“We always do,” he returned, rising from the chair.
A knock came at the cabin door. The lieutenant stood without, nodding respectfully to his superiors.
“Captain, we are nearing the Paludosus Inlet. Shall we anchor and send the new men ashore?” Jacobs nodded and the left-tenant disappeared.
As Dunner followed the captain out--into the passage--he took his satchel from Joseph’s shoulder.
“Join the others ashore, lad,” he said to the young man, in a subdued voice; his face reflected seriousness of purpose. “Keep your head about you.”
With that, he walked out among the milling men on deck and was lost to Joseph’s sight.
FIVE
Joseph’s stay at Paludosus lasted less than ten minutes.
When the recruits were unloaded from the longboats and assembled onshore, a stocky, grim-faced lieutenant strode out from the nearest garrison house and affronted the young men with commands to stand tall.
“I have three pieces of good news for you!” he bawled out. “One, your training here will last only one week, instead of the usual three...”
At this, some of the youths began to smile and nudge each other, but the loud officer continued. “Two, you are going to be shipped out immediately thereafter to aid the defensive forces at Fort Munitio.” The smiles of the men melted slightly. “Where you will mostly likely have the privilege of dying for the King and your Kingdom!” the lieutenant continued. He strode imperially up and down the beach as he spoke, his blue cloak flapping in the salty wind. Bleak looks settled on the young men’s faces. “Report immediately to the garrison house with your papers to receive further instructions.”
He dug in his uniform and contemplated a piece of parchment for a moment.
“Is there a blacksmith in this group?” he demanded. “Speak up!” Joseph stepped forward from the others. Not waiting for him to speak, the lieutenant waved the parchment at him. “Come with me. The rest of you get going!” With this, he marched back up to the garrison house. Solemnly, Joseph trudged behind the man, noting the curious looks the others gave him as he passed.
The garrison building--a low wooden structure with a table at one end--seemed starkly furnished and reeked of strong soap add woodsmoke. The lieutenant sat behind the one desk in the room and glanced up at Joseph.
“I have orders to send all smiths directly to Fort Munitio,” he began, shortly. “Take these papers. Out that side door there are supply carts bound for the fort; you will go along with them immediately.” He stamped a document before him, sloppily rolled it and handed it to young smith over the top of his desk.
Though a little bewildered Joseph quickly obeyed. Tucking the parchment in his tunic, he headed out the side door, just in time to see a caravan of covered supply carts moving away. Running, caught up to the first cart and showed the officer his orders. There was a seat for him, of sorts. He perched on top of sacks full of potatoes, next to a large, wooden crate of live chickens.
The ride overland proved incredibly bumpy. The wooden wagon wheels were not fitted with iron springs; the air by the fowl crate felt stifling to the young man, the noise of the cackling birds almost unbearable. Some of the passing scenery, however, could be seen by peering out folds in the canvas. The area surrounding the fort seemed to be a vast region of swamp lands; fingers of marsh y ground reached far inland from the brackish harbor. The road the caravan traveled ran right through the swaps, with little to no towns or villages to be seen. Musty, old smells filled the air, abated briefly by seas breezes in the early morning and evening. Joseph thought the ground looked unfit for farming. Spindly groups of trees spilled rope-like branches down into the murky waters among thick tangles of shrubs. Rabbits and wild boar ran across the muddy road with no apparent fear of the carts.
The fort disappeared behind as the carts rumbled along. Glancing up at the sun--through a hole in the canvas--Joseph wondered if they would stop, or travel through the night. The only other people in his cart were the two soldiers up front, and they seemed content with their own company. Scooting forward a little, Joseph was able to hear snatches of what they said. The driver seemed to know the most; according to him, their supply caravan was to travel almost nonstop to Fort Munitio. The men were expected to take shifts driving; the horses would have to be rested and fed every six hours. Food would be baskets of hard bread, casked water, dried meat and mealy apples.
Two days passed in this manner. Joseph amused himself by carving the handles of his two daggers and stretched his legs now and again by clambering over the potato sacks. Most of the time, however, he simply swatted at swarms of mosquitoes. They came at dusk and left only at the rising of the sun. Joseph slept with his cloak wrapped tightly around him to keep them out but there was little sleep to be had on the bumping cart, wedged in the chickens. The officer in charge utilized Joseph to run between carts--with the baskets of food0--three times a day, lest their procession be halted unnecessarily.
By the dawn of the third day Joseph longed to ride a horse, or even be allowed to just run beside the carts. He bread and dried meat seemed devoid of any flavor whatsoever; Joseph toyed with the idea of suggesting they butcher the chickens but gave it over. Once in awhile they passed a remote village or trading post. During those brief moments intangible wafts of stewing meat and cooking potatoes would fill the cart.
Toward noon, the driver gave a cheerful shout. Rubbing a cramp in his leg, Joseph wormed forward to look out over the man’s shoulder. Seashore met his eyes in lieu of the interminable swampland; a rocky shore curved around the bay; waves splashed up as if to greet the caravan; sea birds dove into the grayish blue waters, bringing up fish in their beaks. The great trading city of Munitio sprawled out before them, nestled comfortably in the rocky cove. Towering above the city was the great southern fort, built into the cliffs. No Kingdom ships could be seen in harbor, however. Joseph searched the horizon for friendly sails, but saw nothing.
“Never thought I’d be so glad to see the fort,” commented the driver. “Ah hate driving that road in the height of summer... ah’m bitten form head to toe.”
“Aye... hot food for us tonight, and grog,” returned the other. Joseph went back to his seat by the chickens and waited.
The caravan bypassed the city altogether, making straight for the fort. It arrived a little over an hour before sunset. Ushered in by the guards the carts finally halted, rolling to a stop by the animal paddocks. Joseph exited the cart quickly. He walked the stiffness from his legs next to the cart, his satchel over his shoulder. In the clean sea air he smelled wisps of bird odors coming off him and longed to jump into the salty waters, far below.
Instead he found the officer in charge of their supply caravan and got directions to the garrison house. Weaving his way through milling soldiers and supplies, Joseph gained the outer fortress wall. Between the thick stone parapets, he got his first look at the far away Munitio Peninsula, a portion of land he’d heard Dunner and Jacobs discussing on the frigate.
The Munitio Peninsula jutted out from cliffs into the seat, defining the eastern-most part of the Kingdom. Its topography looked unique: a slowly sloping piece of land to a narrow beach, yet all up and down its side were formidable cliffs until the land met water. A small harbor to one side, but the cliffs made most of the area impassible. No village or city marred the shore or land here. From the beach the ground sloped upwards--over several miles--to the mountains. Behind these sat the Fort, guarding the mountain road to the city.
Joseph could see that any enemy invading here would have a problem traveling beyond the first half mile. The beach ended in a meadow, one which became narrower as one traveled up the slope. The high, unforgiving mountains hemmed it in until nothing existed but the narrow road to the fort. Joseph saw the weakness, but surmised that a relatively small force could keep any number of invaders at bay by simply staying at the foot of the pass, firing arrows downhill at advancing enemies. He did not think it likely that the invasion would come
there, but rather might sail around and attack Munitio City harbor. The fort, however, had the advantage there as well. Shouldering his bag once more, Joseph set off in search of the smithys.
The blacksmiths had been given a section of field--to one side of the fortress--by a flowing creek. Black smoke drifted there from many forges hasilty constructed from whatever timbers the fort could provide. Joseph shred one of these with another smith; they worked in shifts that the work would not lax. Each smith had wagon-loads of swords to be mended, spears to be straightened and scores of arrows to rig.
Despite the continual work Joseph felt at home with the hammers and heat of the furnace. He met several of the officers and learned much about them by the state of their armor and weaponry. A few proved to be trained professionals, but most seemed newly recruited, as he was. As the days flew by, the amount of weaponry being repaired and made grew. All over the fort the exertion to prepare--to defend the coast and city--reached a fever pitch.
During his labors Joseph overheard the conversation of a few high ranking officers, as they waited for him to fetch their weapons.
“We have the advantage, yes, but if they bring the whole armada they’ll outnumber us five to one,” an officer said.
“Yes,” another replied. “But they can’t go anywhere but up the road to the fort. It’s no use trying to go around the mountains; horses can’t even go through there for the cliffs.”
“Yes, we know that now, but hopefully the general has the sense to stay at the pass. If we venture down it will be hand-to-hand. With those numbers, the fort is theirs... and then the city.”
A WEEK later, the army got word to move. Enemy ships had been sighted on the horizon. Chocked with wagons, formations of soldiers and cavalry, the pace of traffic along the mountain road crawled along at a snail’s pace. Joseph drove a movable forge, disassembled in a wagon nearly too wide for the rocky sides of the pass road to allow; a few other smiths followed along after him in wagons of their own, and behind the,m the supply carts. As he drove, Joseph felt impressed by the massive effort the king must have undertaken to hack a road through the high mountain pass.
Among the soldiers and officers alike wavered a mood of apprehension. No one was sure of how quickly the enemy approached The scouts had not returned. Their journey to the peninsula took most of the night. With the new moon, torches alone lit the way... making the rocky road treacherous for the horses. In the early hours of the morning, however, the long defense procession at last reached the crest of the last hill.
A collective sense of panic descended over the men as they fanned out, at the foot of the pass. The harbor was now home to at least fifty enemy ships, anchored in the shallows. At the end of the peninsula--far down by the water--the beach swarmed with Easterly soldiers, distinctive in their brown and white uniforms and shined brass helmets. Joseph heart sank when he saw the number of enemy ships, and no Kingdom frigate could be seen on the horizon. Joseph turned his attention to studying what kind of position the enemy had worked themselves into. The last mile of the slope, before the beach had been transformed into an eerie kind of battleground: the enemy soldiers had cleverly rolled down boulders, the smallest of which was waist-height, from various rocky ridges nearby and placed them here and there as if a maze to get through.
Several large sections of the meadow--before the boulders--appeared to have been dug up, suggesting pitfalls and traps. The army would not be able to advance in a body from their vantage point, but would instead be forced to thread its way through these hurdles before actually being in contact with the enemy.
As he drove his forge wagon in line with the others down the first hill Joseph recognized the dire consequences of sending the army down into the traps. A good bevy of enemy archers would be able to mow down any advancing forces. Just glancing the enemy camp over Joseph guessed there to be upwards of twelve-thousand enemy troops. As far as he knew, the Kingdom’s defense force at Fort Munitio was merely seven thousand strong.
General Inermis--commander of Fort Munitio--was among the last to arrive. His aid, a young colonel, directed troops until the leader arrived. The general’s fine carriage pulled up right near Joseph’s forge as he was feeding the furnace and pumping in air with the hand bellows. The colonel met the General and explained rapidly the situation. With a grunt Inermis furrowed his brow and ordered his armor brought from the carriage.
“Find me the highest lookout point to raise our colors, Colonel,” he barked; his eye fell upon the soldier behind him, struggling with the heavy armor. “Worthless boy,” the General spat. “Can you not carry some armor?”
“Sir,” wheezed the young soldier. “I have been bearing this load for two days now. My feet are blistered.”
“I will send you to where your blistered feet can do some good, soldier!” the general said, darkly. “See you go directly to the encampment closest to the enemy and report there for duty.” The young soldier paled and began to plead not to be sent. The general dismissed him with a wave of his hand, spying a strong, young blacksmith in a nearby forge, starting to hammer on a glowing bit of metal.
“You, smithy!” General Inermis yelled to Joseph, who looked up. “Take this armor and follow me!”
Dropping his work in the water bucket, Joseph quickly obeyed. Picking up the armor he trudged behind the colonel The general’s horse--a huge, white animal with a gold-worked saddle and crimson trappings--was led by a servant next to the general as the man walked up the hill. Joseph was interested by the sight of three priests, in their bright red robes, as part of the general’s entourage; they seemed nervous and clutched their prayer books with whitened knuckles, and refused to dismount their steeds.
At the top of the small hill, the general gave orders to halt and have the Kingdom flag raised. Another pole was erected as well, for the flag that would signal the start of the battle: a red flag for advancement, white for retreat or blue for victory. By the time the poled were affixed, the general’s tents were up, a few fires started by more of the general’s aides and meat put on spits for the general’s lunch. Overseeing all this, the general donned his jeweled breastplate and plumed helm; Inermis looked an impressive commander as the sun caught his shiny armor.
Joseph held onto the crimson bridle of the General’s horse, watching how a battle was begun. First one of the older priests delicately got off his horse, his long beard blowing in the sea breeze; moving over to the flagpoles, he stretched out his arms and used his staff to make several gestures at the battlefield, the soldiers and the general, who had taken off his helm for the blessing. This being done, the priest went back to his horse and spoke quietly with his colleagues.
The general directed a few troops here and there, said several strings of comments to the colonel, and received messengers, reporting on his army’s different positions. The Kingdom emissary, a man dressed richly with a learned vocabulary, appeared to be speaking earnestly with the General. Inermis sent him under the flag to speak with the enemy. Looking down the slope, Joseph watched the small form of the emissary grow smaller as the rider picked his way down the battlefield. Within the hour, the emissary returned, riding quickly.
“Sir!” he said, his face alight with hope. “They will speak if you will come down and negotiate with their leader. If not, they say they will attack at once and show no mercy.” The general was in the midst of his lunch and stood up angrily.
“Do they?!” he yelled. “The arrogant little pagans! I’ll do no such thing!”
“Sir...” the emissary said, soothingly, “Reports say our Armada is due any hour. The enemy knows not of its being so close. Delay is essential...”
“I say what is essential!” Inermis thundered, causing the emissary to shy away. “Do you think we need the armada here to mother us? This is the king’s army! I can handle a few inept, enemy soldiers without interference from the Navy.”
The emissary bowed and backed away, his face white. The General furiously wrote messages to be ridden out to each enca
mpment of Kingdom soldiers, ordering all to prepare for advancement. Collecting his horse from Joseph, Inermis strode out in plain view and mounted the steed, then gave the order for the advancement flag to be raised.
The red flag was large and the sound of it flapping in the wind was like a distant thunderclap. At the sight of the flag, the first wave of Kingdom troops ran forward with a mighty shout, running down the grassy slopes, dodging in between the pitfalls towards the boulder-field.
In the enemy camp, the general of the Weymin soldiers was surprised to see the sudden movement of Kingdom soldiers--coming down towards the beach--in lieu of an emissary. Directing his officers quickly, he sent out messages to the thousands of hidden archers.
Barking orders--above the fray--General Inermis seemed pleased by the advancement.
“Send the second wave!” he shouted, waving his arm, watching the first wave reach the boulder field unharmed. “They’re hiding already from our superior forces!” As he watched, Inermis could envision the award ceremony in his honor at the palace.
A hail of arrows took to the sky from the beach and between the boulders; the sudden onslaught pierced through fully half of the first wave of soldiers. Those able took cover behind the large stones and the forms of those less fortunate.
The second wave, too, fell under the rain of pointed shafts; a third wave was sent, and a forth. What soldiers could be saved were dragged up the hill by their fellows, to the medicinal tents. Still, the enemy stayed behind its unusual defenses--raining down arrows--appearing to suffer no losses, whatsoever. The lines of wounded coming back turned Joseph’s stomach, yet still more sickening was the General’s insistence that a wave would eventually break through.
“Sir, would it not be wise to let them come to us?” Colonel Jaimeson ventured, at one point.
“Nonsense!” Inermis stormed. “That would take days. I want this battle over quickly, a sweeping victory! They can’t have many arrows left.” But, even he looked uncertain as he uttered the words.
The Road To The King (Book 1) Page 7