Yes, chivalrous and merciful, Coll agreed silently, to another knight!
"I rejoice in meeting a man of enough gentility to recognize me for what I am." Gar inclined his head. "However, though I am a knight, I am one whose lord was slain in battle, and am therefore without house or lands. I live by my sword and my wits now, pledging myself to whatever lord needs me."
"And your friend, too?" Sir Hildebrandt looked up at Dirk, who nodded. "Well, if you are true free lances, I cannot think to impress you into His Majesty's army-but I will offer you his shilling, and the chance to win his favor."
"How pleasant an invitation!" Gar grinned broadly. He glanced at Dirk, who nodded, then said to Sir Hildebrandt, "We will be honored to accept! Tell me, whom are we to fight?"
"Earl Insol," the knight answered, "for he has most grievously insulted our king."
Coll heard the words with a sinking heart. Visions of his village rose in his mind, visions of it burned and smoking, of the cottage trampled into the mire-mud reddened by the blood of his neighbors-and of Dicea struggling in the arms of a soldier, who laughed through a gloating, gaptoothed smile as he displayed his prize to his mates. Yes, Coll felt a bit of resentment at having his destiny decided by these two strange knights without asking him-but he was far more pleased to be in the army that would attack Earl Insol. Perhaps, if he could be one of the first soldiers to reach the village, he might protect his mother and sisterand warn his neighbors.
Sir Hildebrandt led them to a river, then south along its banks until they came to a broad road. At the river's edge, it slanted down to a ford. There were guards at that ford, wearing blue tunics with a silver lion rampant on each.
"What does that livery mean?" Dirk asked Coll. "Whose is it?"
"The king's." Coll eyed the soldiers with some awe: he had never seen the monarch's troops before. "The blue is the color of the royal household."
"So you were hiding in wastelands that were just barely out of Earl Insol's demesne?" Dirk gazed out across the water. Forty feet away, on the farther bank, stood guards wearing red. "Whose color is that?"
Coll swallowed. "Earl Insol's-my former master."
"I take it this river is the border of the king's estates?" Gar asked. The outlaw nodded.
Insol's men stood with their backs to the river and to the royal guards-but one turned and called across, "What's the hour?"
A royal guard glanced at a sundial, then called back, "Not yet noon. We must go hungry a while longer, eh?"
"It's enough to make a man bait a hook," Insol's man grumbled.
"The soldiers don't seem to have anything against one another, at any rate," Dirk commented.
They followed Sir Hildebrandt toward the east, on a well-packed road through fields of ripening grain. Coll couldn't help but think that those stalks would soon lie trampled in the mud, with soldiers' bodies among them. So much labor wasted! So many lives! So much hunger!
They camped for two nights, and Gar and Dirk struck up conversations with the soldiers, who seemed surprised to find themselves forgiving the men they had sought to kidnap-but Sir Hildebrandt talked to the stranger knights by the hour as they marched, so they could tell themselves they were only following his example. Coll just sat and watched, saying as little as possible, and realized quickly that Dirk and Gar really didn't say much about themselves-only enough to lead to the next question, and to bring the soldiers to talking again. Coll decided that was why everyone enjoyed talking to them so much: they listened well.
Of course, if Sir Hildebrandt and his men had known why the two strangers paid such close attention to everything they said, they might not have taken so much pleasure in talking-and from the comments Dirk and Gar made, Coll saw how quickly they were learning about the land.
They were learning so much that Coll decided they had originally known even less than he had thought. It was amazing they spoke with such slight accents.
Halfway through the third morning, Coll looked up and saw a castle's turrets rising above the ridge ahead of them. He caught his breath, awed at the thought of actually seeing the royal stronghold. Unable to believe it, he turned to the soldier next to him and asked, "Is that the King's House?"
"King's House?" The soldier grinned. "Aye, lad, and if that's a house, I'm the giant Tranecol!"
Coll took his meaning and smiled. "Bigger than my mother's cottage, eh?"
"Summat bigger, yes," the soldier allowed.
As they came closer to the ridge, though, the turrets seemed to sink below it, so that, as they came to its top, the royal castle seemed to burst upon Coll's eye, its towers reaching for the sky, its curtain wall stretching a mile wide, its moat a veritable lake.
"Impressive," Gar murmured.
"You would find it very much so, if you sought to take it," Sir Hildebrandt assured him. "The moat is fresh and fed by springs within it, so there is never a lack of water, and its granaries are always full. That drawbridge rises in several sections, and those battlements can rain scalding water on any who come close enough to raise ladders."
"It's almost as though it stands on an island, not as though a ditch has been dug about it," Coll breathed.
"It is an island," the soldier told him, "and you could grow enough grain to feed an army in its courtyards, if the soldiers didn't need them for drill."
Another soldier nodded behind him. "That wall's seven hundred yards long, lad, and I should know, for I've paced it time and again on sentry-go, counting my steps as I went."
Coll believed it more and more as they came closer until, as they came to the gatehouse that stood on the landward end of the bridge, the castle seemed to fill the whole landscape. The sentries challenged them, but saluted when they saw Sir Hildebrandt's colors and stepped aside. They rode through the sudden darkness of the short stone tunnel, with its arrow slits to either side and the slits in its roof for pouring down hot oil, then rode out across the causeway, where the castle filled the whole world. Sentries challenged them again from atop the inner gatehouse, then recognized Sir Hildebrandt and cried a welcome. They rode through the chill of another entrance tunnel, longer this time; then sunlight struck them as they came into outer bailey.
Coll stared; he had never realized so huge a space could be enclosed by a man-made wall. Far away against the eastern side, knights rode at quintains. All about the walls, hammers rang and forges belched smoke. A troop of soldiers practiced halberd play with quarterstaves, and serfs loaded wagons with barrels and boxes. Coll could feel the thrill, the apprehension and excitement; this was the home of an army preparing for war.
Lackeys ran to help Sir Hildebrandt dismount; he tossed his reins to one and turned to beckon to Dirk and Gar. "Come! You must meet your new liege lord."
They dismounted, but Coll sat more firmly, willing his saddle to hold him as though he were glued to it. Sir Hildebrandt saw, though, and ordered, "Come, man! Will you let your masters go unescorted?"
Dirk gave Coll a glance of commiseration that had the firmness of command to it. The serf sighed, and followed his knight friends up the stairway that climbed the side of the keep, into its great, gaping door.
A liveried footman bowed as they entered. "Welcome, Sir Hildebrandt. We have announced your coming to the king, and he awaits you in his chambers."
Coll was surprised that Dirk and Gar were not surprised; their land couldn't have been so very different from his, after all. For himself, he knew, as everyone did, that it was a sentry's job to report all who come as soon as they were in sight, and a herald's job to know every knight by his coat of arms.
"May I know the names of your companions?" the herald asked.
"You may," Sir Hildebrandt replied. "They are knights from a distant country, come over the sea to fight for His Majesty-Sir Gar Pike and Sir Dirk Dulaine. Their squire is one Coll."
"Be welcome, gentlemen." The herald gave Dirk and Gar a deferential nod, then turned back to Sir Hildebrandt. "If you would be so good as to follow, I shall announce you."
<
br /> Sir Hildebrandt gave a curt nod. "Lead on."
They followed, Coll half dazed, his heart singing within him. A squire! Could he truly be a squire? Surely not, for neither Dirk nor Gar had told him he was any such thing! But if the herald wished to make the mistake, why, who was Coll to correct him? A mere serf, that was all-certainly not a squire!
They walked through halls as high as any cottage's roof and halted at an elaborately carved door of dark wood, flanked by guards. The herald said, "Sir Hildebrandt, with two strange knights and a squire."
The left-hand guard nodded. "You are expected." The other guard swung the door wide. The herald stepped in and announced, "Sir Hildebrant de Bourse, with two newcomers, Sir Gar Pike and Sir Dirk Dulaine, with their squire Coll."
"Show them in," snapped a resonant baritone.
The heralds stepped aside and bowed Sir Hildebrant in. Gar and Dirk followed with Coll behind them. "Majesty!" Sir Hildebrandt bowed. "May I present Sir Gar Pike and Sir Dirk Dulaine, newly come to our land of Aggrand from a country far across the sea."
Dirk and Gar stepped forward to bow. Coll bowed, too, but stayed back as far as he could, wishing he could slip behind a tapestry-but staring at the king nonetheless.
He wasn't very impressive, really-no taller than Coll, and only a few years older. He stood behind a table spread with parchments-or paced, rather, pausing every now and then to look down at a map pinned there, then look up again, eyes flashing with anger. His long hair was glossy black, as was his jawline beard. He wore a short surcoat of purple velvet trimmed with ermine over a brocaded doublet of scarlet embroidered with gold thread, and scarlet hose. His face was set in a look of simmering anger as he glared at the map, his eyes black, his nose Roman over fleshy lips. His crown was scarcely more than a coronet, padded with more purple velvet trimmed with ermine, but it held a jewel in every point over a band of precious stones.
"From a far country?" the king asked. "What is its name?"
"Melange," Dirk replied. "There was a war, and our noblemen lost. We thought it wise to travel for our health and seek our fortunes by our swords."
The king smiled. "You, at least, might do better to live by your wit."
"Doesn't every courtier?" Dirk countered.
The king actually laughed, a short, harsh bark. "True, Sir Dirk, but few of them have much to work with there. What of you, Sir Gar?"
"I fear I must leave lightness of heart and quickness of lip to my companion," the giant said in a soft voice. "I have little to recommend me but my sword."
Somehow, Coll knew that was anything but true, and Dirk reinforced that opinion. "His sword and his gift for organizing a battle, my lord. Some men know where the bodies are buried, but Gar always seems to know where to find the live ones."
The king laughed again, a little more freely this time. "Let us put you to the test, then, Sir Gar. Come, look at this map and tell me where Earl Insol shall attack, and how I may counter him!"
Gar stepped around the table beside him, pursing his lips as he gazed down at the map.
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Gar placed a finger on the map. "Is this the river ford we passed on our journey here?"
"You came from Sir Hildebrandt's manor in the north? Yes, it is." The king seemed surprised that Gar had found the intersection of road and river so easily.
"You'll have it heavily defended," Gar predicted, "and if I can see that, so can the earl. He won't even try a crossing, though he'll mass enough soldiers there to make you think he will. No, he'll send his troops across the river at least a quarter mile away."
The king stared at the map in surprise, then frowned and demanded, "How?"
"In boats," Gar said.
"With horses? It would take far too long!"
Gar nodded. "Even so. He will send only a dozen knights by boat; the rest will be foot soldiers, but they'll be his most experienced, his best. They'll make enough trouble for ten times their number, and draw your troops away from the ford. Then his men will cross-but they won't be the main body of his troops, just enough to keep your army busy, and while they're distracting you, the rest of his soldiers will cross the river here and here"-he stabbed the map with the forefinger of each hand, wide apart--"these two fords. How distant are they from the main road to your castle? Four miles?"
"A bit more." The king stared intently at Gar.
"Close enough to arrive before the diversion is over, then. And Insol will cross at both fords, so that he can bring his troops marching around like the pincers of a crab's claw, with your troops between them as they shut."
"You have guessed even as I have." The king watched Gar narrowly. "I will have troops hidden in the forest nearby, of course, to fall upon them as they come out of the water. What else will I do?"
"Why, carry the fight to Insol, of course!" Gar said, surprised. "Your army will be ready before his, will it not?"
"It will indeed, especially since the knights near those estates will gather there rather than here." The king turned to Sir Hildebrandt. "You will command the force that guards the center ford, though, Sir Hildebrandt. Keep half your force here; send the others back to Northford."
"As Your Majesty wishes." Sir Hildebrandt bowed his head, keeping a straight face.
The king turned back to Gar. "So my army shall attack from north and south at the same time, fording the river and charging out upon Insol's hidden forces. What shall they do then?"
"Catch them sleeping, since your men will cross under cover of night. I would guess that you would send your best soldiers across first, dressed in black and moving as silently as possible, to take out Insol's sentries, so that you can catch his camps by surprise. When they've slain or captured all his soldiers and knights, your forces will wait for dawn, then ride posthaste to attack his castle. With luck, you may catch him before his drawbridge goes up."
"Exactly as I had planned!" The king clapped his hands in delight. "This is a most insightful recruit you have brought me, Sir Hildebrandtl Can he fight as well as he plans?"
"Oh, he most surely can," the knight said ruefully. "But can you lay schemes beyond a battle?" the king asked.
"Strategy, Your Majesty means? Yes, I have some knack for it, if I am given full knowledge-but I know little about your country or your barons, and less about your goals. Do you go only to chastise one earl?"
"That's as must be," the king said grimly. "If Insol's defeat is enough to make the rest obey and send the full tax that they owe, and soldiers for my personal army, well and good-but if not, I shall have to chastise each of them, one by one."
"To what purpose?" Gar pressed. "For gold and strength of arms? Or to curb their harsh treatment of their serfs, and make them instruments of your own justice, not merely their own whims?"
"Gold, of course, and the strength to compel them to do as I command! Why should I care how they mete out their justice, or how they herd their serfs? Such cattle are good only for tilling the land and gathering wood, nothing more."
Coll clamped iron control over his whole body to keep it from shaking with rage.
"But those 'cattle' are human," Gar said softly, "and make foot soldiers for your army, and mothers to raise more soldiers."
"They must be tended with care, of course, as any cattle must! Do you think I know nothing of husbandry?"
"Of course not, Your Majesty," Gar soothed, "but to guess at your strategy, I must know how many serfs you wish to keep alive when your war is ended."
"As many as possible, of course! What good is a field with no one to plow it?"
"Then you wish to make the barons stop fighting one another, and wasting serfs in the process?" Gar pressed. "Wasting! What manner of talk is that?" The king made a chopping gesture. "What care I how many cattle they slay in their wrangling? Let them fight each other every day of the year, weakening one another so that they may fall easy prey to my armies, when I wish to compel them to obey!"
"Then the constant warfare that assails this land is your strategy," Gar in
ferred.
The king stared in surprise, then slowly grinned. "Most insightful indeed." He turned to Sir Hildebrandt. "The man is a marvel, Sir Hildebrandt, and more than fit to commandl See to it that he leads the charge across the northern ford, and that Sir Dirk is beside him!"
"Of course, leading the charge will almost guarantee that you're killed in the battle," Dirk pointed out, "especially if your soldiers aren't any better fighters than that." He pointed at two squadrons of footmen who were practicing halberd play with wooden weapons-and missing one another as often as they struck.
"Of course," Gar agreed. "The last thing a king wants is a really capable knight leading a body of well-disciplined, hard-fighting soldiers. This king may be a brute, but he's no fool."
Coll stared at him, scandalized, feeling cold runnels of fear all through himself. Then he glanced frantically to left and right, to see if anyone was close enough to hear-but Gar and Dirk had chosen the right location for a private talk; they were ostensibly surveying the castle and the soldiers, so they were out in the middle of the courtyard, where no one could hear them-except Coll, of course, but he shared their opinion of the king. He had hoped to find a wise and compassionate young monarch, filled with ideals and burning to stop the slaughter of serfs in the lords' petty wars. Instead, he had found a man who was perfectly willing to encourage those battles, and wanted only more gold and more power. Coll's rage smoldered in him like a banked fire.
"He's intelligent," Dirk pointed out.
"Oh, yes, intelligent," Gar agreed. "If he weren't, he wouldn't be half so dangerous. Intelligent and shrewd." Dirk nodded. "The kind of man who thinks you can trick your way around morality."
"No, he doesn't even think about right or wrong. After all, he knows he's the king."
"So anybody who opposes him is wrong?" Dirk asked. "Only in his own eyes."
"I see," Dirk said softly. "He is his own morality."
"Which is another way of saying that he's a selfish, egocentric brute," Gar said dryly.
A Wizard In War Page 4