Chapter 16
The lairds rode in their chariots near the front of the army while their stewards, augurs, and one scribe rode behind on horseback. The men followed on foot and the wagon train stretched out of sight behind them. A two day march would take them into the heart of Tamshire, home and domain of Laird Alerick.
The stewards talked politics while the augurs talked about religion. Joff quickly learned that neither group was especially well read on the subjects they discussed. When he tried to break in on their conversations they just gave him strange looks and seemed not to understand, so he soon stopped trying to talk to them. Jason was at the rear of the army along with the other craftsman and Joff knew that Coursa had other relatives in the army, their relationships to her disguised. Even if Joff knew who any of them were, he could not strike up a conversation. To do so would be to expose them.
So Joff rode with his own thoughts as his companions. Hills and fields passed in at an achingly slow pace. When they made camp Joff thought only of his time in the company of Coursa and her clan. They had given him everything he had not been able to find at the Academy or among his own kin: acceptance, patience, and understanding. Joff dearly wanted to get on his horse and ride back to her but he knew that to do so would be to leave his job half done. Telamon had a battle to fight and the would-be king thought Joff’s presence would help. Coursa clearly wanted The Holdings to have a king and she wanted that king to be Telamon. All of this made Joff’s duties clear.
The next day they crossed the border into Tamshire, which was marked by a white stone placed next to the road. The men grew increasingly quiet and tense and even the stewards and augurs ceased their conversations. Reginald sent men on horseback to scout ahead for possible ambush. After a while they came to a village and Telamon called Joff to the front.
It was difficult for Joff to keep his horse close enough to the chariot to have a conversation but far enough that the slowly spinning blades on the wheel would not catch the horse’s legs.
“What do you notice about that village?” Telamon asked.
Joff looked at the village. It looked exactly every other village he had ever seen: a cluster of cottage surrounded by acres and acres of farmland. “I don’t see anything special, my lord.”
“What people do you see, scribe?”
Joff squinted. A life of reading books had not made his eyes especially suitable for looking across distances farther than the distance between his eyes and the page. “A lot of children. There are some women . . . there’s an old man.” Joff squinted harder. “There’s not a man older than fourteen and younger than fifty, not as I can see. Alerick’s already conscripted.”
Telamon nodded grimly. “He never intended to negotiate.”
“In fairness, my lord, neither did you.”
“Please keep your insights relevant as much as that is possible, master scribe.”
“Yes, my lord,” Joff said contritely.
A soldier with a red horsehair plume on his helmet rode up alongside Joff. “My lord,” the soldier said to Telamon. “Some of the men are asking if we will requisition supplies here” By “requisition” he meant “steal everything that can be carried off.”
“No,” Telamon said. “This village is not to be troubled. Any man who disobeys will answer to me personally.”
The soldier kept his expression neutral. “Yes, my lord. I take my leave.” He wheeled his horse and rode back.
Telamon did not look at Joff or say anything to him, but neither did he dismiss the scribe. Joff solved the dilemma by very gently tugging his horse’s reins so that the horse move a little slower than the laird’s chariot and Joff gradually fell back in the ranks. He contemplated allowing himself to fall back until he was somewhere behind the baggage train and then turning and going home, but once again Joff remembered his duty.
Late in the afternoon the chariots crested a hill and Telamon called for the army to halt. Joff and the advisors rode to the front and looked out over a hilly landscape. A castle of grey stone stood on a distant hill and the dark mass of an army moved on the hills in front of it. Telamon pointed to a low hill facing a bigger one. “We will take up our position there. Tell the men to be prepared for battle in the morning.”
“My lord,” Heath called from his own chariot. “Would it not be wiser to position our men on one of the larger hills?”
“No,” Telamon replied. “With the number and equipment of our forces we will be better served to fight from the lower hill. Would you not agree, Master Joff?”
Joff had gotten so used to being called “scribe” that it took him a moment to realize that Telamon was talking to him. “Yes, my lord.”
While Telamon’s forces advanced to the hill he had chosen, the opposing army moved to the hill facing and made their camp there. Joff looked up at the camp and imagined Laird Alerick and his allies looking down at Telamon’s disposition in confusion and with some apprehension. The would-be king was obviously up to something but none of them knew quite what. They had the larger army and Telamon had not chosen the most defensible ground in the area, though attack was out of the question for him, given the inferior size of his force. They did not know what he was up to and that would make them nervous.
Alerick ordered all of his gear, his javelins, his fighting spear, his sword, his armor, and his chariot checked. Whatever Telamon had planned, Alerick would be ready. His blacksmith went to work on the weapons and armor while his groom started checking the horse’s shoes and brushing their fine coats. A carpenter who had come into Alerick’s service some weeks earlier brought his tools and began to see to the chariot. Joff imagained all of this, but he could not have imagined Alerick’s conversation, or who he had it with.
“Check the other chariots when you are finished with mine, Eduard,” Alerick said.
Eduard touched his hand to his forelock in salute. “Yes, my lord. It will be my pleasure.”
The next morning Telamon ranged his soldiers about halfway up the hill with the chariots and advisors at the summit and the baggage train at the back of the hill.
Alerick ordered his own men to advance steadily to the base of the hill they held. Caution dictated that Alerick should use his archers to wear down Telamon’s forces instead of sending his mean charging into whatever trap the would-be king had planned. The professional soldiers, with their tall, broad shields, helmets, and chainmail shirts whould advance first. The peasants with their axes, hayforks, and other crude weapons would advance behind and thus be there to reinforce the soldiers without being slaughtered by Telamon’s archers.
The chariots stood in line at the top of Alerick’s hill where the carpenter had left them, the horses now hitched and the javelins loaded. All seven lairds wore armor of smooth metal plate that would easily turn aside a spear or an arrow. Such armor would be far too expensive to provide to every soldier, but lairds got only the best. Each laird had his own magnificent chariot and their charge would end the battle, whether it was needed or not. A laird and his chariot were the ultimate symbol of power in The Holdings and that would not change, whatever the particular needs of this battle dictated.
“Make ready the archers,” Telamon said when he saw Alerick’s soldiers advancing. “What do you make of Alerick’s strategy, Master Joff?”
Joff cleared his throat. “His soldiers are advancing first. The peasant conscripts are behind. The soldiers are meant to stop whatever arrows and spears come their way with their shields. When the battle begins in earnest, the peasants will be a buffer in case the soldiers’ line breaks. If the soldiers break our line then the charge of the peasants will ensure that is stays broken. Alerick appears to be keeping the chariots in reserve. I believe he plans . . .”
“Well spoken,” Telamon said abruptly.
“The archers are ready, my lord!” a soldier with a plumed helmet called from further down the hill.
“Wait for my order,” Tel
amon replied. “Master Joff, I cannot help but notice that you have no armor.”
Joff waited for Telamon to say something else. The comment had been accurate, though not overly insightful. Joff wore a dun colored tunic, brown leather gloves, and black trousers and boots. Any fool could see that he had no armor. “No, my lord,” he finally said.
“I am confident that we could find a helmet and a mail shirt for you,” Telamon said.
“Most gracious, my lord, but no. My condition renders me too weak for armor.”
“You carry a sword,” Reginald said from Telamon’s other side. The driver of Telamon’s chariot snickered.
“And a dagger,” Joff confirmed. “Mostly on principal.”
Alerick’s soldiers were nearing the base of their hill. The first of the mob of peasants followed a few yards behind the last of the soldiers. Reginald speculated that there were around a thousand soldiers and at least that many peasants. A good charioteer, the steward quipped, could send the entirety of the peasant force running. It was not that peasants lacked courage, it was simply that without armor or proper weapons they were at best support and at worst a liability to the professional soldiers.
“Let us relieve Alerick of some of that liability,” Telamon said. “Sergeant! Order the archers to angle their weapons up and shoot over the soldiers.”
The sergeant nodded and relayed the order. A hundred crossbows tilted skyward and let fly. Alerick’s soldiers stopped and held up their shields to form a solid wall of wood through which no arrow could penetrate. The bolts breezed over the barrier and into the ranks of the peasants. Some of the bolts struck heads or chests and the men so wounded fell and died instantly. Others struck arms, shoulders, stomachs, and other, less immediately fatal places. Those so wounded had to limp or be carried back through the lines. This gave their fellows a clear view of what was coming. The peasants began to talk about what strange new weapon could wound a man from such a distance and panic spread like a disease through them. The second volley struck and more peasants fell. Now some of those not wounded began to openly back away and many looked around for somewhere to run.
Alerick saw this, saw the peasant formation threatening to crumble, and cursed. If the peasants fled then the soldiers would be demoralized. A single, clever move by Telamon would be all the was need to roll up Alerick’s soldiers and end the battle before the seven lairds with their chariots could arrive to salvage it. Even if Aerick won, there would be no peasants there to witness his triumphal moment and tell the story. Any laird worth his chariot knew that this was half the point of battle; to show off one’s glorious might and remind the peasantry of their place. He gave the order for the infantry to charge.
The sergeants repeated the order and both peasants and soldiers rushed forward. Those peasants who had been having second thoughts were jostled and shoved by the others until they too surged forward. A third crossbow volley took even more peasants than the previous two had, but it did not matter. The momentum of the charge kept even the terrified moving forward.
“Final volley,” Telamon called. “Aim low.”
Telamon’s infantry knelt and the crossbowmen fired, not at the peasants, but this time at Alerick’s soldiers and specifically at the soldiers’ feet. Many of the bolts struck dirt or caught the bottom edges of shields but a foot pierced boots or shins. Men stumbled and fell and others stepped on or awkwardly over them. The overall effect was to create several gaps in Alerick’s line and to make it easier for Telamon’s men to cut down the first of their enemies to reach them.
“Let us advance and make ready,” Telamon called to the other lairds. The drivers of the five chariots urged the horses forward at a walk. Each laird took up a javelin and stood in a stern, meaningful pose. The advisors followed on their horses. Joff wished he had something useful to do. His only role now was to stand on the sidelines, quietly supporting the future king with whatever authority a disabled rogue scholar could wield.
Alerick’s infantry pressed against Telamon’s. Men at the back ranks of both forces flung javelins over the heads of those in front. The tactic was more effective when Telamon’s men did it, as they occasionally hit the unarmored peasants. Telamon’s men fought bravely but the line buckled under the sheer weight of advancing enemy. The would-be king ordered his chariot driver to charge into the breach.
The chariot rumbled forward. Telamon flung a javelin that bounced harmlessly off the shield of an enemy soldier. The soldiers flung their own javelins or jabbed them at the advancing horses. One of the lead horses collapses, bleeding from garish wounds on its neck and shoulder, and the other balked. The soldiers pressed in, killing the other horses and advancing on the chariot itself. A javelin took the driver in the throat and he toppled backward off the chariot and into the dust. Telamon drew his sword, a mighty two hander, and split the skull of a soldier trying to climb onto the chariot.
Joff saw what was happening and knew that, unless Telamon got help, the battle was over. The other lairds and several of the advisors had already moved in to try to seal the growing breach in the line. Telamon was alone and about to be hacked to pieces.
Once again, Joff considered wheeling his horse and riding back to Coursa. He remembered a time, not so very long ago, when Jain had called him a coward. Coursa had spoken up for him, had even struck Jain and painfully assaulted Airk for the insult. How could he face her if he ran away now?
Joff climbed down from his horse and drew both his sword and his dagger. Telamon worked his mighty sword with strength an skill, but he could not guard all sides of the chariot at once. A soldier with sword in hand had climbed up and was about to swing when Joff stabbed him in the back of the thigh. Another soldier jabbed a spear at Joff’s chest. Joff sidestepped and deflected the spear with his dagger. Then he thrust his sword at the soldier’s eye. He missed and instead stabbed the soldier in the cheek. The blade slid along the side of the soldier’s face, opening a garish wound. The soldier staggered back and dropped his weapon while one of his fellows swung his sword at Joff and got stabbed in the arm for his trouble.
And then Joff was through the soldiers and among the conscripts. He dodged hayforks, sickles, hammers, and all other manner of improvised weaponry. Lacking formal training, the peasants blundered into one another and occasionally managed to hit each other instead of Joff. Some part of Joff knew that Telamon’s men were fighting around him, that the breach in the line had been reversed. Mostly Joff’s attention focused on the weight of his sword, on how tired his arms were getting, how he could not catch his breath.
A horn sounded, followed by a noise like thunder. The conscripts backed away and for a moment Joff thought that the army was in retreat. Then he looked up at the enemy hill and saw seven chariots descending. The sea of conscripts parted before the onrushing chariots and many of the peasants cheered their lairds. The lairds stood tall and proud, as their counterparts on the other side had done. Their charge would surely crush Telamon’s forces. Many of Telamon’s soldiers who had come through the breach in Alerick’s line were already retreating. Some even dropped their shields and weapons.
Joff did not run because he could not run. His breath came in gasps. The momentum of the charge would bowl him over and he would be trampled and crushed under hooves and wheels. If he swung his sword then he might kill a horse, but probably not. It did occur to him to try to sidestep the chariots but he quickly reckoned that he was standing in just about exactly the center of the chariots’ path and there was no way he could get out of the way of all of them in time. Even if he did, there was a mob of screaming peasants descending behind the chariots with enough speed that all the fighting prowess in the world would not break their momentum.
A wry grin spread across Joff’s face. He had loved and been loved, found pricelss artifacts, and fought in the great battle of his time. Not a bad list of achievements for a peasant and downright impressive for a peasant crippled
by illness. He regretted that he would not see Coursa again and he hated to think about what his death would do to her, but there was nothing for that now.
The second chariot to Joff’s left turned suddenly as one of the wheels broke. The horses continued to charge and dragged their load even as it disintegrated and dumped both the driver and the laird on the ground at bone crushing speed. Then the chariot on the far right sagged and weaved weirdly as its axle broke. The horses, not understanding what was happening, took the change in pull as a signal to turn and careened into the next chariot in line, knocking it over.
The cheering peasants were suddenly a lot less enthusiastic. And they grew even less so as two more chariots fell apart and one of them crashed into another, bringing the total of wrecked vehicles to five. Alerick looked back at the wreckage. Two things occurred to Joff then. The first was that he was still in the path of one of the two oncoming chariots, Alerick’s. The second was that he should move. Before Joff could act, the left wheel of Alerick’s chariot somehow locked and the chariot turned hard to the left. The horses tried to go with the turn but it was too sharp and some of them fell, taking their fellows with them. Joff gazed in wonder as the chariot tipped and became airborn, dumping its contents. Alerick landed hard on his back while his driver landed head first with a sickening crunch. The chariot itself landed on Joff’s right with such force that it splintered. The driver of the last chariot began to turn, no doubt hoping to retreat, when that chariot also broke.
The conscripts all stared at the wreckage. Finally, some of them started to move They were trying to get away. The rest of them seemed to quickly decide that this was a good idea. Alerick’s soldiers fled soon after. Joff took a deep breath and walked to where the laird had fallen. Alerick tried to sit up but his heavy armor weighed him down.
“Are you alright, my lord?” Joff asked.
“Just finish it,” Alerick said, glaring up at Joff.
“No, my lord,” Joff replied. “I want you to live. I will deliver you to my lord Telamon, that you may offer him your fealty.”
“He will not like that,” Alerick said. “He wants me dead.”
Joff nodded. “I would imagine so.”
“Then why help me?” Alerick asked suspiciously. “Do you expect I will grant you some favor?”
“No, my lord. I have all that I need.”
Alerick gave Joff a curious look. “Then why?”
Joff took a deep breath and sighed. “This day is the result of the acts of lairds, peasants and rogues. Brutal acts, treacherous acts, acts that no man should commit or have commited against him. The Holdings will be united in one kingdom. I would like for at least one act of mercy to be part of that unification.”
“Very moving,” Alerick said. “Alright, help me up.”
Joff did what he could to help Alerick to his feet. Alerick was not badly hurt but the fall had battered him and he could not move quickly. That suited Joff as he struggled to catch his breath. They found Laird Telamon removing his armor with the help of a soldier.
“What?” said Telamon as he saw the approach of his enemy.
Alerick knelt and removed his helmet. “My lord. You have bested me. For your courage and skill I offer you my love and fealty, now and for all time.”
“Why did you not kill him?” Telamon said indignantly.
“My lord, it is rude to address a peasant when another laird is speaking to you,” Joff said helpfully.
“Of course,” Telamon said. “Forgive me, my lord. Very well. Kiss my ring and all shall be forgiven. The code set down by the augurs gives me no other choice.” Alerick kissed Telamon’s ring. Telamon bade his new ally to go and make the castle ready to entertain guests. When Alerick had gone, Telamon looked around for Joff. He wanted a word with the scribe.
Joff walked as fast as his condition would allow to the spot where had left his horse and prayed that the beast had not run off. The horse stood, eating grass, while Jain held its reins. “I did not know that Coursa had sent you,” Joff said.
“She thought you had dwelt among the lairds long enough.” Jain grinned. “I believe she misses you and your . . . attentions. She mentioned something about some of the books you’ve read.”
Joff sighed as he took the reins. “Are you coming with me?”
“No,” Jain replied over her shoulder. She was already walking toward Telamon. “I am your replacement here.”
Jain went to Telamon and introduced herself.
Telamon nodded. “Fine, but where is the scribe?”
“There, my lord,” Reginald said. The steward pointed to a fast disappearing figure on horseback. Joff was riding away at full gallop, toward Luishire, the forest, and Coursa.
Joff pushed the horse hard for the first hour and then, seeing no signs of pursuit, he let the horse slow to a trot. It had been late in the morning when the battle ended. That gave Joff most of the day to put distance between himself and the future king of the realm. He noticed things now that he had not before, a cottage set back from the road, a dog barking in the distance. The area had seemed deserted when the army had passed through. Joff guessed that was no accident. The cottage were all far off the road, many obscured by trees. The peasants must have brought their animals in when they heard that the army was coming.
The land passed quickly now that Joff did not have to slow his horse so foot soldiers could keep up. Joff pushed the horse harder as the shadows lengthened into late afternoon. He approached the village that Telamon had pointed out on the journey there and thought about stopping for the night. The road behind him was clear, but it was possible, likely that Telamon would send a heralds to spread the news of his victory. Perhaps the future king had forgiven him for sparing Alerick. Everything Joff had ever known about lairds told him that this was unlikely. Lairds held on to grudges like peasants held on to good farm tools. Joff rode on.
Full dark had fallen by the time Joff reached the village of Luis. He decided to avoid the inn, lest anyone come calling there. A lad carried a pail of water down the lane, toward one of the cottages.
“Hey there,” Joff said.
The lad stopped and gave Joff a terrified look.
“Where is the cottage that Jain lived in?”
The lad tried to point with the hand that held the bucket, shook his head, and pointed with the other hand. Joff tossed him a sil and rode off toward the cottage. The place looked exactly like every other peasant cottage, so Joff had no way to be sure that it was the right one. He climbed down from the horse and tethered it to a tree near the door. When he knocked a rough looking man with dark hair and darker eyes opened the door.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Joff said. “I need food and a place for me and for my horse to sleep. I can pay.”
The dark man narrowed his eyes. “Go to the inn. I’ve no room for lodgers.”
Joff shook his head.
“I want no trouble,” the dark man said. “Go on. Get out of here.”
“I’m a friend of Jain’s.”
The dark man’s eyes widened in greater fear than the lad’s had. “Alright,” he whispered. “Go to the barn. There’s a palette there and an empty stall.” More loudly, he said, “Get out of here!” and slammed the door.
Joff led his horse to the barn and fumbled around in the dark as he tried to undo the saddle and harness. The barn suddenly grew lighter.
“Thought it would be easier with a light,” Daniel said. In his right hand he held a lantern. In his left he held a mug with a plate of food balanced on the top. He set the meal down and hung the lantern on a hook suspended from the ceiling. “You’re not much of a horseman, are you?”
Joff confessed that he was not. Daniel saw to the horse while Joff ate. They talked about Jain and about the recent troubles in the realm. When Joff had finished eating, Daniel took his plate. Daniel nodded to one of the blood stains on Joff’s shirt. “Are you hiding because
of someone you killed?”
Joff laughed. “No. I’ve killed a lot of men but it was the one I didn’t kill that got me in trouble.”
“Get some sleep,” Daniel said. “I need you gone in the morning. If you’re caught here in the night, I never knew you were here.” He turned to go, but paused. “If you happen by here again some time, I’d like to hear the story of the man you didn’t kill.”
Joff departed before dawn and left two henries on the palette. He rode to the forest and followed the familiar track that led to the large but hidden cottage. When he arrived he found Alban standing in front, waiting to take his horse.
“There is a bath drawn for you in the tub out back,” Alban said. “There is also a change of clothes. Mother said that your breakfast will be ready shortly.”
Joff dismounted and handed over the reins. “How did she know I was coming?”
Alban shrugged. “What doesn’t she know?”
After he had bathed and changed, Joff went into the cottage. Coursa stood by the fire where one of her granddaughters stirred a pot of steaming porridge. The granddaughter took her leave, but Joff barely noticed. Coursa’s thick hair fell in loose rings around her shoulders and down her back. She wore a dress like the one she had worn to greet laird Telamon, but this one was was white and fit her form even more snugly. Her brown eyes glowed as she smiled at Joff.
“You’ve done well, my love,” she said. “And you’ve come back to me.”
“How did you know?” Joff asked. “How could you have known what would happen?”
Coursa’s smile broadened, as much as that was possible. “Do you think I planned all of this? Do you think that’s even possible?”
“Yes.” It was possibly the shortest sentence of Joff’s adult life.
“You are learning.” She walked up to him and placed her hand on his chest. “You have a good heart. I know. I mended it for you. I knew you would do me proud.”
Joff put his hand over hers and closed his eyes. “What happens now?”
“Now you have breakfast and we spend the day together.”
“What then?”
Coursa stepped a little closer to him, close enough to whisper in his ear. “We live happily ever after.”
Joff smiled. “That doesn’t really sound like you.”
Coursa put her arm around him, pulling him into an embrace. “You live happily ever after, while I run The Holdings from the shadows.”
Her breath in his ear made Joff shudder. He had yet to say no to Coursa. Why start now. “Happily ever after,” he whispered back.
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