Soldiers' Redemption (First Cohort Book 1)

by M. R. Anthony

  “Roots, Gawper, Lags. We give you our thanks. Fidget, Dueller, Rascal, Lotus. The First Cohort will not forget you. Times, Finger, Chuner, Whistle. You are ever a part of our past. Lowbrow, Trank, Corporal Langs.”

  And so the list went on. Fifty-six of our men, each one of whom had been with us for over two hundred years, their bodies now lost in battle. At the end, I said something that I would not have usually finished with, but for some reason it seemed appropriate.

  “These men were lost, but today they have found their redemption. As will we all.”

  As I looked at the faces which stared back, I knew that each man present understood my words and I hoped that they would be heartened by them.

  Sixteen

  I did not sleep well that night. For the first time in many years I was left haunted by a dream of startling vividness. Mostly my dreams were faint, as if viewed from a distance through mist and rain. I had dreamed about the wife I had once had - her face had been as clear and perfect as it was in life, her hair soft and smooth in my hands as I ran my fingers through it. Even as I dreamed, I feared her loss again, scared that the dark recesses of my mind would create a death for her as I watched on helpless. I was spared this cruelty, but the end of the dream brought wakefulness and the memory of Jenna was more painful than any imagined death my brain could have conjured up while I slept.

  I did not like prophecies and portends, with their implication that a man has no control over his fate, but my dream did not leave me in good humour. I had risen early and visited the Treads army in order to familiarise myself with what I had to deal with. Orders had already reached them that I was to be in charge and none of their officers looked pleased with the idea that they were to serve under the First Cohort. I had no time for their concerns, though I was aware of them. I was not so conceited that I could pretend they were of no matter at all, but the only thing of importance was that they followed my orders immediately, without allowing whatever bitterness or anger they held within them to cloud their actions. We all followed the Saviour now and I’d had to say these words more than once to Captain Grange, the commander of a much-depleted force of archers.

  I’d been worried that I might have to lose Lieutenant Sinnar by giving him charge of the Treads men, but after I’d finished speaking to Captains Grange, Thresh and Foster, I was left with the impression that all three were loyal to Treads and the Saviour. They were desperate in their fervour to see their lands away from the yoke of Duke Warmont. If I’d thought that their hatred of me was stronger than their loyalty to the Saviour, I would have had them deposed immediately. In the end, I was as content as I could expect to be that they would do what I asked them to, without trying to subvert my command, or indeed stab me in the back if the chance arose.

  I was a stickler for time keeping. I’d been told that we should be ready to march in the morning and although it took a monumental effort, the sun was not yet directly overhead when a little over two thousand armed men had mustered in the town square. The minutiae of details concealed by that single word muster were things that I walked through unthinkingly. In truth, the First Cohort needed little in the way of organisation: I simply gave the command, or asked Craddock or Sinnar to do so, and within fifteen minutes we were ready to fight. The men of Treads took more effort to prepare. They needed to be provisioned, their weapons and armour repaired or replaced. They needed time to say farewell to their loved ones. I could not begrudge them the latter – even I could remember when I had gone through such rituals. No one in the First Cohort had these ties anymore. I could not bring myself to say that these ties hold you back or weaken a man. I did not allow myself to think about it – if I did, I was sure I would find myself envying those who still had family that cared about them. It was true to say that the First Cohort was my only family, but I doubted that there was a man among us who didn’t occasionally yearn for something more.

  Our lady was by my side, with Footsore several paces behind, as I faced the men before us. The First Cohort stared back, eyes alive in tattooed faces. I could tell that they were ready for battle again. Corporal Grief and his assistants had patched up our wounded. It was easier to sew up the damage when your patients don’t bleed. They’d all been able to re-join our formation today – if you didn’t kill us stone cold dead, you could be sure we’d be up and about the next day, cutting through the enemy lines as if our injuries hadn’t existed.

  I’d walked amongst the men last night, my message to them unfamiliar: we were fighting for our lady now and her wishes were to become ours if we were to truly serve her as we had sworn. The Saviour did not bring with her a desire for revenge or vengeance for our own fallen. If we fought for those, we would diminish not only ourselves personally, but the First Cohort itself. My men were not stupid, but mostly they were not great thinkers. The fact that the words came from me gave them great weight, but I am sure that many of the men needed time to digest what I’d said. That is not to say that they only paid lip service to their vows to our lady, but for so long we had fought only for ourselves and for the pride of being in the First Cohort.

  The men of Treads shuffled nervously as I walked along their lines. They didn’t know what to expect from me, which made both parties equal, since I didn’t know how much trust I could place in their abilities. I stopped in front of several and looked them in the eyes. Had these been unblooded new recruits, they would have all dropped their gaze after a moment, or a self-conscious smirk would have appeared. None of this happened - they all stared back, not sullenly, but with the pride of men who have seen battle and won against the odds. By the time I reached the end of their line, a weight had been lifted from my shoulders and I clapped the last two men on their shoulders. One of them even smiled at me.

  I had never been one for great speeches. I was aware of their value if properly delivered, but I’d never been that man. I cleared my throat and raised my voice, clear and loud in the chill morning.

  “Men, we’ve kicked the Duke’s arse good and proper already. Killed his Second and his Fifth. If I know my men, one of them is wearing the Blackhearted’s tiny cock on a string about his neck.” There was some nervous laughter amongst the Treads lads, and a number of broad grins in the First Cohort, assuring me that someone had done something to Gagnol’s remains. I continued. “If Bonecruncher had been decent enough to have died with his head intact, we’d have it mounted on the gates of Treads to remind the Duke that free men and women live here now. Not that he’ll ever see these gates again, nor his men, for today we are marching towards Gold and we are going to kick the Duke’s arse again and again until every town in the north follows our lady’s banner. And rest assured, that we of the First Cohort are now sworn to the Saviour and we will fight and die for the same cause that you fight for.”

  I fell silent and gave the signal that we should prepare to move out. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d said so much in one go to the First Cohort, but these new men needed to get to know me. It certainly wasn’t the best or most inspirational speech that had ever been made, but I was content with what I’d said.

  We moved out, the First Cohort in the lead, with our lady upon a fine white horse in the centre of our formation. I didn’t ask where she’d got the horse, nor the new richly-coloured red robes she wore. I was sure that the town had been generous in its gifts to the Saviour.

  To our sides, the town’s people had gathered in their thousands. There was little in the way of cheering and I was left with the impression that they didn’t know what to do, or even know if it was a time for celebration. Certainly, all eyes were on our lady and her banner as they went past. We filed out through the town’s outskirts, the properties already having an air of the derelict. I doubted they’d be occupied again for the foreseeable future, though Warmont’s men hadn’t gone out of their way to do them any damage.

  As we left the buildings behind and took to the paved road leading south-east, Jon Ploster fell in beside me. It felt like an age since I’d been
allowed the opportunity to talk to him – a battle often makes it seem as if time has slowed down to a crawl, so that you feel as if events took place much longer ago than they did in reality.

  “It’s most strange, Captain,” he said. I waited patiently for him to continue, and he obliged me. “These lands have had talk of a Saviour for at least a hundred years, probably much longer. It seems as though it has become so ingrained in the nature of the people that as soon as our lady appears, she is accepted willingly.”

  “You have felt her radiance, Ploster,” I said. “And these people have been desperate to see a sign of the Saviour for as long as they have whispered about their hopes that she will bring their freedom. Is it any wonder that things have moved so quickly?”

  “No, it is not and I had not meant to express concern that she has been so easily accepted. I am just worried that Warmont’s cities will not so easily fall into step.”

  “Let us think about these obstacles when we need to, Ploster. Our lady embodies hope for these lands and we have witnessed the power of it already.”

  “Warmont’s domain is one of the weakest in the Empire. I hope that tales of the Saviour are as prevalent amongst the other lands as they are here.”

  It was something I’d never considered. I’d heard tales about the Saviour’s coming a long time ago. I couldn’t even remember where I’d heard it. Then I’d heard it mentioned again, in another place and many years later. I’d dismissed the stories as irrelevant to the practicalities of being a soldier. Whispered tales of Saviours, Liberators, Champions seemed like little more than a distraction. What did I or my men care for such things, fighting as we were on the winning side? Recently, the tales of the Saviour had become ubiquitous – heard everywhere that a man cared to listen for them. Only then had I started to listen to them more closely, perhaps even giving them some credence. I really couldn’t remember if the stories had been confined to the Duke’s lands. Maybe all of the Emperor’s lands had their own tales of their own Saviour, spoken by desperate people who needed something to believe in. It was a worrying notion – up until now I’d thought of our lady as being unique. Was she just one of many? I knew that since I’d committed myself to the cause of one Saviour, I had effectively committed myself to the cause of all Saviours if indeed our lady was one of many.

  “You have sent my thoughts off along a road I would rather they had not travelled,” I said.

  Ploster chuckled, unrepentant. “Only an ignorant man disregards possibilities which may be uncomfortable to consider. And I have never thought of you as an ignorant man, Captain Charing.”

  I looked back to where our lady rode; she was in conversation with one of the men. I ventured to Ploster the idea which had just come to me. “Could she be just one of many?”

  “I don’t know, Captain Charing. I must confess that I have wondered at it myself. If there are several, then there is greater hope that her cause will go far. If she is alone, then I just don’t know.”

  He didn’t say the words, but we both knew that against the Emperor our lady would be crushed in an instant. The Emperor was ancient, his power vast and brutal, but tempered with an enormous intellect that rarely made a mistake. Against the Emperor, the Duke was a minnow, but I feared that even Warmont would be much more than our lady could manage.

  “She is only young,” I said.

  “Aye, she is only young,” he agreed. “With so little time ahead of her to learn.”

  Our conversation ended at that moment, and my attention was brought towards matters practical rather than philosophical.

  “Captain?” said Lieutenant Craddock.

  “What is it, Lieutenant?” I asked.

  “We need to slow down, sir. The Treads men are already falling behind.”

  I cursed inwardly, having forgotten that we marched much quicker than did most other infantry. “Very well, Lieutenant, have us slow down to match their pace. Not too much though - those men need to know that our speed is important. The longer it takes us to get to Gold, the more the opportunity Warmont has to reinforce them.” I lowered my voice. “And we’re already facing far more men then I’d like.”

  “Yes, Captain,” said Craddock. He definitely wasn’t stupid and one day would make a fine captain of the First Cohort, not that I intended dying in order that he’d be able to assume my position. He’d have known already that Gold would be another trying encounter for us. Thinking about it brought no benefit, so I hadn’t spent time worrying about it myself and I doubted it kept Craddock any more awake at night than he otherwise would be.

  “Before you go, how many days to Gold is it, Lieutenant?”

  Craddock scrinched his face and crinkled his pointed nose in thought. “Twelve to fourteen days, Captain. At our pace. At the speed of these men, eighteen days or more. I can’t be sure until we see what rhythm they settle into.”

  “Warmont’s men don’t have that much of a start over us, do they?” I asked, my mind beginning to turn.

  “Two half days, Captain. It depends on how motivated they are as to how far ahead they’ve got.”

  “And there’s nothing between here and Gold, is there?”

  “Probably a village or two. A few farms. Nothing worth stopping an army for, if you’re hoping to catch them on the march.”

  “I think I’d prefer it if we caught them off guard to their rear, rather than trying to prise them out of the streets of Gold. I suspect our lady is hoping that our presence will tip the town over into outright rebellion, but I prefer the things I have greater control over.”

  “Like killing them all before they reach the town?”

  “Precisely that, Lieutenant. For now, slow our pace a little – just a little – and have Lieutenant Sinnar drop back until he’s with the Treads men. We’ll pick the pace up again shortly and we’ll see how much grumbling there is when Sinnar is shouting his encouragement into their faces.”

  Craddock chuckled. We’ve all got a mean streak in us somewhere. “Aye, Captain,” he said with a salute.

  A few moments later, I felt our marching speed slacken off. My men didn’t like to travel slowly and there were a few muttered grumbles about men marching with boys. I chuckled inwardly – there is no army that exists without a degree of internal conflict and competition. The trick is to keep it as good-natured as possible, and that way you can push everyone to greater efforts.

  I sent some of the First Cohort’s best runners ahead to scout for the enemy troops. I suspected there was still the remains of a cavalry out there somewhere - probably only a couple of dozen left from those men who had harried us as we’d retreated from Bonecruncher’s eight thousand. The horsemen had not joined in the fight for the town, which was entirely unsuited to cavalry, and I must confess I had lost track of them, given how depleted their numbers were. With any luck, they had simply dispersed or fled to Gold far in advance of Warmont’s infantry. Either way, I didn’t want my scouts getting cut down by horsemen.

  The land itself was not hostile. The air was cool but invigorating, rather than numbing. Here, so close to Treads, much of the soil was given over to farming and the road wove its way around hills and fields, with cultivated hedges and low stone walls to either side. I expected that the going underfoot would deteriorate as we got further away from the town, but for the moment everything was smooth and easy going. In a few of the rough, grazing fields I did notice a paucity of livestock and in one I noticed a pile of roughly-butchered animal remains. Warmont’s men were used to taking what they wanted in order to sustain themselves, and it appeared as though they had helped themselves to fresh meat as they went by.

  Come mid-afternoon of the first day, we were back up to a more acceptable pace. Far behind I could hear Lieutenant Sinnar’s voice booming out as he threatened and cajoled the Treads men into keeping up. They’d hate him for the next few days and then they’d start to respect him. If they ever found themselves fighting at his side, and saw how his monumental will could single-handedly turn the tide o
f a battle, they would be in awe of him.

  A couple of my scouts returned, running at speed, yet scarcely breathing hard. They’d seen signs of the enemy of to our flanks – not in great numbers and not a threat. These would be the men who invariably drift away from any army that is forced to flee after a defeat. A few of them would form robber gangs and murder some people. Others would appear in whatever town or village they could reach, where they’d lie about their pasts and hope to be accepted into a new life. They were not our problem.

  On that first night, we camped off the road on the far side of a hill, in order to conceal our presence as much as possible. An old sheep farmer lived there in a ramshackle cottage with his wife and I spoke to them, gently questioning them as to what they’d seen over the last day or two. I was not exactly usual in appearance, but neither of the couple seemed to recognize me for who I was. Some people chose to keep themselves away from civilisation and who was I to argue with it? Farming was as honourable a life as any.

  “We seen a few men going by. Heading south-east from their appearance. Shifty-looking they were and not at all nice,” said the husband.

  “We’re lucky to be hidden from the road. Keeps us safe from their sort. And our sheep. We saw them, but they didn’t see us,” said his wife.

  They didn’t have much useful to impart, other than to confirm what we already knew – the defeated remnants of Warmont’s men were travelling in the direction of Gold. I considered putting in an offer for twenty of their sheep in order to keep morale high, but we had hardly begun our journey and so I kept the First Cohort’s coins locked away.

  We were up before first light. I did my usual rounds of the men, spending more time with the newcomers than I did with my own. They grumbled as they packed away their gear, but the sounds of discontent were muted. Nobody wanted to turn around and find Lieutenant Sinnar at their shoulder, asking what the problem was. I didn’t know their names yet, but I determined to learn as many as I could. Not only does it help in battle if you can call a man by his name, but it also helps the soldiers realise that their commanding officer cares enough about his troops to learn some basic facts about them.