherwise the chain of command will break and the army will crumble. This is vitally important, my Lord.”

  “I understand what you’re trying to say, Urien. With me they shan’t have freedom of action or license, so go on.”

  “On the other hand, both of them are brave men and good fighters, used to giving orders and having them obeyed. We won’t have leadership problems, they’ll lead their armies well. In fact, Count Longor is the second best swordsman of the Kindom after Kilbar, the commander of the fortress of Silanda. They’re both intelligent and learned men, versed in many matters, among them the enemy’s language. Something which is sure to be very useful to us in the war.”

  “That eases my mind. As to the language of the Norghanians, I’ve been instructed in it, and I believe Lomar has some basic knowledge he picked up during his training as a Royal Lancer. That’s sure to come in very handy.”

  “Your father would have never given them the command of the armies otherwise.”

  “I can imagine, knowing my father.”

  “As rumors go, I can tell you that Longor is considered something of a womanizer, and Helmar is rather too fond of cards, he loses great sums of gold. But we can pass over these little vices, they’re traits of the nobility,” said the old Counselor with a wink.

  “Anything else?”

  “Lastly, they’re high-born nobles, rich, vain and haughty. Their egos are enormous, and they might
well clash with your own personality. You must deal with these situations with subtlety.”

  “Subtlety I shall use, rest assured.”

  Gerart looked again at the barracks and the open spaces beside them from the top of the wall, and noticed that a great majority of soldiers were sitting or lying, doing nothing, resting in the sun.

  “How long have they been like that?”

  “Well, let’s see, if my eyes don’t fool me they’re soldiers of the Eastern Army, so… something of the order of four weeks.”

  “Four weeks doing nothing?” Gerart asked incredulously.

  “From what I could gather, they refused to carry out the preparation of the barracks, they didn’t take part in putting up the hospital, still less in the building of the latrines, your Highness. People from the nearby villages had to be brought in to do it.”

  “But how the devil can that be possible?” cried Gerart, outraged.

  “Unfortunately certain noblemen have a mistaken idea of their obligations and duties, particularly in times of war, as now. This is the main problem we have to take care of in the fortress, or else we won’t be able to stand up to the Norghanian attack. But you’ll need to go carefully. Remember, we need these two noblemen to be in charge of the armies.”

  Gerart turned in toward the courtyard and shouted at the top of his voice:

  “Count Helmar!”

  Gerart’s shout was so loud that it must have been audible in the Norghanian camp.

  The Count, who had nearly dropped his cards at the shout, looked at Gerart.

  “Why are your men lying about doing nothing?” the Prince asked in a tone of clear disapproval.

  “Because it`s not their duty shift…” replied the Count, with a condescending gesture which clearly expressed his disgust at Gerart’s shout.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, the fortress requires a whole range of improvements, and all the supplies that are arriving in carts from the villages and cities nearby need to be put into store.”

  “Those aren’t tasks for my men. My men are soldiers, they don’t dig trenches or prop up walls, and they certainly don’t unload carts. They’re soldiers of the Eastern Army, not simple laborers or farmers. The cheek of it!”

  Rage burnt in Gerart’s stomach, like hay catching fire from a torch.

  “Why aren’t they training, then? Practicing with their weapons?”

  “Because being professional military men, they’re perfectly trained. Because of your position, your Highness, it’s understandable that you don’t know the Army’s military training to the detail. Today is a day of rest. Tomorrow they train.”

  Upon hearing this nonsense, born out of that dandy’s vanity, a burning rage rose up Gerart’s throat so that he was on the point of vomiting fire.

  “Present yourself to me right away!” he ordered, his anger on the point of erupting like a volcano.

  The Count shook his head condescendingly and left the cards on the table. He rose and began to cross the courtyard slowly, so slowly it was insulting, showing his disagreement with his treatment. The soldiers watched, alert to the drama which might follow, so that thousands of eyes followed their actions at that precise moment.

  Gerart was aware of this.

  Count Helmar climbed the stairs of the wall with the same economy, keeping his back straight and his head high, in a haughty attitude.

  “Keep calm, Gerart…” Urien whispered in the Prince’s ear as he came to stand behind him.

  The pompous noble finally came to stand before Gerart with neither bow nor salute, defiant.

  Gerart took a deep breath and let it out abruptly.

  “First, let me apologize for the unnecessary shout I gave you a moment ago.”

  Count Helmar smiled, rejoicing in his moral victory.

  “Secondly, if you ever dare show any kind of contempt toward my person, or fail to carry out my orders at once and without hesitation, I’ll kill you,” said Gerart, threatening him in such a quiet, level tone that the whole square stood staring at them as though hypnotized.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” replied Count Helmar, deeply offended. He reached for his sword and drew it.

  “A very serious mistake,” said Gerart, and delivered a strong punch with his right hand which hit the Count on the chin.

  Helmar fell backwards on to the parapet.

  Gerart drew his sword and placed it on the throat of the stunned nobleman.

  “Never, ever doubt my determination,” said the Prince through clenched teeth.

  “Why don’t you point that sword at me instead of my dear friend Helmar?” suggested Count Longor, coming to the defense of his friend.

  Gerart looked at him expectantly.

  Count Longor drew his sword and came at the Prince defiantly.

  Gerart looked at Longor, his eyes burning with rage.

  “Don’t fight him. He’s too good with the sword, don’t even think of it,” Urien whispered to him.

  Deep down, he wanted to teach a lesson to this conceited man. But Gerart knew that although he was good with the sword, he was not on the level of the champion of Rogdon. Besides, he could not risk being humiliated before his troops, because that would be devastating for the authority that had to be paramount in the fortress. Urien was right, the army would crumble if he was left looking ridiculous in front of the Count. He would have to swallow his pride and not fight, that was the right decision and although the desire to confront the petulant Count Longor was simmering inside him, he did not allow it to dictate his behavior.

  He breathed deep again and exhaled slowly.

  “Royal Swords, to me!” he called.

  Immediately, the six Royal Swords the King had given him as a personal escort appeared out of the hospital, where Gerart had put them to work helping the three surgeons with preparing the gurneys and equipment.

  They came through the courtyard with swords drawn, looking for their lord. Gerart pointed with his sword:

  “That man has dared raise his sword against me, his Prince and Lord.”

  Count Longor, who was still holding his sword drawn pointing at Gerart, lowered it slowly when he saw himself surrounded by the six Royal Swords.

  “Royal Counselor Urien,” Gerart said, turning his head towards the old man. “What is the punishment for this offense?”

  “Death, your Royal Highness.”

  He looked at Count Helmar on the ground and asked once again: “What is the punishment for drawing a sword on a member of the Royal Family?”

  “Death, your Highness.”

  A deathly silence fell on the yard. Thousands of eyes were gripped by what was about to happen.

  “Royal Swords, arrest these two men and throw them into the dungeon,” Gerart ordered.

  The Royal Swords took them away immediately like mere criminals. Both men had lost their sense of superiority all of a sudden.

  The soldiers looked on in astonishment as their leaders were taken away.

  “This would be a good time to address the men,” whispered Urien.

  Gerart looked at the crowd of soldiers present and said:

  “Listen to me well, men of Rogdon. I am your Royal Highness Prince Gerart, heir to the crown of Rogdon, Commander of this fortress and of all the armies of Rogdon. I shall punish the slightest indiscipline without hesitation or pity, and I’ll hang anyone who even blinks at any of my orders. I might be young but I’m no fool. Is that clear?”

  A timid murmur grew among the soldiers.

  “I asked if it was clear!”

  The murmur grew gradually into a muffled yes.

  “For the last time, is it clear?”

  The soldiers shouted a unanimous Yes.

  Gerart turned to Urien. “So that’s sorted out. Now we can go on working.”

  Urien looked at him and replied: “Not as subtle as I asked you to be, but very effective, I have to say.”

  “I’m delighted that you approve.”

  “You’re growing fast, your High
ness.”

  “I have no choice,” Gerart replied sadly.

  At mid-afternoon Gerart walked into the officers’ barracks, accompanied by Urien and his six Royal Swords. The officers of both armies were chatting and drinking amiably. The moment he walked in they stopped talking, stood up and came to attention.

  Gerart looked at them for an instant, his face stern and his eyes penetrating.

  “I know that the arrest of your generals is something you’ll neither agree with nor like. But it was necessary. There mustn’t be the slightest doubt in the mind of a single soldier in this fortress as to who gives the orders here, who commands. I’m the one: I, Prince Gerart of Rogdon.”

  He looked at each one of them, making sure they understood his message.

  “Let the most senior officer of the Eastern Army and the most senior officer of the Western Army come and stand before me,” he ordered, his voice austere and resonant.

  Two officers, older than most of those present, came to stand before the Prince with one fist held to their chest and their heads bowed in respect.

  Gerart looked into the brown eyes of the officer whose armor bore the shield of the Eastern Army.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Captain Alaric, your Highness.”

  “Very good. Alaric, you look like a determined and capable man. Am I wrong?”

  “No, your Highness, I mean yes, your Highness,” the officer replied in confusion.

  “Good. Now listen to me carefully, Alaric, I’ll only say this once and your head is at stake.”

  Immediately the officer tensed.

  “I’m ordering you to put half your men to work on the task of repairing the wall, putting up reinforcements, digging moats, and whatever else is needed. The Royal Counselor Urien will tell you what’s involved, you’ll only have to carry out his orders, which is something I’ve heard you career officers know how to do without saying a word.”