The King, page 20
part #4 of The Jester King Series
The Gwythian soldiers remained frozen. Their armor and weapons glinted with the golden light of the setting sun. Each face was iron; each shield, granite; every weapon, an adamant fang in the maw of a titan.
There was no planned response from the defending side of the chosen field of battle. There had not been such a display of power and resolve on the shores of Lyonesse for hundreds of years. And so, the baffled, wilted men of that camp stared at each other, some with uncertainty, some with fear in their eyes, and yet some few with jaws set in grim determination.
After a long moment, one of their number, a highlander by his garb, stepped forward and shouted, “‘Twas grand, lads! Do ya know any other tunes?”
So, the response from the Lyonesse line became a weedy laugh. However, the boost to morale was fleeting in sight of such honed malevolence. Each man turned, when his eyes had caught their fill of that sleepless night’s tormentor, and returned to their tents and campfires to grumble.
The Gwythians set heavy guards, followed by their entire camp, complete with tents and campfires. Hereweald handed down orders for the men to, “Live it up, as bold Gwythians in the face of the enemy.” By nightfall, Rowmeadow reverberated with the enthusiastic noise of his dutiful troops.
***
South of Rowmeadow, on a thickly wooded hill, the sound of the Gwythian troops below could just be heard above the babbling spring whose waters streamed downhill and ran along the meadow’s eastern border. Four Gwythian soldiers lay dead around the tiny life-giving pool, the warmth still in their cheeks.
A dark, horned figure in a crimson shroud removed his foot from the throat of a fifth dead man and strode back up the hill to the spring. He hesitated, listening to the song wafting up from the east end of the valley below. He then stuck the end of his bloodied club into the spring and spoke in his ancient, raspy voice. “That’s it, my prize. Drink up. Be merry. Quench your thirst for death in my waters.”
***
Billy lay on his cot in the tent he shared with Hereweald’s physician. Despite the late hour, and the fact the Gwythian soldiers had quieted down, Billy couldn’t sleep. Too much rested on the outcome of the battle ahead—a battle he would give anything to avoid.
Shaldra entered the tent with his usual stealth and touched Billy on the hand. He opened his eyes and pushed up to his elbows.
“What is it, Shaldra?”
“Where’s the doctor?”
“Who’s injured?”
“No one.”
“Some soldiers came and got him a short while ago.”
“I have been in the enemy camp, Highness.”
“I only wish they were the enemy, Shaldra. Then I might be able to sleep.”
“We may not have to fight them, or at least not all of them.”
Billy sat up. “Tell me.”
“The camp across the meadow is full of grumbles tonight, my prince.”
“Grumbles about what?”
“They grumble much about the size of this army. They are also grumbling quite a bit about not eating in several days.”
Billy scratched his chin. “Interesting.”
“Yes. It appears that Ergyfel sent them out without adequate provision. But there could be another problem.”
“What?”
“They are also grumbling about some new leader Ergyfel has sent them.”
“A new commander?”
“No. I think he’s some kind of advisor. One said that he spoke for Ergyfel. What worries me is that he’s a sorcerer, or something worse, by the way they were talking. They are in agreement about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That he’s evil and doesn’t belong among them. They’re none too happy with Ergyfel for sending him. I tried to spot him, but he must be hidden in the dark mists.”
“Did you hear a name?”
“Not for the sorcerer, but their commander is someone called Sir Feolaghe, if that helps.”
“Feolaghe?” Billy thought back to his time in Castle Orgulous. Lady Maeven’s father ... her sister is Caenne—the face of Dheumon! What’s the connection?
“Do you know him?”
“Not exactly. Tell me, is there any good news?”
“Many of them whisper of sneaking away tonight, and many already have. I happened across some few in the woods.”
“That is good.”
At that moment, Hugh stuck his head into the tent. “Are you well, Highness?”
“We’re fine, Hugh. What is it?”
“A cold feeling in my gut. Something terrible is coming.”
“The battle tomorrow?”
“No. I don’t think so, but I must go. I’ve got to meet a friend from Hillshire.”
With that, the tent-flaps closed, and Hugh was gone.
“Should I go after him, Your Highness?”
“No. We must tell Hereweald what you found out.”
***
Shaldra was still reporting the results of his spying when Hereweald’s physician ran up to the prince. “We have a big problem, Your Highness!”
The prince motioned to Shaldra to wait, and then turned to the physician. “What are you talking about?”
“Some things are better understood with the eyes, Highness.”
Hereweald, Billy, and Shaldra followed the physician to a part of their camp near the brook. Men and horses littered the ground, both dead and dying.
“What’s happened? Were we attacked?”
The physician shook his head. “No, Highness. These men and horses have all fallen ill. Half are already dead.”
“What do we do?”
“I do not yet know the cause, Your Highness. The legion physicians have reported there are many more sick throughout the camp.”
“How many?”
“Hundreds, Your Highness. Many hundreds.”
Hereweald turned away from the sight, and Billy saw disbelief and horror in his eyes. He turned to one of the sick men. “Do you know what made you sick, soldier?”
“No. … We ate the same food we had yesterday.”
“What of the horses?”
Another man spoke up. “With the battle tomorrow, we fed the horses from our oats supply.”
Hereweald knelt next to another stricken man. He lifted the man’s head and brought a ladle of water to his lips, but the man declined. “And you? … What did you eat?”
“I was relieved of guard duty just now, Highness. I haven’t eaten anything. I don’t think I could.”
Hereweald laid the man down, and then stared at the water in the ladle as he swirled it. He then raised the ladle to drink.
At that moment, the centurion in charge of the watch came running beside the stream towards the prince, flapping his arms. The prince stared at him over the ladle. When the centurion was still some distance away, he shouted, “Don’t drink the water!”
Hereweald glanced down at the water in the ladle, then dropped it and stood up. He pursed his dry lips as his eyes drifted from the ladle to the gentle brook that ran just a few feet away. His shoulders sank, and he stared at the water quietly passing by.
Shaldra went to the water’s edge and put his hand over the stream.
When the centurion arrived, Hereweald turned to him. “Report.”
“Your Highness, the men set to guard the source of this stream have been murdered!”
“When?”
“Their relief discovered them just now, Highness.”
Hereweald thought for a moment. “Quickly now, spread word throughout the camp that the water is poison. Under my order, no one is to drink another drop! Let them drink wine if they’re thirsty.”
“Aye, Your Highness.” The centurion saluted.
When the centurion had gone, Hereweald turned to the physician.
“When the wine is in, sense is out, Your Highness. Some will get drunk.”
“Better drunk than dead. Besides, some of them fight better drunk.”
The prince and the physician attempted to smile. Shaldra came back from the brook shaking his head.
Billy put a hand on the elf’s shoulder. “What is it?”
“It’s not poison, Your Highnesses.”
“Then, what is it?” both princes asked.
“This sickness in the water is pure sorcery.”
“Sorcery?” Hereweald pulled out his bronze medallion and kissed it.
“Aye.” Billy sighed and nodded. “Before he was interrupted, Shaldra was about to report that Ergyfel might have sent a sorcerer to aid his commander. I guess this confirms it.”
“Sorcery.” Hereweald balled his hands into fists. “Give me men with spears and shields, slogging it out in the mud and blood, down to their last breath with bare fists. Pit me against an enemy of muscle and bone and steel, and I shall be victorious, but how does one combat sorcery? How do you defeat what you cannot see?”
“I believe Sylvys may be able to help us, Your Highness.”
Billy nodded to Shaldra. “Go quickly.”
While Sylvys aided the physicians and their helpers with the sick troops, the two princes called their advisors to Hereweald’s tent. Long into the night, they tossed about strategies to cope with their impending predicament. It was still a few hours before dawn when Sylvys and the prince’s physician came to report. Hugh was just finishing. “... but the Lord of Hillshire is sympathetic to our cause, so we should receive a small mounted contingent before dawn.”
“Good.” Hereweald spotted the bedraggled healers and beckoned them. “Report.”
“Forgive my appearance, Your Highness.” The physician bowed. “We have been working since we last spoke, to save as many men as we could.”
Hereweald’s body stiffened as if readying for a blow. The prince glanced at the faces of each of his officers, then back to the physician.
“What are our losses?”
The physician struggled for words. He had no doubt spent the entire march to his prince’s tent thinking of the best way to break the news, and yet when the moment arrived, there were no words. Billy’s extended contact with the physician had revealed the man’s deep commitment to healing and the relief of pain. His marked hesitation spoke volumes.
“My prince, I ...”
The physician closed his eyes. He then bowed his head before continuing with his duty. “Nearly three thousand are dead.”
The physician braved to look and found Hereweald staring at him. Again, he looked away, unable to maintain eye contact with his prince as he delivered the remaining bad news.
“More than four thousand lay ill, too weak to lift a sword. The morning shall see if they survive. Some few of the remaining troops show mild symptoms.” The physician looked around at the faces in the room and added, “Of the officers, Primus Bleddyn, Primus Pike, and Tribune Estival are dead. Tribune Mael may recover.”
The physician then laid several small tablets on the table.
“These are the tallies, Your Highness, in more detail. Also, the report from the ostlers, who bade me bring it to you.”
The prince put his knuckles on the table and leaned upon it. “Read it to me.”
The physician picked up one of the tablets and studied it. “Out of some thousand horses, there are now approximately ... seven-hundred-fifty still alive, six hundred fit for service. ... They also said that your horse and your brother’s horse are well. Apparently, they were in the first group watered.”
“I see,” the prince said, at last. He turned to a centurion near him. “I’m promoting you to Primus of the First. Go to the centurions and order details to prepare their bodies for the journey home.”
“Wait.” Billy held up his hand while Drif whispered in his ear.
The prince looked askance at him. “I’ve lost too many good men tonight for any trivialities, my friend.”
Billy beckoned Hereweald down to his level, and then whispered in his ear. The prince nodded, then stared at Billy and Deordrif in disbelief.
“We can’t. Besides, it would never work.” Hereweald stood up and looked at Hugh. “Once we sound the advance, it’s over.”
“You may not need to, Your Highness.”
“There is more to the plan,” Billy said.
Shaldra stepped forward. “I think you should hear Prince William out.”
Hereweald held up his hand. “Look, I allowed you and your advisors to attend this meeting against good advice. Don’t prove me wrong.”
“Trust me.” Billy tugged Hereweald down and whispered some more.
After a few moments, Hereweald stood up. “It’s a shadow’s gambit at best, … but you might be right. I doubt Feolaghe could predict such a move.”
Hugh shook his head. “He won’t.”
“On the other hand … ” Prince Hereweald rubbed his stubbled chin. “I don’t like the thought of my men fighting without any sleep.”
“No matter what you decide, the morning light is our enemy now.”
“Aye, Hugh. It will expose our weakness. Although the sun will be in their eyes.”
“We must move efficiently and with stealth,” Shaldra said.
The prince looked at the elf, and Billy detected the beginnings of a grin. In that instant, the prince had decided.
He turned to the new Primus of the First Legion. “Go to the centurions. Tell them to have the men dress the dead in their armor and carry them quietly to the west side of camp.”
As a grumble rippled through the tent, the tribune of the First Legion’s cavalry stepped forward and spoke in a demanding tone. “What is the meaning of this outrage?”
The prince spun towards the grey-haired man and raised his fist. He hesitated, and then tapped on the man’s shoulder.
“I apologize, old friend.” He then turned to the group. “I apologize to you all. I am the first guardian of our people’s traditions. However, I value your lives above tradition. Your sons, …” He turned to the tribune. “Your brothers … must wait a bit longer for their well-deserved rites. Tomorrow, our dead stand with us!”
***
Billy sat in a chair with a pillow behind his back, under the rear edge of a large red and yellow canopy erected near the middle of the Rowmeadow. Before him sat a sumptuous feast of fresh apples, potatoes, warm bread, ham, and roast beef, all freshly prepared. He stared at a candle on the edge of the banquet table.
Billy reached forward and snuffed out the candle. Once he’d leaned back into his seat, he looked over his shoulder and watched the early morning light reveal three full legions arrayed in battle formation. On the opposite side of the field, Ergyfel’s army scrambled to form lines.
“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.”
Billy blinked and looked over at Hugh, who was eyeing the table heaped with food. His eye was caught by a strange glow coming from Hugh’s waist.
“What’s that?”
“My attempt to translate scripture.”
“No, that!” Billy pointed to Hugh’s side.
He raised his arm to reveal the hilt of his sword. The pommel stone glowed with an eerie blue light. He looked down at the glowing gem. “Oh, that. It started doing that this morning.”
“This morning?”
“Aye. About the time we arrived here, though it’s brighter now.”
“And you don’t think that’s strange?”
“When I was a child, my mother told me this sword was magic. Later, I thought she was just trying to comfort me, so I wouldn’t fret when my father went to war. And there were times during the years I wielded it that I wondered—at times, I felt led … but it wasn’t until you restored it to me that I truly began to believe.”
Shaldra grunted. Billy looked over and saw him hanging on the front edge of the canopy, leaning towards the enemy lines, from which his eyes never moved.
“What, Shaldra? I suppose you already knew it was magic.”
“In Tirn Aill, my prince.”
“From the moment you saw it, right?”
“You’ve been in the land of men too long, Highness. Remember the forest. If you listen carefully, you can hear the sword’s song.”
Billy closed his eyes and concentrated on what he was hearing. It was a serene morning on the meadow. A quiet breeze tiptoed on the tops of the distant trees. Birds chirped their greeting to the sun. Behind him, tribunes roared, and Hereweald’s army, in unison, shouted his name then became still. He heard the cooks feverishly preparing a feast in the camp and the babbling of the brook beyond. Just below this, he thought he heard Sylvys and Drif whispering the wind chant to coax the scent of the feast across the field to the starving army that opposed them.
Across from Billy, captains thundered their orders. The armor and weapons of Ergyfel’s army clanked together, as it grumbled and muttered and panicked to get into place on the field of battle. Empty stomachs growled, and horses pawed the earth and chomped the bit as leather saddles creaked and reins pulled taut in fists of steel.
Shaldra’s voice broke Billy’s concentration. “Are we closer to their lines?”
“I thought we were in the middle,” Hugh said.
“I think we’re closer to their lines than to ours.”
“Perhaps, when I ordered the tent erected, I should have been more specific.” Hereweald eyeballed their position. “I told the centurion to ‘place it near the middle, but not close enough for their commander to see our troops clearly.’”
“They might perceive our forward position as confidence,” Hugh said.
Billy sat up. “Good.”
“Confidence or folly?” Hereweald made eye contact with Hugh. “A clever commander might see it as an opportunity.”
“A clever or desperate commander,” Shaldra said.
Hereweald and Hugh nodded in agreement, then Hugh spoke. “I know Feolaghe well, and right now he is both.”
“Do a few yards really make a difference, Your Highness?” Billy asked.
“That all depends on where Feolaghe has his archers.”
“Archers?” Billy stood and tried to see into the trees.
Hereweald stepped out from under the tent and eyed the enemy lines. He felt for the direction of the wind. “If his archers are as good as mine—and I have no reason to believe otherwise—and if I were him, and desperate … killing the enemy commander would be an option.”
