Chapter 15
Telamon had two hundred soldiers, Lernen one hundred, and Tefir eighty. Telamon and Lernen both sent back to their castles for their battle chariots, which they assured Tefir would arrive within a few days. Laird Tefir spent much of his time riding around the clear grounds beyond the castle on the chariot he had inherited from the previous laird.
Racks for holding javelins lined either side of the chariot. It could hold six in all. The driver stood at the very front of the coach and the laird riding could move about in the small space behind the driver. Curved blades stuck out from the wheels, promising mangled legs to any horse or man who got close enough. A team of six mighty stallions pulled the chariot and the weight of their charge alone could cause havoc among men on foot.
The driver coaxed the horses along at a steady trot while Tefir pitched back on forth in the coach. He had been raised a peasant and thus had never learned to ride such a conveyance. The weight of his ill-fitting chainmail did not help.
“It’s like watching a cat trying to ride a bull,” Gregoire said as he and Joff observed the laird from the castle wall.
“Why don’t they just put six men on the horses and have them charge with swords?” Joff asked.
“Because that would not glorify the lairds, my friend,” Gregoire said. “You remember Atlatl’s Abdication, I trust.”
Joff nodded. The book was required reading at the Academy. The book told the story of when the gods had tired of the shiftlessness of humans and gone off to form their own kingdom of Paradise. Humans had fallen into utter ruin and despair until the nobles, descendants of the gods, had risen to lead them. Even the augurs quietly admitted that this fiction was meant to convey a message to the peasantry about their proper place rather than tell the story of anything that had ever actually happened. It was also a reminder to the nobility that they must appear godlike at all times lest the peasants think to do without them.
Tefir threw a spear at one of the man-shaped targets ranged around the field. The spear landed several feet from the target and Tefir only saved himself from falling out of the chariot by grabbing the rail at the last minute. Tefir continued to practice for hours, until midday when Laird Roscoe and Laird Heath arrived at the heads of their respective armies.
Those armies camped around the castle that night. The two lairds had brought just over three hundred men at arms, to bring the combined force to almost seven hundred, not counting the men and women who followed the army to serve its needs outside of combat. In addition to the men at arms who were all armed with shields, spears, and swords and wore steel helmets and chainmail shirts, about a hundred archers had arrived from the five allied shires. Telamon armed them with crossbows made by Coursa’s grandson Jason with the help of Telamon and Lernen’s various craftsmen. The next day the chariots arrived and the army was ready to go.
The lairds and their advisors all met in council while their officers organized the troops to move out. “Where are we going?” Laird Roscoe, a lad of about sixteen who already had the tough, muscular build of a veteran soldier, asked.
“We march on Alerick’s castle,” Telamon replied. “Right into his teeth. Make sure your men do not harass the peasants. I have some friends in Tamshire and I do not want to antagonize them.”
“I have heard of your friends,” Laird Heath, a slender, almost effeminate man in his thirties said. “It is said that you are aided by Coursa the Rogue.”
“Do you believe that?” Telamon asked.
“Yes,” Heath replied immediately.
“And you came anyway?”
“Yes.”
Telamon nodded. “Good. I am trying to bring order to our land. If an alliance with Coursa accomplishes that then so be it.” He nodded to Joff. “Her scribe has been a great help to me. Her blacksmith made the crossbows that our archers now carry.”
“Tomkin sought kingship,” Heath said. “Look where it got him.”
“Tomkin was a fool,” Joff said. “He brought this chaos on us. Telamon has the wisdom to end it.”
“Joff is right,” Telamon said. “We will be outnumbered in this battle but if we survive it then we need only remain united. The other lairds will fall to fighting among themselves, as they always do. Some of them will come to us with time. We can whittle away Alerick’s forces and his support.”
“And then you will be king,” Heath said. His tone that did not indicate that he found the prospect especially pleasing.
Telamon nodded. “And I will remember those who helped me. I swear it.”
“He speaks truly,” Tefir said. “My claim to my title is legitimate, but that is not the only reason Telamon helped me. Coursa wanted me to have this title. It was in repayment for her help that I was awarded my shire.”
“And there will be more rewards to give out when my enemies are dead and the crown is mine,” Telamon said. “So, are you ready to make history with me?”
“And why should we trust this Coursa?” Heath asked. “I know of her. She has plotted and schemed and murdered and stolen for decades. She is loyal to no one. Is this who you put your faith in?”
“This,” Telamon said, raising a hand toward Tefir. “Is Coursa’s grandson. And this,” he raised his other hand toward Joff. “Is her valued scribe and her lover, if I’m not mistaken.”
“You’re not,” Joff said, pointedly not looking anyone in the eye.
“They are the same age,” Heath observed.
“She is a very vibrant woman in her maturity,” Telamon said hurriedly. “My point is that these men are both special to her, ready for us to cut them down at the first hint of betrayal. Besides, Coursa has as much to gain from our victory as either of you do.”
Heath and Roscoe looked at each other. Neither of them looked especially convinced but neither seemed ready to argue, either. They expressed their support in less than enthusiastic terms. Telamon saw them and Lernen out of the room with instructions to be ready to march in the morning. This left Telamon, Tefir, Gregoire, Reginald, and Joff in the room. An awkward silence fell over the group. Telamon looked at Gregoire.
“I shall go and make prayers for your victory,” Gregoire said.
Telamon’s gaze next turned to Tefir.
“I . . . need to get more practice on the chariot. I take my leave.”
When Tefir and Gregoire had gone, Telamon smiled. “That’s better.”
Joff had been expecting a similar dismissal and was surprised when he did not get one. “Is there something I can do for you my lord?”
“What are your plans, master scribe?” Telamon asked.
Joff guessed that whatever his plans were, they did not really matter. He had wanted to go back to Coursa. “What is your pleasure, my lord?”
Telamon took a moment to answer, noting the way Joff dodged the question. When he spoke, he did so in his most official tones. “It is my wish that you accompany us into Luishire. I have just told my allies that your presence is proof of Coursa’s sincere good will. It would look bad for you to leave. I also think that your tactical knowledge might prove valuable. I know of your condition and I will not ask you to do any fighting. I require only your presence and your council.”
The warmth of Coursa’s cottage grew distant in Joff’s mind. He nodded. “You shall have them. I will stay with you for the battle and for any help you need sorting out the legalities of your ascension. Then I’ll take my leave.”
“Boldly spoken, peasant,” Reginald said.
Telamon turned and sneered. “Mind how you speak. This is no barefoot farmer, nor any common rogue.” Telamon pointed to Joff. “I need him.” He turned his gaze back to the scribe. “There will be a place in my court for a man of your talents. But if it is your wish to go then I will not stop you. Now take food and rest. The journey will be brief but perilous. I expect Coursa will exact a high price if I return you in worse condition than I got you.”