“The enemy had the advantage of terrain and defensive emplacements,” William tried to explain. “We were taking fire from men that we couldn’t even see before we were even in range to return fire.”
“The range difference is a handful of yards, if that!” Eadric shouted.
His army should have crushed the rebel. They should have shown the Kerberosi that no one spat in the face of the King of Ansgar and lived to tell about it. Instead, his incompetent commanders had handed the enemy a victory, one that would strengthen their resolve and show that he was not the all-powerful monarch that he wanted them to believe that he was.
“What were our losses?” Eadric demanded.
“First Division suffered fourteen thousand dead, five thousand wounded. Second Division, eight thousand dead and two thousand wounded. Third Division counts seven thousand dead and three thousand wounded. Fourth and Fifth Divisions each report four thousand dead and one thousand wounded. First and Forth Cavalry Brigades report losses in the eighty percent range, and Second and Third Brigade have lost around a third of their strength.”
“And what are our estimates on enemy losses?” Eadric asked.
“We estimate that we inflicted similar losses in their center, but the rest of their divisions were better entrenched than expected and we think they lost around half of the numbers that we did,” William said reluctantly. “We think that their cavalry lost about half as many riders as us.”
“So you’re telling me that we lost thirty-seven thousand infantry and fifteen thousand cavalry and estimate enemy losses at only twenty-five thousand infantry and eight thousand cavalry?”
“According to our estimates, that is correct,” William said.
“How far are our next divisions of reserves?” Eadric asked as his mind tried to devise a plan to salvage the disaster that had befallen his first battle.
“The last telegraph puts two additional divisions two days away.”
“Very well,” Eadric said as he stood. “We will move our artillery closer to the enemy lines and harass them until additional forces arrive. Until that time, Richard, I want you to consolidate our divisions and reform them for battle. Let me make myself very clear, My Lords: we will defeat the enemy here, or you will answer for it to the man.”
Chapter 20 - Magnus
Magnus shook his head as he reviewed the map of the Robine Barony again. His three infantry divisions were arrayed around Kval Keep in a semi-circle. His most experienced First Division held the center, Fifth Division held his left flank, and Sixth Division anchored his right end. Six batteries of ten-pound cannons had taken up position behind the infantry and three batteries of fifteen-pound heavy artillery sat in the squat, sprawling keep.
Kval Keep had been built on a lonely hill amongst the Barony’s flat, fertile fields. The hill looked very much like a monk with its lower two-thirds covered by a thick forest, the top third clear cut and the keep right on the center. A low stone wall surrounded the entire hill, and it was behind that hill that Magnus had established his camp. Royal guards paced the thin walkways and a full company guarded both of the gatehouses. A river wound its way from behind the keep toward the coast and Robine Harbor to the south.
Across the fields of Robine, King Eadric Garrard had brought five divisions of infantry and seven batteries of field artillery. He also had nearly thirty thousand cavalry to Magnus’ fifteen, and the King’s mounted forces had significantly more battle experience than their Kerberosi counterparts. Eadric had set his battle lines on the western side of a gully that ran for miles from north to south.
The Ansgari forces had been slowed by Magnus’ skirmisher and raiding parties, but they had continued their advance into Kerberosi territory with only a single major interruption. Lord Eldon Carsten had held Eadric’s army in check for three full days at Gregory. The first day had been a sound victory; the Ansgari forces had been forced to retreat and had spent the next two days harassing the Kerberosi lines without committing to a full assault.
On the third day of battle, Eldon had ordered his end division to flank the Ansgari line but realized too late that the King had been reinforced. The Ansgari forces had swept through the disjointed Kerberosi lines and captured nearly half of the remaining soldiers. Lord Carsten had escaped with less than a third of the forces that he had been given command over and the Ansgari cavalry continued to harass him until he reached the safety of Aaberg Castle at Vidis.
The Ansgari had turned to the southeast to avoid further contact with the northern divisions of the Kerberosi Army and stab at the more fertile southern territories. Robine produced more than its share of wheat and grain and its loss would strike a devastating blow to the Kerberosi economy.
When the reports of Eadric’s change of direction had reached Agilard, Magnus had collected a division of his best infantry and rushed to Kval Keep to join with his southern forces under Lord Oskar Kvalheim. His generals had advised him to let the Barony fall and to secure more defensible positions further east. He had refused and ordered them to array their troops to hold against the Ansgari.
He was outnumbered and outgunned, but honor and duty forced him to defend the ancient home of his loyal noble. He had sent message to Lord Carsten at Vidis to bring his ragged divisions and whatever levies he could collect along the way. Messages had been sent to Hilldale to rally the three brigades of Home Guard to aid their king, but unless those troops moved swiftly, they would arrive after all of the fighting was done.
“Your Grace, a messenger is crossing the field,” Alger Greenbow announced from outside of the tent flap. “He carries a peace banner and a satchel.”
“I wouldn’t have expected Eadric to be so courteous,” Magnus quipped as he rolled up the map. “Join me, Algers, and have Oskar and my generals summoned as well.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Alger said and stepped away from the tent.
Magnus would have been well within his rights to claim Kval Keep for his own quarters, but he was not so arrogant as to think that he needed to stay on a feather bed every night. He felt that sleeping on a cot, under a canvas tent, kept him in touch with his soldiers, and hoped that it endeared him to them. It also allowed him some privacy, away from the keep that would be swarming with stewards, chambermaids and pages and squires running messages from one lesser lord or knight to another.
The pavilion was nearly as large as the quarters that he would have been provided in the keep. A larger central room anchored the structure. Smaller tables were placed along the front wall, and the long table and its respective chairs occupied a large portion of the tent’s rear.
Magnus’ steward cleared the table of the handful of plates and glasses that were the remains of Magnus’ breakfast. Magnus rolled the few maps that had found their way to the table and slid them into their thick leather carrying cases. Rorik took his place at Magnus’ elbow while they waited for the other members of the council.
Alger Greenbow returned from sending squires and stepped through the tent flap. Despite the growing heat, he continued to wear the furs and wool clothes of the hill tribes. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he threw off his cloak as soon as he was inside the pavilion. His cheeks were flushed from the heat and his long blond braid was matted with sweat and dirt.
“This heat is going to kill you,” Magnus observed as he sipped from an iced glass of brandy.
“Ah, we have summers in Hilldale,” Alger said dismissively as he took the seat at Magnus’ right hand. “I’ll live.”
“I hope so,” Magnus said with a laugh. “What terms do you suppose he’ll offer?”
“Probably the same that he offered to Eldon,” Alger said. He waved to Magnus’ steward and the man scurried over. “A beer, please. Cold.”
“Yes, Milord.” The steward slipped out through the back of the tent.
Magnus frowned as he brooded on the terms that the King of Ansgar was likely to offer. The terms delivered to Lord Carsten had been directed mostly at the lesser lords and knights of the
Kerberosi army. The offer to the nobles to allow them to take a life of exile and allow their heir to take their titles would not stand with the Kerberosi nobles. They were too proud to pass the dishonor of surrender to their descendants, as it had been passed to them.
He doubted that Eadric knew that he would be offering terms directly to Magnus’ hands, rather than to one of his nobles. Magnus wondered, for a moment, if the King had known that Magnus was in command of the defenses arrayed around Kval Keep, if he would have offered to have a summit and presented his terms directly to the leader of one of the rebellions that threatened to tear his nation apart.
“Your Grace,” Oskar Kvalheim said as he stepped through the pavilion’s entrance.
At only six feet tall, Oskar was not the tallest Kerbosi noble, but he was a bull of a man with shoulders as wide as two men and arms that were larger around than some women’s waist. His pale blue eyes concealed the Kvalheim’s notorious blood lust.
“Try not to send the messenger into fits, Oskar,” Magnus said with a half smile as the baron slid into seat at his left.
“You know those are lies,” Oskar answered, perhaps too quickly. “I had to break one messenger’s hand before he went mad, and the other got a good shouting at.”
“I see,” Magnus said as he tried to hold back a laugh.
The emissaries that had been sent by one of the Ansgari merchant houses to negotiate with Oskar for the use of his barony’s harbor had been arrogant men with no respect for the ancient houses that ruled the Kerberosi territories. They carried with them the disdain for the eastern territories that many of the central Ansgari harbored, and they had been foolish enough to reveal their feelings to Oskar. A poorly worded ultimatum and an attempt to lay hands on the baron had resulted in several broken bones and two emissaries who refused to ever travel to Kerberosi lands again.
“The other generals will be here shortly,” Oskar said as he poured himself a cup of water. “I instructed them to gather final ready reports from their divisions.”
“Thank you, Oskar,” Magnus said with a nod. “What is your opinion of our situation?”
“Our defensive positions will be stronger than Eadric expects, but he has nearly forty thousand more infantry than we do and double our cavalry. We must not make the same mistake that Eldon made at Gregory,” Oskar said. “The King will be expecting us to try to force him back. We must bide our time and inflict as much damage to his army and its morale as we can without exposing our own weaknesses.”
“If only we were closer to the coast,” Algers mused. “Our ships would be able to support our flank and there are three forts surrounding Robine Harbor.”
“Yes, but Eadric marched his men on the keep, and we must defend it. A significant portion of our foodstuffs travel up the Robine River, and whoever controls the keep, controls what travels between the harbor and the rest of Kerberos,” Magnus said.
“Of course, Your Grace.” Alger leaned back in his chair and accepted the beer he had requested from Magnus’ steward.
When Hagen Arntson and Elof Nyberg were finally ushered into the pavilion by Magnus’ guards, they were red faced, breathing heavily and had sweat dripping from their brows. Each of them carried satchels stuffed with readiness reports, roll calls, and, invariably, requests for supplies. Both stripped off their outer coats and threw them over a chair back. Hagen sat on the right end of the table and Elof took his place at the left end.
“Gentlemen,” Magnus said when everyone was seated. “A messenger from Eadric should be shown in any minute now. I expect the terms that the offer will carry to be similar to those that he offered Lord Carsten at Gregory: exile for our nobles, ransoms for the lesser lords, and amnesty for knights and soldiers that are willing to join him. However, I doubt he expects me to be here, and we can use that to our advantage. I intend to listen to the messenger, spend a suitable amount of time discussing the terms, and then send the messenger back across the lines to tell Eadric that I am here.”
“You hope that he will send new terms across for you and buy us some time?” Hagen asked.
“Exactly. If we handle it properly, we can expend the whole day in sending messengers back and forth and give our reinforcements more time.”
“Eadric may see what you are doing and simply attack,” Elof warned.
“That is a possibility,” Magnus said. “If he chooses to attack, we will have lost nothing in the trying. We are outnumbered and our position is tenuous at best. We need to take advantage of every opportunity that presents itself to us.”
One of Rorik’s sergeants stuck his head through the tent flap and Rorik stepped over to whisper with the guard.
“Your Grace, the messenger has arrived and is waiting outside.”
“Very well, let him in,” Magnus said.
The guard disappeared for a moment and then pulled the flap back and stepped through it. Behind him, a well-dressed man in a rich green uniform stepped into the pavilion. This meeting would not go as planned: it was a lesser lord that Eadric had sent with his ultimatum, not some low-born messenger. The man’s eyes widened for a brief moment when he saw who he would be addressing, but he quickly pulled his emotions back under control. He walked to the center of the pavilion and stopped. He leaned heavily on a black wooden cane.
“Announce yourself,” Rorik ordered.
“I am Lord Tramaine Wherry, Lord of Derby Harbor,” the man said, and presented the sealed envelope to Rorik. “His Majesty, Eadric Garrard, King of Ansgar, Protector of the Realm, Rightful Liege of Kerberos and Duke of Elsdon, wishes you to consider his terms in good faith and to provide your response as quickly as possible.”
“You are standing before the Rightful Liege of Kerberos,” Alger barked.
“My apologies, my lord, but neither I nor my liege lord recognize the legitimacy of your rebellion against the governance that your ancestors accepted one hundred years ago,” the lesser lord answered carefully.
Here is one who has spent time at court, Magnus thought as he considered the envelope in his hands.
“Whether or not you or King Eadric recognize our right to overthrow the oppressive government that has had its boot heel on our throat is irrelevant,” Oskar said. “We do not need validation from the Ansgari rulers nor their people to proclaim our right to freedom and self-determination.”
“My Lords, I do not believe that this is the proper venue for this argument,” Magnus interrupted. Each of their parts had been carefully planned to give the right impressions to the messenger.
Magnus drew his dagger and slid it through the seal. He unfolded the letter and looked over the terms. They were as he expected and entirely unacceptable to anyone who wanted to maintain Kerberosi independence. He made a show of reading the letter slowly and then passed them to Alger and then Oskar in turn. Each of his nobles read the terms and passed the letter back to Magnus, who read it once more.
“We wish to discuss these terms in private,” Magnus said after a pause. “Rorik, please show Lord Wherry out and ensure that he is looked after.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Rorik said, and signaled his sergeants to escort the lesser lord out of the pavilion.
Magnus and his council spent nearly six hours planning their response to the terms offered by Eadric. Alger suggested that they present equally unacceptable terms to Eadric, but Magnus decided against it. His lack of a resolute response and the knowledge that he was present would be enough to give the king pause.
When the messenger was finally allowed back into the pavilion, it was well past midday and Magnus had dismissed his generals; only Algers sat beside him. The lesser lord did not fail to notice the absence of the military members of the council, and he watched Magnus carefully as he walked back to the center of the main room.
“You have come to a decision?”
“I believe that the terms that you brought before me were not made with the knowledge that they would be presented to the King of Kerberos,” Magnus said after a pause. “I would
like you to return to your king and inform him of my presence. I will expect your return by evening so that I can review them and discuss them with my council.”
“As you wish,” the man sad sullenly before being escorted from the tent.
“And now we wait.”
Chapter 21 - Eadric
“Your Majesty, the messenger has passed through the gatehouse,” Payton Shield announced from outside of the small tent that served as Eadric’s forward command post.
“Inform me when he has passed through our own lines,” Eadric said. He accepted a flagon of wine from his steward and sniffed at it.
The wine was a local vintage, the sharp notes of cherry made that apparent. It would likely be sweet, as many of the fruit wines from Kerberos tended to be. The Kerberosi favored beer and honey wine over the fruit of the field, but one hundred years of intermingling with the Ansgari people had resulted in a handful of vineyards that crushed grapes and cherries. Eadric had tried the famed honey mead of Agilard and the beers of Hilldale, but neither had been so satisfying as an Aldenburg red wine or a Kerrville brandy.
Eadric waited until his steward had slipped out of the small tent’s back entrance before he slid his hand inside his jacket and retrieved the usual tin of dragonsalt. He twisted the lid off of the container, sniffed it once, and then took a heavy pinch and dropped it into the flagon. He swirled the liquid briefly and finally poured some into the griffin-talon chalice that sat beside the flagon.
He took a sip of the wine and was not surprised by its contents.
“They had him over there for quite some time,” Eadric said to William.
His chief advisor sat across from him at the small table. He had spent so many of his years in the Founder’s Keep, where ancient magics kept the heat and cold at bay, that he had been hard hit by the heat and humidity of the late spring. Sweat seemed to permanently dot his forehead and he was constantly dabbing at his cheeks and neck with a handkerchief. He had draped his jacket over the back of the chair and had unbuttoned the top of his linen shirt.
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