A Company of Heroes Book One: The Stonecutter (24 page)

“Of course!”

The soldier dismounts and, leading his horse by its reins, walks with the princess.

“The baron is just over this side of the camp, your Highness. There he is now, on the big red horse.”

The baron is at the head of his cavalry, which is arranging itself into orderly ranks and columns. The field is clouded with a musky steam that intermingled with the early morning mists. She runs to her cousin, who turns to her when she calls his name.

“Well! Well!” he says, then adds in all seriousness and with evident pride, “If you aren’t every inch a soldier! All seventy-two of them!”

“I wish I could go with you!”

“I do too, but it’d be best if you follow later.”

“I understand,” she lies.

“This is an ungracious goodbye, I know, but...what’s that?”

That is a lone rider charging into the midst of the ranks horsemen. He pulls his lathered horse up short before the baron.

“Sir!” the rider cries, saluting.

“What is it, man?”

“It’s an army, Sir!”

“
What’s
an army? Get hold of yourself!”

“Sir, sorry, Sir. There’s a column of armed horse soldiers approaching, not five miles distant.”

“Crotoy? At this time?”

“No, Sir, they’re coming on the south road.”

“From the south? That’s not possible. Who are they?”

“I can’t tell, Sir, it’s still snowing in the pass.”

“Can you tell how many?”

“It isn’t easy, Sir, but I would guess perhaps two hundred.”

“Can it be reinforcements from the capital? What for? And with no advance word? Who can they be?”

“I think I know, Cousin,” offers Bronwyn.

“What? Who do you think they are?”

“Payne Roelt.”

“Just a moment, Bronwyn. Soldier, take two men with you and return to the pass. I want word as soon as you can identify the force. I want to know how strong it is, and I want to know when they’ve approached within two miles.”

He dismounts from his animal and places an arm around her shoulder.

“Now, Bronwyn, come with me.”

The baron retreats with the princes to a point a few rods distant from the cavalry.

“Tell me, now,” he asks, turning toward the girl, “what you think.”

“I think Payne is back in Blavek, we know he
must
be, from the letters. I think he knows exactly where I was headed...he wouldn’t believe me dead without seeing a body and he would never accept my merely being ‘lost’. He’d assume the worst, which is that I’m alive, and act on it. He’s sent that army to either stop me from getting to you, or to stop you from taking the letters south. I’m absolutely convinced of it.”

“And I believe you’re right. But there’s a full brigade here, more than three thousand men. There’s no way he’d be able to send a comparable force to the border, certainly not on such short notice, he can’t have has more than, what? Three or four days? And at that, those men, only a few hundred?, must’ve been force-marched for more than four straight days. What can he be hoping to accomplish? I can easily smash anything he can send here.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate him, Piers.”

“I don’t.”

Less than an hour passes before one of the scouts returns. The news he bears is disturbing: the small force approaching the camp carries at its head the quartered orange-and-white banner of Tamlaght, with the scarlet double-headed eagle of the royal house superimposed on one white field. That indicates the presence of a member of the royal family and that can only be one person: Ferenc. Both Bronwyn and Piers are puzzled by the unexpected presence of the heir apparent. It is as though one of the moons has strayed from its orbit.

Ferenc’s little army halts not more than a mile from Piers’s camp and a courier is sent ahead. The message he bears is the expects one: a peremptory command for the baron to appear before the prince.

“Bronwyn,” he asks, showing her the order, “do you think your brother has any reason to believe you’re here, or that I already have the letters he seeks?”

“No, that is, he can’t know for certain, anyway.”

“Keep well out of sight, then. It’s unlikely you can be identified in this weather and in that uniform, but let’s not take any chances. I’m keeping my cavalry mounts for the time being. He may simply try to do nothing but block my return south.”

“And if he is?”

“I’ll force my way through.”

“You can’t do that! You’d have to raise arms against your own prince and the heir apparent, that’d be treason! Your men’d be justified in mutinying! They’d be in jeopardy of hanging. Nor would the barons ever support doing such a thing! It’d be tantamount to civil war.”

“What you say is true enough. Well, I’ll just have to see what he wants and then we’ll decide what to do.”

“You’re going to meet him then? Is that wise?”

“What would you suggest? He’s your brother, after all; who should know him better?”

“I think he’d only be here if he are under the most severe duress, the kind of leverage only Payne can use on him. And Payne wouldn’t be using Ferenc if he doesn’t feel that he has good reason to: after all, he doesn’t have any more faith in Ferenc’s abilities than I do. What he does have in Ferenc is my brother’s position, his rank. As I’ve just says, you can’t oppose him without becoming a traitor. If that happens, you’ll be fair game for Payne and there’s not a soul who can save you. It may be just what he’s trying to goad you into doing. Please be careful, Piers!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll give orders to keep the men at ready; this ought to be resolved one way or another in the next hour or so. But I won’t meet him on his own ground. He must come here. You think he’d do that?”

“I think so, if his trip here has been the experience for him it must’ve been.”

“All right then, I’ll send the message. Until you hear otherwise from me, keep well out of sight.”

The reply to the baron’s answer came quickly: the prince would be only too happy to meet him in the larger encampment, seeing as how the baron is kind enough to offer the camp’s amenities to visiting royalty. Privately, Ferenc looks forward to hot water, decent food and perhaps even a comfortable, warm place to spend at least one night. Doubtless there are no women to be had. Sighing, he decides he’ll just have to make do the best he can.

Ferenc rides into the camp alone, save for two Guard cavalrymen. These remain mounted while the prince climbs from his horse and enters the baron’s tent. Piers rises from his camp desk to meet him, hand outstretched in greeting. There is not a soul present who would be able to discover a single false note in either gesture or expression.

“Welcome, Your Highness, Cousin Ferenc! Please be seated: you must be exhausted!”

A little confused by the warmth of the welcome, which he has not at all expected, the prince obeys.

“I only wish I’d had some warning of your impending arrival,” continues the baron. “You find us wholly unprepared for your visit. I must apologize!”

“No, no! My mission here, ah, is to be, that is, it’s a secret. No one is to know!”

“What’s it all about, then? May I offer you wine? Hot tea?”

“Yes, please, thank you, cousin. Wine would excellent. Ah! It’s good to be warm again! Mind if I move this chair a little closer to the stove?”

“Anything you wish, of course, please. It’s a pleasure to see you, I must say, even if an unexpected one. Seeing you here, of all places, is like”, he gropes for an image, “like seeing the statue of Saint Wladimir in Blavek Cathedral suddenly taking a stroll down Pordka Avenue!”

He laughs at the picture of the hundred tons of bronze on an afternoon amble, but the prince’s face darkens.

“Look here, Piers, I know all of you think I’m just a useless dandy, but I have depths you know, depths! Deep ones!”

“Well, of course you do! Just look at you! Not many can have undertaken such a harrowing mission, such an arduous journey! Certainly not any heads of state I can think of. What, then, is so important it brings you here in person?”

“Perfidy, Cousin! Infamy and treason!”

“Yes? And in what form?”

“There’re those who wish to destroy me! To prevent me from taking my rightful place on the throne! They wish to destroy the one person whom I can trust...”

“Your sister?”

“No,
no
, for Musrum’s sake! Payne Roelt! The one person whom I can trust. They want to destroy him with their lies and, and manufactured evidence!”

“Evidence? Evidence of what?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve come here directly, myself, so you can learn from my own lips what the truth is.”

“The truth about
what
, Ferenc? I don’t understand.”

“There’re people, traitors, who’d like nothing better than to see me dethroned, that’s blasphemy, you realize that, don’t you? What has been ordained by Musrum cannot be defied without committing blasphemy! The throne is mine by Musrum’s own dictation; it can’t be taken away from me! There’re those who’d want to see that happen, though, and to carry out their evil plans they’ll stop at nothing. Absolutely nothing, you understand? We’ve learned, I’ve learned, that these people have planned to use you to their ends...”

“Me?”

“Through your influence with the baronage, they’d use you as their tool for destroying us, me.”

“How can they do that?”

“If they can make you believe that the nation is in peril, that either I or Payne constitute some threat to it, absolute nonsense, of course!, then you’d do everything in your power to raise the barons against me, to put someone else on the throne. Someone who has no real right to be there.”

“They’d be right. If I believed what they told me, if I thought it is true, it would be my duty. My allegiance is to Tamlaght, after all, not the throne.”

“They’re the same thing!”

“Calm yourself! What is it, exactly, you think I would’ve been told?”

“Well...I don’t know. Anything, perhaps...”

“Something like this?” Piers reaches beneath the desk and brings into view the fat packet of letters.

“Where does you get those?” Ferenc squeals, leaping to his feet.

“Does it matter? You know what they are?”

“Of course...no, no, why should I? I take it that the, ah, traitors’ve already been in contact with you?”

“Who exactly
are
these traitors you are so afraid of?”

“Who? I, ah, don’t know. I mean, not exactly, that is. They’re a secret band. Yes! Payne told me all about them. A band of conspirators. General Praxx uncovered their plans. He’s searching for them right now. Why, I’ll probably get back to Blavek and discover they’ve all been arrested! Ah, may I see those?”

“Well, I don’t think that’d be necessary. You know what’s in them.”

“What do you mean? I just told you...”

“Yes, yes. But, you see, Ferenc, I believe what I’ve read here.”

“They’re all lies!”

“No, they’re not.”

“Is my sister here? Does she give you those? Is Bronwyn here?”

“It doesn’t matter how I got these. What matters is that I believe what they say.”

“I want you to give them to me!”

“No, Ferenc.”

“You refuse me? I order you, as your liege and heir apparent to the throne, to hand that packet over!”

“No, I will not! Because, if it is within my power, you will no longer be my prince, and Musrum forbid that you shall be my king!”

“What? You
dare
to defy me? You
traitor
! You, you
blasphemer
!”

“You’d best go on back to Blavek and tell your master that his days in this kingdom are finished.”

“My
what
? How
dare
you suggest!...I’ll have your head for this, Piers! I swear I will!”

He pulls a revolver from his tunic and for a moment, Piers is afraid he will be forced to shoot the young prince. Instead, Ferenc points the gun at the roof of the tent and fires it twice, its wicked cracks sounding like large bones snapping, two tibia,
crack, crack
, filling the space with acrid blue smoke.

“You don’t give me any other choice, Baron, but to take the letters from you!”

The prince backs from the tent as a half-dozen soldiers hurry in, guns and swords drawn, attracted by the sound of the gunfire.

“If you attack this camp,” shouts the baron after the retreating prince, “I’ll defend it!”

“You do that and you’ll be hunted from one side of this island to the other, as will be any man who dares raise a finger to help you!”

Then he is gone.

A soldier enters the baron’s tent as the prince disappears into the falling snow. He salutes and reports: “Baron, Sir, cavalry are coming over the ridge!”

The baron rushes to the doorway and looks to the southeast. A small force is approaching over the crest of a nearby hill: orderly ranks of mounted, black-uniformed men. They halt on the far side of a small stream separating the main camp from the surrounding tundra. Piers sees the prince join them. He runs to the parade ground and throws himself upon the back of his waiting horse. His men have broken rank and are milling about in some confusion, buzzing with consternation and speculation. Those who have not heard of the prince’s presence in the camp can now see for themselves his distinctive figure, as well as the royal standard that floats brightly against the grey landscape. The baron orders his troops back into position, anger making his voice harsh. His second-in-command, a stocky, swarthy man with a spade-shaped grey beard, a soldier who has been in the baron’s militia since the baron himself had been a boy, pulls up his horse alongside Piers.

“The men won’t fight the prince, Piers.”

“Yes they will, by Musrum!”

“The men of your personal troops, yes, I think they will, as will I. Their loyalty is to you, my lord, and they feel as you do about the prince and his cohorts. But they’re not great in number. It’s even possible that the remaining troops in the camp would side with the prince, treating us as the common enemy if we raise arms against him.”

“Well, that may never have to come to pass. We’ll have to see what the prince does.”

And as he speaks he discovers exactly what the prince’s intentions are. Aghast, disbelieving, he watches the vastly outnumbered force of Ferenc’s little army lower its lances and charge.