Chapter 119: You sound a little bitter

“So,” I told Kerrass as we rode north. “I think you should talk to her. Write her or something.”

“When are you going to leave this alone Freddie?”

“Mmm, never.” I told him. “Besides, after all the fun that you had at my expense over the Ariadne thing, I think I deserve some payback.”

“For the last time,” he said. “It's not up for discussion. She's sixteen years old.”

“She's nearly seventeen, going on a hundred and thirty four.

“But she's only been conscious for sixteen years.”

“She's also a Princess, although technically a Queen by now, and was forced to mature faster than anyone has ever done. Look, I don't understand why you're finding this difficult.”

“Don't you? Do you really not understand why this is so difficult for me?”

“To be fair,” Sir Rickard, who was riding on the other side of us, “I don't entirely understand any part of the situation. Can someone go through it for me.”

Kerrass pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Here it is,” I explained to the knight. “Kerrass here, has been in love with the woman that has been called Sleeping Beauty for over a hundred years.”

“I thought he'd only been alive for the last ninety odd.”

“No, I mean that she's been called that for the last hundred years.”

“That would make more sense.”

I was really coming to enjoy the dry humour of Sir Rickard. He was still all but indistinguishable from his men. The only badge of his rank was the signalling horn that he wore on a strap over his shoulder. Other than that, he rode in his shirtsleeves like his men with his hair long and his armour in a bag. Also, his equipment was a little better quality although not by much. I know that he paid for a lot of his men's equipment out of his own pocket, insisting on the best bows and weapons that money could buy. He would take his men into Oxenfurt and buying weapons according to their own preferences. He carried a heavy broadsword and a shield without ornament and his bow was a recurved thing of beauty which he spent hours caring for.

It was a much slower journey than the one that we had taken when we had first met. That time we had been riding south towards my families castle with breakneck, almost reckless speed. We had commandeered horses as went to maintain our fast pace and had eaten in our saddles. I had been in a state of grief, all but falling off my horse when spasms of grief would overcome me without warning and we hadn't really gotten the chance to get to know each other.

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Now though, Sir Rickard was fast becoming another friend.

He had sixteen of his bastards with us and they rode easily in front, behind and off to one side in a formation that I doubt is in any of the military hand books. I know that there were a couple of outriders on either side as well as an advance scout and another man bringing up the rear that would, in theory, warn us about any followers and any advance attacks. The rest of them rode with an easy, relaxed posture. Their swords were in scabbards at their stirrups and their shields were attached next to it. I had seen how fast these men could go from a relaxed posture to being fully armed and ready for a fight.

Instead they rode with their bows cradled in their arms as though they were cradling their children. Each horse had an arrow bag of no less than a hundred arrows on their opposite stirrup from their swords and shields.

I had been surprised as to how many arrows each man had wanted, when I had seen them earlier they had had relatively small bundles of arrows, but this time Sir Rickard had insisted that the men equip as though they were heading to battle. I had asked him about that and he had simply asked me how many arrows a fully trained archer could fire in the space of a minute. Then he had asked me how many decent fletchers there were with Sam's forces.

Then he told me that most military long-bowmen traditionally expected to carry a couple of hundred arrows into battle. Then he had asked whether I could fit that many arrows into a normal hunting quiver.

I had left, admitting that I didn't know that much about warfare. He had laughed, admitting that he didn't know that much about history either so that made us even.

But other than their weapons, they wore no uniforms or armour. Riding easily in their shirtsleeves and their trousers. They traded jokes and abuse with each other, calling of names and insults was common. Some men smoked, another man was singing gently with astonishing craft and a voice that rasped with age and a pitch that was pure and unwavering.

We rode easily, stopping often and avoiding winding ourselves or our horses. We wanted to be ready for anything as there were still regular reports of bandits in the countryside. I even know that we were mistaken for a band of bandits at one point and I had to exert my fragile authority. In the end though there was a line of armoured men facing the line of grinning bastards before both sides decided that it would be better to walk away and live another day.

When we stopped, a couple of the men who had been poachers would set traps and we managed to live off the road fairly well. When the night fell we would gather, sentry's would be sent out and hid in the undergrowth to protect us from whatever might be out there and we sat, the men off to one side and Sir Rickard, Kerrass and I nearby in our own little clique.

The first night I had tried to mix with the men, share some drinks, play some cards and tell some jokes and stories but I had felt...uncomfortable and out of place until Sir Rickard had come to collect me and take me over to where there was a smaller camp fire that he had built next to his own bedroll where he had a pot of tea brewing. Thanks for reading on ManaNovel!

“They don't want us to be the same as them.” Kerrass had been off somewhere training. Working his own sword forms separate from the rest of us. “Don't take offence.”

“Why?”

Rickard grinned. He has this scar across his cheek that always makes him look as though he's sneering except when he smiles which knocks a clear ten years off his age. Most of the time he comes across as this kind of hardened, grizzled veteran of many campaigns but it's easy to forget that he's only a couple of years older than me.

“I read your book.” he said, gesturing for me to join him. He poured me a mug of the bitter soldiers drink that they all seemed to like and passed it over as I settled in. “I thought it best to know something of the family that I would be working for.”

“Oh yes, and what did you think.”

“I think that you're a little naïve with your class politics.”

I laughed at him. “Thanks a lot.”

“Don't get me wrong. I think it's admirable a lot of the things that you say. I agree with you on a good chunk of it. The vast majority of the noble-class are absolutely worthless scum and could do with fighting a decent battle on the front lines of the pike regiments. Or failing that, a day digging latrines, shovelling muck out over someone else's stables or my personal favourite which is listening to the wailing of those people that have lost someone to the various wars, famines and diseases that nobles simply ignore from the safety of their homes.”

“I sense that there's a but coming.”

“And there is. There is one place where men like to be separate from their ruling classes and that's in the army.”

I said nothing, just sat and drank my tea.

“Men like knights and officers to be separate from them. Above them somehow. They want to look up to them and think that, no matter how much they might hate their knight, that that same knight is different somehow. Blessed is the word.”

“Why?”

“Interesting question. Soldiers are the most superstitious bastards on the continent. More than sailors, merchants or farmers. And just as much as the soldier has a lucky dagger, a lucky rabbits foot or their lucky arrow. They like to believe that their officer is a man apart. That he has been blessed, consecrated and set apart to do better things. That way, if he is a better man, then he will be able to lead them to safety.”

“You once told me that leadership was easy. Just pick some simple rules that men could follow easily.”

“That's right. Also, set high standards and meet those standards yourself. In short, never ask a man or a subordinate to do something that you wouldn't do yourself. Also, give credit where it's due. I mean there are some refinements as well but that's just about the long and short of it.”

“So why do the men need their officers to be apart from them?”

“Because in being apart, they are special. They are lucky. They lead charmed lives and will always, always bring them home.”

“That sounds more like trust. That they trust you to do those things.”

“That's right. But why do they trust me?”

“Because you are lucky.”

“Correct. I'm the luckiest cunt on the face of the planet.” He said it gloomily. “I swear, if I'd known what was going to happen, that Lord Natalis was going to knight me in return for saving his life I would have run a mile instead. Bastard.”

“You never told me what happened.”

“That's because, in all truth, I don't really know myself. I was just a common soldier.” He poured himself another drink, topping it up a little from a hip flask which he offered to me. I declined. “They used to call us The Harriers in Temeria. Our job was to give the enemy headaches.”

“This all sounds very technical to me.”

He laughed.

“No, what I mean is, we would sneak round and fire a bunch of volleys of arrows into unprotected flanks before legging it. Or we would make ourselves a big and tempting target to try and draw out the enemy and make them expose themselves to a waiting cavalry charge. In short, if there was a nasty job where they needed some hard fighting and creative thinking it was our job to do it. The Redanians called the same job “skirmishers” while the Kaedweni referred to us as “mounted infantry.” Lightly armed and armoured bastards who can move with great speed and do any number of things, from destroying siege equipment to disturbing an enemy shield wall.”

“How do you do that?”

“Oh you'll be surprised. There aren't actually a lot of uniforms on a battlefield, a good chunk of the skill of being a soldier is knowing who's on the other side and who's on your side. A lot of it is in the recognising of the standard issued equipment, but anyway.

“I once had to sneak right round an enemies lines and then came up through their baggage train. A knight thought I was being cowardly and pushed me into line. There were a few dozen of us and because I was then in the ranks, I could tell the people around me that the people coming up were my mates and then they could be pushed through to join me.

“So there we stood, in the middle of our enemies lines watching our own soldiers marching towards us in good order. We waited to meet them. I caught the eye of a soldier who knew me and gave him a little wave. He saw me and passed word to his sergeants who called the charge. As he did so, we turned and started hacking away. The enemy shield wall shattered like glass.”

He chuckled at the memory while I did my best not to look appalled.

“But anyway, we could all ride so that we could get about the battlefield as quickly as possible. The enemy were falling back and we were getting a little too far back from our own lives for comfort so the call was given and we started to ride back to our own lines.

“Now, the thing that you have to remember about Constable Natalis is that he's a very sensible commander. He's not like the Foltests or Henselts of the world in that he likes to command a battle from a hilltop so that he can see what's going on and make proper and informed decisions. When to charge, when to fall back, when are the forces beginning to bend, where is our line going to break, where is their line going to break, and so on. That's not to say that he won't get his hands dirty when he has to. He knows the value of being a fighting general but he only commits himself when there are no more orders to be given. When the reserves have been committed, the archers have run out of arrows and it's getting to the point of it just being brutal and hard hitting.

“So we were fighting against the black ones. It was the last war, shortly after Foltest was killed and we weren't doing well. Not well at all. This must have been, just before the winter where Radovid invaded Kaedwen.”

I nodded to show that I was up to date with wherever he was.

“We were retreating north. The Black ones had crossed the Yaruga and nothing we could do was stopping them. The problem was that Foltest wasn't there to call up the nobles so the nobles were just fucking off and taking their troops with them. The only people left were those of us that had nowhere else to go. Not gonna lie, more than a little tempted to go myself.

“It was getting colder. The vast majority of the army was fleeing north. Those of us that managed to keep our discipline had stayed back as a rear guard. Natalis had stayed with us as well. Both because of the kind of man that he is and also because we were the only troops that might actually listen to him rather than just throwing our weapons down and running for it.”

“We went forward. Aiming to snipe at the vanguard. Running backwards when the cavalry tried to mount a charge. We weren't doing anything other than slowing them down as their armour was far too thick to properly penetrate and they had gotten wise to our tricks. We were slowing things down but only because they had had to advance their heavily armoured troops to the front to prevent us from picking them off. But someone in their command structure had gotten clever. They advanced to behind the heavy troops and when we started our own volleys, they answered with a bombardment of arrows and crossbow bolts.

“All that we could do was to find what cover we could and hide, taking cover behind the tiny shields that we had been issued, and making ourselves as small as we possibly could.

“Survival was a lottery. Those of us that lived, didn't do so because we were better than those who died but because we were luckier.

“Then the enemy commander showed that he was really clever, the heavy ranks opened and the cavalry charged.

“Slaughter isn't the word for it. We broke, because of course we did. At best, we were light infantry. The lightest of chain mail and our shields weren't going to stand up to a broadsword impact, let alone one carried by a cavalryman.

“Natalis charged with his escort. I don't know if you know about the Temerian order of battle but the way it works is that the Lord General travels with the standard. Heavy knights surrounding the army banner with halbards and all of the nasty tools that military minds can consider. There weren't many of them but when those bastards charge, you know about it.

“But our opposite numbers knew about it too. They saw the General's banner coming for them so they ran through us, hacking and slashing as they went, but then the enemy missile troops started to change their targets from us to Natalis' people.

“It's not that they were poorly armoured. Nor were our earlier efforts so bad that we couldn't have effected the black ones but there's a difference between shooting at advancing soldiers with lightish bows to sustained volley fire from trained long-bowmen. We had damaged the Nilfgaardians and they couldn't advance without caution. The sheer weight of fire from the Nilfgaardians meant that Natalis' men started to fall. Including the banner bearer.”

Rickard sighed and poured himself another mug of the strong herbal drink. I wasn't the only man that was listening to the story and it was beginning to feel as though it was one of those, often told stories, that men love to listen to.

“Soldiers are a funny lot.” He said after a while. “And I was no different, back when I fought on foot rather than from horseback. Most of us didn't sign up to the army because we felt some sense of patriotism or honour. This is the standing army that I'm talking about now, not the levies or the various guards of the various Lords.

“We're talking the proper army. You don't do that kind of thing for the love of country or because you feel like you have a calling. You do it because you don't have a choice, most often because you have to either join the army or starve to death, or go to the penal colonies, or jail or the hangman. Men join the army when they're at their lowest point of life but then they are given their equipment, taught how to use it and then there's a steady torrent of abuse thrown at you. Your country hates you, your people hate you, often even your lords hate you.

“You quickly learn that there's no-one that you can depend on, other than each other and so, you learn to depend on the man next to you. Even if you hate each other, you depend on each other for survival. You have pride in each other and the fact that no-one else would do this fucking job but us. The symbol of that is the flag.

“If you ask the average soldier why they're fighting and you would get a variety of answers. Their country, won't even come into the top ten most common answers. The top three will be the money,”

He counted them off his fingers,

“Their mates,”

Another finger,

“And their flag.”

A third finger.

“Flags do funny things to soldiers and when that standard fell under the weight of the number of arrows, you could audibly hear an army groan. No-one gave an order but suddenly, we were running towards where Natalis and his men were falling off their horses. As is often the case, a lot of the men were un-hurt by the falling arrows but the horses weren't so lucky.

“And the arrows were still falling.

“We ran in, our numbers dwindling, many of us gave up and were already sprinting for the safety of out own lines. Many more were dead or dying but then there were about half a dozen of us that were amongst the General's party. We found the flag and hoisted it back up. A buddy of mine called Lorick waved it around in an effort to tell our side that we were still alive and that we needed help. One of the knights insisted that he was, and I quote, “too important to die,” and fled leaving us there. I took great delight in seeing his body later when he had been ridden down. We lost another man then as the last of the arrows fell as they'd stopped shooting.

“We could feel the ground shaking which meant that the cavalry was coming back. We found the general under his horse. His armour was good enough that he was essentially unhurt but he couldn't get out.

“There were four of us left including Lorick who was waving the flag. The rest of the flag party were down, dead, dying or fled and I saw that we wouldn't get him out from his horse.

“So I picked up one of the axes that they used to protect the standard.”

He chuckled suddenly. “I've still got the axe, it's back at the castle. Absolutely ludicrous it is. I've tried using it in the practice fields and I can barely lift the damn thing let alone use it effectively. But I was terrified and angry at the fact that the stale-mate had been broken and that we were on the losing side. I didn't care about the general but those fucking cavalrymen were going down.

“I don't remember much of it. I remember screaming in terror and swinging that axe wildly. When the cavalry had passed, some of them dismounted and came at us on foot. The prize of taking the enemy standard as well as the enemy general, one of the few men that the north still had that knew when to fight, when to retreat and how to win. Him and Lord Roche were the only real leaders we had left by that point as the rest had signed up with Radovid.

“Idiots.

“Guess who Radovid put in the vanguard, every time he attacked someone else. Prove yourself faithless and no-one will ever trust you again.

“But the prize of the enemies banner would have been too good to give up.

“Lord Natalis, I still can't call him John even though he tries to insist every time I see him, says that, as my remaining two comrades dragged him out from under his horse, I was screaming at the enemy to come on. Begging them to come and die by my hand. If you let him, he will tell you stories of the dozens of men that I killed that day and how I made the ground soggy with the enemies blood. He says that when he was freed, he and the others joined me and about how, three Temerian harriers, the constable of Temeria and the banner bearing Harrier routed the enemy. He goes so far as to say that the rest of them were just trying to keep up with me.

“Heh,

“We didn't route them. They were cavalry and not very good at fighting on foot. What had happened was that a bunch of our own cavalry, finally decided to do their fucking jobs and mounted a rescue party.

“Another piece of learning for you Lord Frederick. Infantrymen hate cavalrymen and vice versa.”

“Aren't you also cavalry now?” I enquire innocently.

He stared at me for a long time. “As you're a friend and your sister saved me from ignominy, I will refrain from killing you for that. I ride horses to get about. But I dismount when the fighting starts.”

“Fair enough,” I chuckled.

“As I say, I don't remember much of it. I remember that Natalis had to insist that the three of us should come with him and that the cavalry were not to leave us behind. We'd lost another man in the fighting. We were dropped off with the army, and the three of us wandered round in a daze. We found the remains of our unit, those who hadn't come with us towards the flag party and we told our story. It wasn't until two days later before Lord Natalis found the time to “reward us.”

“My fellows were promoted to Sergeants and I was knighted. At the time I remember being honoured. Now?”

He sighed.

“Despite everything that's happened. Despite the increase in status and the ability to tell people like Lord Robart to fuck off and not have to worry about the flogging afterwards. Despite meeting your family and the Lady Shani. Sometimes, I wish he'd just given me a sack of gold and made me a Sergeant.”

“Why?”

“Because now....I'm not a common soldier any more. I'm never going to be one of the lads again and they won't accept me amongst them. I can't go drinking or whoring with my mates. I can't go through life depending on being told what to do. I'm not one of them any more. Luckily, they think I'm lucky and so they follow me where I lead them. A fact that never ceases to astonish me.”

He grinned at me sidelong. “Don't tell them I said that.”

“I won't”

“But I'm not one of them any more. But neither am I one of your lot.”

“My lot?”

“Yeah, don't get me wrong. I like your family for the most part. Lord Samuel's a bit up himself but your sister's decent enough. She pretends not to notice that I check to see which knife and fork she's using before I select my own cutlery from the positive arsenal of silverwear that's put before me. I think she's even considering asking me to stay on as captain of the guard when Captain Froggart retires. A position which I never thought I would achieve when I ran away from the watch to join the army.”

“She did mention....”

“And it is tempting. But I'm not one of you. I study every day, but I don't know how to bow, I don't know the proper way to talk or how to behave. I'm never gonna marry some lady and go hunting and keep dogs and falcons. I know nothing about art or wine or etiquette or any of the other things that you're supposed to be good at if you're a lord.

“So I'm not a common soldier, but nor am I a lord of men. I'm caught in the middle.”

“You sound a little bitter.”

“Sometimes,” he mused. “Sometimes when I hear a song being sung in a pub or I see a campfire with a group of men sitting round it. Like that one over there.” he gestured.

“But that's not the point.” He said after a while. “The point is, soldiers are soldiers. In the same way that you will never be a farmer, or a tradesman. You will never be a soldier. Don't try to be or they will resent you for it.”

“Not to argue the point.” I said, “But I have a good relationship with many of the men back at the castle.”

“You do. But those men have known you since you were a boy. They're good men, all. But you are lord of the manor. They like you because they see you working hard and because you talk to them rather than at them. You take care of your own shite. As I say, Leadership. Set the standard and meet it yourself. When you wake up, you get up and train hard. You see to your own equipment, take care of your horse and get involved in castle life. That might seem like a low bar to you, and it is, but a surprisingly large number of your class....our class....don't meet that standard.”

I spent a long time thinking about that over the march. Looking at my interactions with the servants and the men-at-arms in a new light.

I spent some time over the next few days watching how Sir Rickard interacted with his men and found that I was actually quite surprised. He hardly gave any orders, indeed, he hardly interacted with them at all other than to occasionally thank the man that brought him a cup of tea or his share of the evening's rations. He would occasionally call out for drills and when they men did train then Rickard worked just as hard as the rest of them. He practised his shooting, sword play and horse-work along with the rest. The only difference seemed to be that when the entire thing was over and everyone stopped for the night, he would go off to his own camp-fire and the men would go over to theirs.

He would arbitrarily pick a time and go out to check the sentries though. Sometimes in the middle of the night where he would gather up his sword and have a wander around to see if he could find his own sentries. It seemed to be a game between him and the men. If they could challenge him before he saw them then they would consider themselves to have won a point.

I asked him about this as well, a couple of days north of Coulthard castle and he rubbed his chin.

“The lads know their jobs,” he told me. “Why would I try and tell them how to do it when they already know it. They know what happens if I catch any of them shirking so....” he shrugged.

But after a while, I did begin to see his loneliness, more than I had previously thought possible, I found myself hoping that he and Shani manage to get it together. Two intensely lonely people, in positions that they shouldn't be doing, the one because women are generally not allowed to become accredited doctors and the other because he was common born and shouldn't be allowed to be a knight. I hope that the two of them manage to come to some kind of agreement as I think they would do well together.

But we travelled slowly, taking our time. Our plan was to travel along the main northern road as far as Blavikan before we set off east, following the line of the river up and into the mountains to where the old Kalayn lands were. We travelled easily as well, stopping off at various way posts to collect the news and the dispatches which is where Kerrass received the message that had caused so much amusement between Sir Rickard and I.

It was a long letter and although I didn't get to read it, I did get to see that it was written in a flowing hand, a little more angular than the more modern styles of penmanship and that the letter bore the seal of the Southern Kingdom of Dorn.

My entertainment started the morning after he had received the letter as I watched him take it out of his saddle-bags and examine it for a long time, as far as I could tell he hadn't broken the seal. He sat and stared at it for a long time. He was sat in front of a fire, his breakfast untouched next to him. He had cleaned himself up after we had spent a bunch of time training before sitting down to stow his gear when he produced the scroll. There were several times where he looked as though he was going to hold it out towards the fire but, at the last second, he pulled himself back. Finally though, after staring at the seal for a long time, he broke it with his thumb and read the contents quickly.

He didn't get to finish it though as it was shortly after this that The Sergeant of the bastards. A huge Skelligan man named Padraig, called out that it was time to mount up.

Just as another aside, calling him a Sergeant is doing him a disservice. The way Rickard treats him is a bit closer to a second in command.

But I watched Kerrass over the course of the day and I could feel my amusement growing. Periodically he would reach out and touch the part of his jacket where I had seen him stow the message. I managed to contain my mirth until Kerrass, Rickard and I were sat around the camp-fire that night after doing some training and having something to eat. Our habit was that we would sit together, Rickard was usually reading something as he was stubbornly trying to improve himself. At the moment he was reading a book on the history of Temeria.