Valour and Victory (21 page)

“And what makes
you think that when you tell all these slaves that they are free
they will fight for you? If it were me I’d just say thank you very
much, lay down my tools and depart.”

“Where would
they go? Think logically Robain. My decision to free them isn’t
altruism, we
need
them. First I speak to the managers and
overseers, informing them that their positions and livelihoods are
safe if they support me in my endeavours. Only then do I speak to
the slaves and I’m going to tell them exactly what is
happening.”

“All of
it?”

“All of it,”
affirmed Elliot. “First about the rebellion of my uncle and the
fact that he has claimed Sahara. The result
of that
is that
if he succeeds their lives will become pretty horrendous, like in
the old days before my Father’s reform edicts. Then I’ll explain
about the danger we are all in from the Larg. The Larg don’t make
any distinctions between the free and the unfree. Many of the
slaves have families.”

“That should
get their attention.”

“Yes. Once they
have understood that I will tell them that if they join with me to
relieve the Citadel, to every man that volunteers, I will offer
unconditional freedom and to their families.”

“An army of
ex-slaves,” breathed Robain.

“A
large
army of ex-slaves,” said Elliot. “There are at least twenty crown
mines in the area, I’d say about forty thousand slaves.”

“Untrained.”

“Armed with
picks and shovels rather than swords, yes, but can you imagine?
Even fifteen thousand could do a lot of damage. My uncle doesn’t
have even a tenth of that number of trained men under his
vassalage, nor do the other rebel dukes. A couple of thousand each
at the most. The rest of their levies are farmers, tradesmen and
the like and I don’t think many of them will be happy about the
secession. Bad for trade and a disaster for stability. As we march
through Smith a fair number of them will flock to our banner,
anxious to remain citizens of a united Murdoch. Farmers and
tradesmen are practical men.”

“So you’ll have
your army.”

“Indeed. I’ve
thought about afterwards too. I’m going to offer the slaves the
option to return to Sahara but as free men, earning a living wage
for a days work. Most will accept, they don’t know anything else
and the mines will still make a profit. I saw it in Argyll.
Remember that mine we visited?”

“You spoke to
the owners,” recollected Robain.

“I spoke to the
miners too. That’s what gave me the idea. Miners don’t have to be
slaves. I think production will actually increase. Running a
Kingdom is like running any business Robain. It’s only bigger. It
costs the crown a small fortune to pay for the Regiments and the
Government and there is no reliable tax system here like there is
in Argyll. That’s why there has never been a Duke of Sahara. The
crown needs the revenue the Duchy generates. If a king needs more
coin, he asks that each duke provide it.”

“And as
Conclave is made up of the said dukes he finds it difficult to
persuade them to part with the finance requested?”

“Impossible
most of the time,” agreed Elliot. “Each duke is greedy and
ambitious. I want the crown to be independent of the ducal houses.
When I’m king I have no desire to have to go cap in hand to the
Conclave for hand-outs. Don’t get me wrong, I would like to see the
slaves emancipated but I need to look after the Kingdom as a whole
as well.”

“It might just
work,” said Robain.

“I think it
will. Once I’ve freed the King and my Father, the rebel dukes will
realise Xavier has failed and will return to their pervious
allegiance murmuring one excuse after another. The King will accept
these excuses, temporarily at least. Once the borders are secured
it may well be another matter.”

They could see
the walls and Robain squinted through the haze, reined in his horse
and listened.

“There’s
something not quite right here,” he called out to Elliot. “This is
a working mine. Yes? So why is it so silent?”

“I don’t know,”
answered an equally perplexed Elliot, raising his hand over his
eyes to cut out the sun’s glare and looking over to the mine
himself. “There are men on top of the palisades, more than I would
have thought usual.”

The wooden
gates creaked open to let Elliot and Robain in and closed behind
them. The mine was eerily silent, the only people in the yard three
men. They were armed. Robain glanced up at the parapets. The men
they had noticed from outside weren’t looking at them but outwards.
He looked at Elliot who was talking to the men. They looked very
serious.

“Robain,”
Elliot called him over. “This is Brent.”

Robain and
Brent greeted each other with a nod.

“Brent says
that the Larg have invaded Cocteau! The mine manager has fled.”

“When?” asked
Robain.

“We got word
the day before yesterday,” Brent answered. “the slaves are in their
quarters, I, I didn’t know what to do. A good number of the guards
are gone. I’ve only got those on the walls and us three.”

“Are the Larg
heading in this direction?” asked Elliot.

“And how many?”
asked Robain.

“About twenty
thousand. Last we heard they were moving up the western bank of the
River Murdoch towards Fort.”

Robain nodded,
“you’ve done just as you should.”

Brent looked
relieved.

“Have you heard
anything about what’s happening at Fort itself?” asked Elliot.

Brent evaded
Elliot’s eye and turned to Robain. He looked uncomfortable.

“Rumours
only.”

“They are?”

“That the King
and the Crown-Prince are dead.”

Elliot’s faced
blanched.

“How?” Robain
asked.

“Executed by
order of Prince-Duke Xavier. It’s a rumour, might not be true.”

Elliot was
incapable of speech. Robain realised that the next move was up to
him.

“Leave the men
up on the parapets for now,” he ordered, dismounting. “Prince
Elliot has a plan.”

“He has My
Lord?” Brent glanced up at the stricken young man sitting immobile
on his horse.

“Indeed he
has,” said Robain beckoning him over, “give him time. He’s young
and has had a shock.”

“Right My
Lord,” agreed Brent with a conspiratorial wink as he edged
away.

“Captain,
Captain Hallam,” Robain introduced himself, “of the Argyll Garda. I
am no Lord. Now, let’s get out of this hot sun and decide what we
are going to do.”

“I am a loyal
vassal of the King,” said Brent with pride, “what is the plan?”

* * * * *

“We all go,”
Dwk insisted. He was a slave and had been elected as leader of the
workers after a loud and raucous meeting. “We leave none
behind.”

“There will be
fighting,” Elliot protested, “people will be killed.”

Dwk shrugged,
“killed in battle, dying in the mines. Makes no difference. We all
go or none of us do. It’s your choice and Prince Elliot, you’ve
promised us freedom. For that every last one of us will fight every
last Larg on the continent.”

Elliot remained
unconvinced but Robain thought he understood. Even if half of them
died they would think it worth it.

“Agreed,” he
said and stuck out his hand to shake on the bargain.

The man took
Robain’s hand. He felt he could trust this tall young
northerner.

“Can you and
your people be ready tomorrow morning?” asked Robain.

“Aye we can,”
answered Dwk with a grin. “I could get used to this freedom thing.
First time in my life I’ve been asked about something
important.”

The untidy
column of men, women and children marched out of the mine
mid-morning, carrying their meagre worldly possessions. Every
single person except the very smallest carried a weapon of some
description, pickaxes, sharpened shovels and knives. They waved a
cheery greeting to Robain and Elliot as they marched past. Elliot
noted that despite it being he who had freed them, Robain was
cheered just as long and vigorously. He made a mental note .. It
might come in useful.

The guards and
overseers, including Brent, went with them. As Brent explained;
this was one of the better run mines and the relationship between
the free and unfree was good, considering.

“Some mine
owners treat the slaves worse than animals,” he told Robain and
Robain thought dark thoughts about what he would do to any owner
who had mistreated his mother and sister.

One of the
guards was carrying one of the littlest ones. It was common
knowledge in this mine that Crown-Prince Paul was no lover of
slavery and the mine employees had taken their cue from him.

* * * * *

The Lord
Marshall

Lord Marshall
Peter Duchesne and his Regiments arrived at the rendezvous point in
Brentwood as dusk fell. He immediately called for a conference.

The resolute
Prince-Duke Robert of Brentwood was waiting in his pavilion when
Peter Duchesne lifted the tent flap and stepped inside, his
generals and colonels at his heels. He looked up as they
entered.

“At last!”

Peter Duchesne
didn’t waste any time. “The Larg? My information is sketchy.”

“They’ve
crossed the River Edgeking,” Prince-Duke Robert answered, tracing
his finger down the map on the table. “That was yesterday when one
of my men managed to get through. God knows how far they have
reached now.”

“Casualties?”

“Too many. We
knew the kohorts were massing. I sent a detachment of mounted men
west five days ago. The survivors returned yesterday, six out of
eighty! The rest are dead as is everyone else between here and the
border, man woman and child. I sent a small detachment out under
the command of my cousin, he held his land close to the border but
we don’t think they reached the manor, we have to assume they are
dead. Prince-Duke Robert had tears in his eyes as he spoke of his
great-nephew and niece. He pointed to a pencilled line on the map.
Every living creature, man or beast is dead west of that line
unless they’ve managed to get to shelter.”

“Numbers?”

“We estimate
thirty-five kohorts, possibly a few more.”

“I expected
more than that,” said the Lord Marshall, frowning at the news. “You
sure about this?”

“As sure as I
can be,” Robert Brentwood answered.

“Then as I
feared and as the Susa of the Vada warned, this is not their
secondary attack. As we know, the number of kohorts presently
running up our eastern borders is over four times that.” He
frowned.
There must be more kohorts. Where are they?
“We
know the Largan must have at least two hundred and twenty kohorts.
I think gentlemen, that we have been outmanoeuvred. This is merely
a diversion to draw the Regiments here, into Brentwood so that they
can be destroyed. I am very much afraid that a third Larg army, at
least as big as the one we currently face will attack, is attacking
in the south.”

“Where?” asked
General Ross.

“Cocteau or van
Buren by choice,” Peter Duchesne answered. He thumped his fist down
on the map table in frustration. “Hell and Damnation.”

“Lord
Marshall?” prompted the elderly General Karovitz, who commanded the
cavalry.

“No point
heading south, we must face the Larg here. We can’t stop them, we
don’t have enough troops. A series of delaying skirmishes to force
them to stop and fight. This is no job for the infantry.”

He turned to
General Ross, “Alan, take the infantry and march to the River
Murdoch. Cross and help the Duke of Gardiner defend the eastern
bank. He’ll be digging in. The cavalry will delay the Larg. I
believe that the Kohortangan is under strict orders to invade
Brentwood and destroy the Regiments before making his way east into
Gardiner. The Larg don’t think as we do. They’ll believe that the
Regiments will stand and fight, a great battle, because that is
what they would do. That we will retreat to behind a river and wait
is to them cowardice of the highest order. When you cross the river
pay close attention to the parts that are fordable, destroy the
causeways if you can and demolish the bridges, no point giving the
Larg a present of dry-pawed passage. Prince-Duke Robert’s foot
levies will go with you.”

“But Lord
Marshall,” protested Alan Ross, “how will you and the cavalry get
over to Gardiner if we destroy the causeways?”

“We don’t,”
answered Peter Duchesne in a flat voice.

Alan Ross took
an understanding breath.

“General
Karovitz, Prince-Duke Robert and I will lead the cavalry and
endeavour to hold back the kohorts for as long as we can. Hit and
run tactics.”

“What about my
people who are in the path of the kohorts?” asked the
Prince-Duke.

“They’ll be
safe as long as they stay behind stone walls,” Peter Duchesne
answered. “The Larg will not stop to take out individual resistance
pockets. Farms and villages are another matter.”

“I gave orders
to the garrisons to gather in all the people and livestock they
could,” said the Prince-Duke, “those who would not be able to reach
the coast. Some will not have made it but I hope most of them
will.”

“General Ross
and his infantry will march out within the candle-mark. Can you
reach the river in say, eight days?” asked Peter Duchesne with a
sympathetic glance at the Prince-Duke. He was a man who cared for
his people.

General Ross
looked at the map, mentally calculating the distances involved.
“Forced marches, yes, we should make it in eight days.”

“We’ll try to
give you the eight days,” said Peter Duchesne. “If we don’t get as
many men as you can over the river. You know what to do.”