Valour and Victory

by Candy Rae

  Hilla snuck another look at Jen, one that asked ‘shall we tell them what really happened’?

  Jen nodded, her eyes dancing.

  “Perhaps it’s time we told you the truth,” she said with a burble of laughter.

  “Truth? What truth?” asked Dolvin who had forgotten all about his sea-sickness.

  “We all ate them,” said Paul, “do you mean that you didn’t catch them, that they were just lying there in a row waiting to be picked up? Pull the other one, do.”

  “You’re close,” said Jen with an arch look. “Leftenant Hallam said not to tell anyone but I don’t think it matters now.”

  “Just promise not to tell anyone else,” added Hilla.

  “We promise. We promise,” said both young men, eager to hear about how the two girls had done it.

  Jen began to tell them the story in a low voice. Dolvin and Paul listened, erupting into gales of laughter as Jen told them about the great plan that had gone awry when Robain Hallam had caught the two of them taking the basket of fish out of the river.

  Hilla listened with perhaps half an ear. That had been the day that had marked the beginning of her and Robain’s relationship.

  She wondered where Robain was. It was almost a year since she had seen him and his letters had been few and far between. She didn’t even know if he still thought of her the way he had used to, didn’t know if they still had a future together.

  Hilla closed her eyes and tried to shut her ears. She didn’t want to listen to stories about these happy times.

  She was no longer sure if she still wanted to marry Robain. Perhaps when they reached Duchesne, he would be there; he had hinted that he was going to the southern continent in his last letter. He might be waiting for the army at the staging area Wilf Taplin had been talking about.

  In a strange way, Hilla half-hoped he wouldn’t be there. She had enough to worry about concerning the campaign without that complication.

  Hilla forced a smile on to her face and joined in the conversation again, much to the relief of her three friends who had been wondering about her lack of responsiveness to their quips. The two boys were being profuse in their admiration about her and Jen’s audacity in trying to circumvent the Garda’s true purpose behind the ‘living off the land’ exercise which had been to train them how to cope with hunger, want and lack of sleep while carrying out their duties.

  “It was a memorable day,” Hilla managed to get out with a rueful laugh.

  * * * * *

  The Largan

  Kalavdr, Largan of Larg stood facing the three Kohortangan, the commanders of the great Larg army which was gathering in the staging area some one hundred miles south of the Kingdom of Murdoch.

  He looked at the oldest of the three, a mean-visaged individual called Zuvavdr, whose mealy muzzle was beginning to show his age with the odd white hair appearing amongst his whiskers and said, “you will lead your kohorts north to the chain of islands that leads to the northern continent. Keep to our side of the border (he spat out this last word as he referred to the hated human country that shared the southern continent with the Larg). Do not cross under pain of death but be seen.”

  “I hear and obey.”

  Kalavdr turned to the second Kohortangan.

  “You will lead your kohorts north on the other side of Murdoch. Like Zuvavdr you will not cross the river and enter their land, but you must be seen so that your movements are reported back to the man they call Lord Marshall. You will be told when you can cross into the land they call theirs and when the killings can begin.”

  “I hear and obey,” he intoned, executing a deep bow, his muzzle touching the ground, his claws emerging and retracting in time with each syllable.

  Kalavdr turned to the third Kohortangan.

  “You and your kohorts will remain here, with me.” The Kohortangan looked alarmed.

  Kalavdr chuckled, “divide and conquer. Do not panic Avdr, your kohorts will get their chance to kill. They have stolen what is ours,” he added in a thunderous voice, “it is time to take it back.”

  He stared round all three in turn. “Leave,” he commanded.

  The three genuflected and left, backing away with care, one huge paw after another, six eyes gleaming at the thought of the killings to come.

  The Larg were going to fulfil their long awaited destiny. This was the campaign to end all campaigns, the end of their centuries of obscurity and of being forced to share their continent with the hated humans of Murdoch.

  Murdoch’s destruction would only be the beginning. Before the year was out, Larg would be the supreme rulers on the planet.

  * * * * *

  The Prince-Duke

  “I’m telling you,” declared Xavier, “our Duchies are in no danger from the Larg.”

  “How do you know this?” asked a suspicious Duke Raoul van Buren.

  “You have my word.”

  “That’s not good enough,” Raoul van Buren retorted, “before I secede my Duchy from the protection of the regiments and the Kingdom I need more than your word.”

  “I agree with Raoul,” said the Duke of Smith, David by name. He was nodding in a wise fashion. “Gods Xavier, I’m with you on this but I have to be sure.”

  “The Lord Marshall wouldn’t be intending to take the regiments up into Brentwood if he didn’t think so,” said Duke Pierre Cocteau.

  “He might, if there was the need,” retorted Raoul van Buren.

  “He’s a Duchesne,” insisted Pierre Cocteau, “blood calls to blood.”

  Xavier sighed. He had known the rebel dukes would ask for more definite assurances.

  “All right,” he said. “All right, all right. I’ll tell you but it goes no further. I have talked to the Largan. He has assured me that his kohorts will not attack the southerly duchies. He is only interested in the north, in the Lind. He is most upset that the route to the northern continent over the Island Chain is blocked. He wants the lands where the Duchy of Graham stands and the eastern tip of Duchesne to revert to him and his. He will uphold the treaty made in the first years between Largdom and Murdoch if these lands are ceded back.”

  “You believe him?” asked Raoul van Buren.

  “I do. He has no need to lie. It’s in his interest to have humans on the continent as a buffer between him and the northern continent.”

  “What’s changed?” asked the Duke of van Buren. “You absolutely sure it is just the northerly lands he wants, nothing else?”

  “Help in times of famine,” Xavier replied with a smile, “no more. In such times he has asked for a tithe of meat herds. I have agreed.”

  “Only in such times?” pressed David Smith, “not a yearly tribute?”

  “Correct. Now will you agree?” Xavier was growing impatient. “Time is getting on and we have preparations to make.”

  “Agreed,” said Raoul van Buren. The other two added their agreement although David Smith still looked doubtful.

  “Good. Now you must call in your levies.”

  “In three days then?” said Pierre Cocteau.

  “In three days,” confirmed Xavier. “I have spoken to Henot. The man is ambitious.”

  “What have you promised him? A Generalship?”

  “I have,” lied Xavier in a smooth voice. He had promised the man more, the elevation to Ducal rank in the vacant Duchy of Sahara no less but he saw no need to impart this information to the three rebel dukes.

  Xavier had no intention of carrying out his promise to Baron-Captain Henot. Once the Baron had performed his assigned task Xavier planned to dispose of his services - permanently. He had already instructed a group of his closest retainers to deal with the Baron’s family.

  * * * * *

  The Lord Marshall, the Crown-Prince and the Prince-Duke

  The Lord Marshall of Murdoch, Count Peter Duchesne was unaware of Xavier’s plans, so involved was he with organising the campaign against the Larg.

  Reports had arrived on his desk containing the information tha
t the Largan had indeed, as Susyc Julia had warned, split the kohorts up into two parts. There was a large force running up the eastern edge of the kingdom and a smaller one running north along the western borders.

  He was not aware of the Largan’s army to the south.

  The Lord Marshall had given internal security over to one Baron-Captain, an officer of twenty-eight years military experience. He would take charge of the Citadel and the safety of the royal family when the regiments marched out. Alan Henot was, in Peter Duchesne’s opinion, a solid and dependable officer, if perhaps overage for his rank. He had little imagination but he was trustworthy.

  “The latest intelligence reports all agree that the kohorts have split in two. The larger half, the much larger half, is beginning its run north to Duchesne.”

  “The other half?” enquired the Duke of North Baker.

  “Intelligence indicates they are running north along the western side of the river.”

  “Any ideas as to where they intend to cross?”

  “The river is deep and fast-flowing up as far as the Brentwood border. They are unlikely to attempt a crossing until they reach at least the first of the three fords.”

  “I feel in my bones that your Duchy is safe for the moment,” said Crown-Prince Paul. “It is my uncle, the Prince-Duke Robert’s levies that will face the might of the Largan’s western army in Brentwood.”

  “In that case,” said William of North Baker, turning to face the Lord Marshall, “I can give you say, two companies of foot and one of horse. My northerly borders abut Brentwood and it’s in my interest to stop them.”

  Peter Duchesne continued with his briefing. “I will lead the Regiments into Brentwood. Susyc Julia, who commands the Armies of the North is sure that the Larg in the west intend to drive east, across Brentwood and Gardiner to join up with the kohorts who will attack Duchesne and Graham. The Largan is being very clever here. He has made us split our forces.”

  “Will Graham and Duchesne be able to hold them without the help of the Regiments?” asked Duke William.

  “No, but they are expecting help, a lot of help.”

  “Where from?” asked Prince-Duke Xavier with suspicion. He had stayed silent until now, listening and learning.

  “From Susyc Julia herself,” announced the Lord Marshall, dropping the bombshell. “She intends to send most of those under her command into Duchesne and Graham. They will be on their way as we speak.”

  Xavier did not need to feign dismay. “What part of her army?” he demanded, “not the Vada or the Lind surely?”

  “I sincerely hope so,” voiced the Crown-Prince, “and don’t start mouthing out words like treason Xavier.”

  “If Duchesne and Graham willingly permit the Lind into their duchies, then they are traitors,” an angry Xavier insisted.

  “I have given leave,” said his brother.

  “Without Conclave approval. How could you Paul? It’s one of our oldest laws. Murdoch must never be beholden to the North for anything and you have invited them in!”

  “Our Father, the King, has given his approval. Don’t be stupid Xavier. The Largan is throwing every warrior he can get his paws on at us. We need all the help we can get. The Dukes of the Eastern and Western Isles are sending aid as are the Earls of the Galland Confederation.”

  “That’s different,” insisted Xavier in a tight voice. “They are our allies.”

  “As are Argyll, Vadath and the Lind at this time,” said Crown-Prince Paul. “I’ve sent a message to all the northerly dukes. Until this crisis is over, the law prohibiting Lind on our soil is in abeyance.”

  If Crown-Prince Paul had thought his brother was going to pronounce further on the subject he was pleasantly surprised.

  “As you wish,” Xavier said in a smooth voice, “until the crisis is over I accept your decision.”

  Maybe Xavier has got more sense in his head than I give him credit for, thought his brother.

  “Right,” said Peter Duchesne, getting back to the business in hand. “We know the Larg are running northwards on two fronts. Duchesne and Graham, with the help of our northern allies will hold them. Duchesne knows what he is doing.”

  “What about van Buren and Sahara?” asked Crown-Prince Paul.

  “The Larg are intent on reaching the Island Chain,” Peter Duchesne replied. “It is most unlikely that they will cross the border so they are not in any immediate danger. Raoul van Buren was warned, he’ll have taken precautions.”

  “And Count David Gardiner will do the same for Sahara.” The Count was the Crown-Prince’s viceroy in the Duchy and a close friend.

  “I have done the same,” lied Xavier, “all my borders are covered.”

  “Me too,” said William of North Baker, “what of Pierre Cocteau?”

  The Lord Marshall sighed, “he doesn’t believe we are in any danger.”

  “He might be right,” quipped Xavier, an attempt at levity. It fell flat.

  “He might not. Unfortunately I have no Regiments I can spare, even if he comes to his senses and does ask for help.”

  * * * * *

  The Crown-Prince

  The castle at Fort was in ferment. During the night the soldiers of the company of the Eleventh Foot had revolted and taken over its governance.

  Any who resisted were dead, their bodies piled in the middle of the inner courtyard awaiting disposal.

  The royal family were confined to their quarters in the palace complex and rumour had it that they were going to be moved ‘for their own safety’ to more secure quarters within the Citadel.

  The town was a hotbed of speculation. What was happening? The King is dead. The King is alive.

  One name was on everyone’s lips; Prince-Duke Xavier.

  Retainers dressed in the South Baker livery were everywhere, ordering people to stay indoors. The townsfolk were scared and did what they were told.

  By the time the noon bell rang the town of Fort was silent.

  In the royal apartments Crown-Prince Paul, his wife Crown-Princess Susan and their three daughters, Princesses Susan, Mary and Janet were crammed into a tiny room with guards on the door. With them were Prince David, brother of the King, his wife Princess Bethany and their son, his wife and children, the youngest only two months old. Little David was crying. He was wet and uncomfortable. Everyone was aware of the smell emanating from the young prince’s bottom. His older brother Pierre was becoming fractious.

  “How long are we to be incarcerated here?” asked a nervous Crown-Princess Susan. “Surely they don’t intend to keep us cooped up all day? The children are thirsty and hungry.”

  “What I don’t understand is why Baron Henot is doing this,” said Princess Bethany, “why, only yesterday he was playing with the children in the gardens. He said he was missing his own family.”

  “Xavier is at the bottom of this,” pronounced Prince David with a glance at his son Prince Ian.

  “We don’t know that yet Uncle,” said Crown-Prince Paul.

  “He’s always been jealous of you. It was only a matter of time.”

  “But what’s going to become of us?” cried Princess Denise in a voice filled with anguish as she nursed her baby. “Is he going to kill us?” She tightened her hold and David squalled.

  They waited for over two candle-marks.

  At last the door creaked open and two scared maidservants entered bearing trays. On one lay a simple meal of cold meats, cheese and day old bread. The other maid carried a heavy tray holding mugs, the kind the soldiery used and a jug of steaming kala. There was also milk for the baby.

  The maids laid down their burdens with downcast eyes. They had been ordered not to attempt to make contact with the royal prisoners. One glanced up and caught Crown-Prince Paul’s eye but she made no sign as she scuttled back out of the door. It slammed shut behind her, missing her heels by a whisker.

  Another two candle-marks passed, then they heard the heavy tread of booted feet approaching and the door opened again.


  It was Baron-Captain Henot with a group of armed men in his wake. He stared at the wall as he issued his orders.

  “Crown-Prince Paul, Prince David and Prince Ian, you will come with me.”

  “Can’t you look at me Captain?” asked Prince David.

  Alan Henot did not answer, nor did he waver in his gaze, merely indicating that the three should precede him out of the door.

  “Where are you taking us?” asked Prince Ian, giving his young wife a hug and planting a kiss on baby David’s forehead.

  “King Xavier wishes to see you,” Captain Henot said, realising that they were making no move to obey and that he would have to give them some explanation. He did not want an ugly scene.

  “King Xavier? Captain?” exploded Crown-Prince Paul, who could hardly believe his ears. “Xavier is no King of Anywhere.”

  “General,” Alan Henot corrected him with a smirk, “General Commanding the Armies of the Kingdom of South Murdoch.”

  “That country does not exist,” said Crown-Prince Paul. “I will not come.”

  “My men will have to take you,” Alan Henot answered. “Please don’t make me give the order Prince Paul. I don’t want to upset the women.”

  The women and children spent what remained of the day in the little room with no further outside contact, then at dusk, more guards arrived and escorted them out of the room and along the dark corridor that led to the Citadel, the oldest part of the palace. They were taken to the very top floor where secure quarters had been prepared.

  “Where are my husband and the Princes David and Ian?” asked Crown-Princess Susan, ushering her daughters in front of her.

  The guards said precisely nothing.

  * * * * *

  Isobel