In the Shadow of Lions - Chapter 24

Sidorian Lines, South of Port Belmar, Northern Lynese

A day after the battle, the field still lay strewn with the dead and the dying. The Disciples of healing picked their way through, trying to sort the two, but in many cases it was difficult to tell. Friends of the fallen men did the same, trying to find a comrade that never returned to the line after battle or who they saw fall in the chaos.

This was William’s third major clash, not even considering the dozen smaller ones he’d experienced since coming to this cursed continent, and he still hadn’t gotten used to it. The smell, the cries of the injured who’d spent the evening sleeping in mud and blood, the carnage that blanketed the once peaceful fields and forests.

He’d heard that, over time, soldiers became inured to such sights. William still couldn’t imagine how that was possible.

He paused beside a fallen soldier, a young man barely older than himself. A Lynesian, who’d only be able to rely on the overworked Disciples for help, otherwise left to rot in the field. The soldier’s eyes fluttered open as William knelt beside him. For a moment, the boy’s face filled with terror, seeing the lion crest, probably thinking he was to be butchered, pieces of him taken for a trophy. A small, terrified sound escaped his cracked lips.

“No,” William said, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. The Disciples are coming to help you.”

William didn’t know if that was true. The boy’s left arm was mangled, smashed with a heavy weapon, maybe a mace favored by some of the knights when on horseback. The ground under him was soaked with blood and a chunk of his hair was missing and one leg was turned at an unnatural angle, a piece of bone sticking through the boy’s simple trousers.

William looked around and waved a hand, getting a Disciple’s attention, pointing at the boy. The Disciple nodded and dashed off, hopefully to get another to put the boy on a stretcher, to be carried back to an aide station.

“W … Water,” the boy croaked out.

William unhooked a canteen from his belt and tilted it slowly into the boy’s mouth. His first drink came back in a choke, the water mixed with blood sliding out the sides of his mouth and down his jaw. William tried again. Thankfully, this time the boy began to swallow.

“Thank you,” the boy said when he finished.

“They’re here,” William said, seeing two Disciples running over with a stretcher of canvas and wood carried between them. “Let them do their work and rest well. I’m sure you have a mother at home worried for you. You have to get strong to go back and see her.”

The boy nodded, a tear slipping out of the side of his eye as William stepped back, making room for the Disciples. William had no hatred for the boy. Probably a conscript, he had little choice in the conflicts of nobles and kings. He was simply a cost, one marked down on a paper somewhere, but otherwise considered an ‘acceptable loss.’ William had seen his own commanders say that, after a battle. Another thing William hoped he never adjusted to. Seeing men, boys, like that, begging for water and crying over their mothers, as an acceptable loss.

Necessary, yes. But never acceptable.. But never acceptable.

A third disciple had made his way over as the other two loaded the boy up. A weary, gray-haired man with robes soaked in mud and blood.

“How are the wounded, Caretaker?” William asked the man as he passed.

“The same as men after any battle. Some will make it, others will die. Some fast, some unfortunately not as fast. It is up to the ancestors to decide which.”

“Do you have enough supplies to tend to them?”

“No. We are short of bandages, salves, poultices, and mandrake for pain tinctures.”

“I know our own stores are running low, but I will see what we have and send whatever I can to the aide tent.”

“The Ancients will smile upon your service,” the man said, with a slight bow of his head as he excused himself and to check on more injured.

William continued on his trek across the field. There were not a lot like the boy left, alive enough to be saved. He’d been lucky. Most of those left on the field overnight had already been doomed, skipped by healers for injured more likely to be saved.

He found a group of thirty or so Sidorian footmen clumped together near an opening in the treeline where it expanded into a wide clearing that had been the site of same particularly grueling combat. He noticed several’s pockets bulged and knew they had been scavenging the dead for valuables. A time-honored but completely dishonorable activity that every commander before him had been forced to ignore. It was hard to tell me no after they’d risked life and limb in your service.

They saw him about the same time and let out a cheer, “Lord William! Huzzah to the Warrior Cub!”

William had heard that nickname several times now. He knew they meant well, but he didn’t particularly love the affectation. The cheer was taken up by several other groups across the field. William approached the group, raising a hand to calm the cheering.

“Not for me, boys. You’re the ones who won that battle. We should be cheering you.”

“I’d rather a draught,” one of the men said, setting off a laugh across the group.

“I’ll see what we have in the stores. If not, once we’re back to Sidor, I promise a round to every man who served.”

That sent up another round of cheers, louder this time. William couldn’t help but smile. The only thing that cheered the men more than a hard-won victory was the chance for free booze.

“Seriously. You should commend yourselves. You all fought brilliantly, a true testament to Sidor. I’m proud to have commanded you. Well, except you Tellmon,” William said, picking out one of the men who’d served a few days as an aide at headquarters, doing manual tasks, whose name he remembered. “I’ve been in the privy after you. That should never be commended.”

That got ruckus laughs out of them, as they began to joke and tease one another, offering William a chance to escape. It was strange, being in a position of leadership to men who, some of them at least, were twice his age. It was a fine line to walk. He knew Pembroke would have frowned at seeing him interact with the troops. Men like that believed the nobles should never consort with the lower class, but William had spent enough time with Gavric, and seen him with his men, to know which role model he preferred.

Speaking of, he could see the older Baron making his way across the clearing toward them. William altered his path, assuming the Baron had been looking for him.

“You shouldn’t encourage them,” Pembroke said as they reached one another.

“Just giving some encouragement after a hard fight. Your messenger found me. Your men did very well.”

“Thank you,” Pembroke said. “I’ve put out enough men to ensure we aren’t caught unawares. It will be a few days before we’re ready to march again, so it’s better to be careful. Yesterday’s battle took its toll.”

William had to refrain from shaking his head. The Baron had many good qualities, but at times it seemed as if he was incapable of enjoying anything, even a great victory.

“How long do you think it will take for the Lynesians to recover?”

A grim smile tugged at Pembroke’s lips. “Longer.”

“So we have some breathing room, then?”

“For now, yes. The enemy was well and truly shattered. It will take them time to lick their wounds and gather their courage for another go at us. They’ve mostly retreated to the city of Cestralion to the east, just south of Lysmir Lake. No, we’ve well and truly held the field. Although, there are still issues. Our own stockpile of supplies is lower than I’d hoped. We’ll need to be careful with our resources moving forward.”

“I know. I haven’t heard anything from Aldric since he sailed. I’d hope to at least get a wyvern by now.”

“I know he’s doing everything he can. I’m hoping we see some supplies soon.”

William wasn’t so sure. Regardless of his uncle’s intentions, what mattered was what his cousin and step-father were willing to do, and they were much less reasonable.

Pembroke looked around a moment before putting a hand on William’s shoulder and leading him away from the soldiers milling about, to a more isolated section of the field.

“William,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I owe you an apology.”

“An apology?” William asked, a little surprised by the sudden change in the older man’s demeanor.

“For my behavior and attitude towards you, especially after you overruled me on the decision to quarantine the men who came in contact with the elder curse warning. I was angry, and I let that cloud my judgment. I was wrong about the warning and you were right, and when that was proven out, I was angry at myself, but I took it out on you. I blamed you for making me look bad, when I’d done it all by myself. It was wrong.”

“I could have very easily been wrong, and you right. Getting a letter like that, from the emperor’s daughter no less … it’s unprecedented. We were both guessing at that moment. It was a difficult situation for everyone.”

“Maybe, but that’s no excuse for how I treated you after we knew which one of us was right. Your actions since then have shown me that you are a competent and capable leader. You’ve demonstrated wisdom beyond your years, and I’ve been remiss in not acknowledging that sooner. You are the son of one a duke, in the line of succession, and my own duke put you in command. I should have given you the respect and deference your station demands, and I let my own ego get in the way.”

“You have nothing to be apologetic for, but I appreciate it nonetheless. I know I’m young and inexperienced, and you were, and still are, right to judge my decisions. My uncle gave explicit instructions that you were to guide me while he was gone, and offering advice, even aggressively, is what you were supposed to do and, in my eyes, was you fully performing your duty.

“Well, thank you, my lord. Your uncle would be very proud to see how far you’ve come.”

“I hope so,” William said. “I also hope you’ll continue to challenge me if you believe I’m making a mistake. I value your experience and expertise, and I promise to always take your input seriously.”

The Baron raised an eyebrow. “Even if you don’t agree with me?”

“Especially then. I know you want the best for this army and our people, which means I also know you wouldn’t argue so patiently if you didn’t feel it was the best decision for them. I may not always follow your advice, but I will never disregard it without careful consideration. Your counsel is invaluable to me, Baron Pembroke.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll continue being difficult then,” Pembroke said, offering a rare smile.

“I have no doubt you will, my lord,” William said.

William had won a battle and gained much-needed supplies, but the greatest victory he’d felt in some time was getting the eternally grumpy Pembroke to laugh.

William left the Baron and headed off the field to the aide tents. He’d had enough of seeing the bodies and gore caused by his orders. He didn’t regret giving them, and their victory had been great, but it was still difficult to see. Besides, most of his men who weren’t already dead had already been pulled off the field. The only living people there now were either the uninjured or Lynesians.

He owed it to his injured men to see them, to hear their complaints, and visit them. He’d started making a habit of it after the fight by the Dead Man’s Hills and he’d decided then that it was one he would continue as long as he led men into combat. If they could follow him, he could be there for them.

William ducked into the aide tent, squinting as his eyes adjusted from the bright sun to the dim interior. As always, the scent of blood, sweat, and medicinal herbs hung heavy in the air. Cots lined the tent walls, each occupied by a wounded soldier in various states of consciousness.

A man here or there called out or said hellos. Some tried to congratulate him on the victory, but he always turned it to them. Praising them for their fighting, their courage, their strength. He promised them more victories to come and that they would heal. He told them their families would be proud of them.

Continuing down the row, he paused by an older man with a grizzled beard, his leg wrapped in bloodstained linen. The man struggled to sit up straighter as William approached.

“Easy,” William said, placing a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. “No need for formalities here.”

“Begging your pardon, m’lord, but I was hoping you might have word from home. My wife and little ones are there, you see.”

“Where are you from?”

“Aldersey, m’lord. It’s in Gallows March. Near the Thunderhorn.”

“Ohh, you’re one of those,” William said, smiling. “My uncle’s warned me about you people.”

“Only when he doesn’t do us right,” the man answered, choking a bit as he laughed.

“I’ll make sure to remind him of that,” William said before turning serious. “I’m sorry to say, I haven’t heard much from home since I came out in the early fall, although I’ve spoken to Lorde Marlowe a few times. I assume you’re with his forces?”

“I am, m’lord. I ask because I got a letter in the last batch of mail that came on the supply ships. Reading it, well, it seems things aren’t going well back home. Our village, sitting right where the bay estuary and the Thunderhorn meet, we do a lot of fishing, plus selling lumber down the river. They say the taxes, they just keep going up. She tells me half of this year’s dried stores have been taken in taxes, as well as more than half the money from lumber sales. Something about extra taxes for selling goods outside the barony. It’s how the people in my village have always lived, and now we get penalties for it?”

The man was getting agitated as he spoke, wincing slightly as his movements jostled his injured leg.

“Folks are struggling to get by, and my wife, she’s worried we might not have enough food now to feed her and my son through the winter.”

“I’m so sorry they’re going through this,” William said. “I’ve been hearing some similar stories.”

“That’s not the worst of it, m’lord. The king’s men, they’ve been coming around more often. Causing trouble. Anyone who complains or can’t pay, they rough them up. Drag them off sometimes. Some of the women… my wife tells me they never came back. Their families are worried. Most of the baron’s men are here, so there’s no one to go to. They said they sent word to Lady Marlowe, but they haven’t heard anything yet.”

A chill ran down William’s spine. He’d been hearing more and more about this, about what his step-father and cousin were doing. They might not be sending men to kidnap people, but he’d heard some of the people they employed to bleed the country dry weren’t the type you’d want with any sort of power. Worse, they were being left unchecked, with no one to control them.

He wasn’t done, either.

“Some of these new boys, the ones they brought in fetters, they’ve been saying things. About what’s happening back home. The king’s new decrees, the way folks are being treated. People rounded up for complaining about conditions and conscripted. Or just executed. Is it true, m’lord? What they’re saying?”

“I won’t lie to you,” William said, his voice heavy. “I’ve heard similar stories. Too many to dismiss as mere rumor. I fear there may be truth to what you’ve been told.”

“But why? Why would the king treat his own people this way? We’re loyal, we’ve fought and bled for him. I’m lying here now because I followed orders, because I believed in my duty. I’ve always been loyal to House Whitton. And this is how he repays us?”

“I wish I had a better answer for you. The truth is, I don’t fully understand the king’s motives myself. He’s my cousin, but we’ve never been close, the king and I. What I can tell you is that you aren’t alone. Whittons stay true to their word and their people, and the situation is being addressed at the highest levels. While the official reason Duke Aldric left was to secure more supplies for the army, it wasn’t the only reason. He went back to investigate these very rumors we’ve been hearing. To see the truth of what’s happening with his own eyes and attempt to set things right.”

“Truly?” the man said hopefully. “You think the duke can make a difference?”

“I have every confidence in him. The dukes wield significant influence, and my uncle is a good man. He’ll do his utmost to rectify these problems. To ease the burden on our people and ensure they’re treated justly.”

“Good. I hope he’s successful.”

“I do too. I also know this won’t help your situation directly. I’ll speak to Baron Marlowe today and see that he has someone come and check on your village. I will be checking up on him and if they don’t help your people, I will send word to my aunt that she needs to send some of the Duke’s men to check on it. Although I know Marlowe. He’s a good man and his wife loves all of her people. She’ll come through for your family.”

The man sagged in relief. “I knew it couldn’t all be true. The things they said about the Whittons. Maybe the king, but not you and the Duke. You two have been good to us. I told my wife, I told her in my letters. I said you were both good men. Told them about our victories, about how you led us. Everyone knows you always come to see the injured men. Make sure we have enough to eat even with supplies are low. They were angry, but I told them they’d see. Duke Aldric and the Warrior Cub, they’d never fail us.”

William resisted a frown at the name again. He’d thought after the battle on the Chisolm it would be a fad, but it had started coming up again, more and more. Still, he knew it was a term of endearment, and he couldn’t exactly scold the man after hearing about the horrors his own family was committing on the mans’ family.

“Fear can do that to people. Make them lash out, even at those who are trying to help,” William said instead. “But I give you my word, as a Whitton, I will not allow our people to suffer needlessly. Not you, not your family, not anyone under my protection.”

The soldier grasped William’s hand, his grip strong despite his injuries. “Thank you, m’lord. Truly. It means the world to hear that from you.”

“And I mean every word of it. We’re in this together, all of us. We’ll see it through to the end. Now, get some rest. Heal. I’ll make sure your family is taken care of.”

As William moved on to the next cot, he couldn’t stop thinking about what the soldier had said. He knew things were bad. More taxes, more suffering, but he hadn’t known they were this bad. He needed to speak not only with Marlowe, but with Pembroke. The man had been a Baron since before William was born, and his family was one of the oldest in the kingdom.

If anyone knew what they could do, or if they could do anything form this far away, it would be Pembroke.