Book 2, Chapter 8: Day Three: The Price of Roasted Boar

Day three was much like day two. Breakfast after waking up, break camp, get on the move until late afternoon. Dinner, back on the move till the first break. After, it was straight on and into darkness before setting up camp, eating a light meal and sleep. Some soldiers got drunk on their own coin, buying alcohol from merchants who were part of the camp followers, others would visit their wives’ or families’ tents.

For me, of course, it was different. Brin tried to dress me, lead my toiletries, spend as much time as she could near me when I wasn’t training or riding. I had to sneak off to the toilet while she slept in, dash off for privacy on my own when the army was on the move, slink away at nighttime, anything I could to avoid a two-person potty time. Until I could break her of these habits.

After breakfast or tea or whatever you wanted to call it, I trained. Sword, spear, dirk. On the move, mainly riding, though sometimes I’d walk and sometimes I’d train weaponry while walking. Same with the other mealtimes.

It became routine for Brin, Tread and Morry to sit after mealtimes, drinking and talking, while I battled shadows and the air. Little by little, tiny, incremental improvements.

“It’s time,” Morry said, “to teach you how to use your body with the swings. Not just your arms.”

“I’m getting better at swinging?”

“Not at all.”

“Hmph.”

He showed me diagonal cuts. Blade down, to the right and past your body, swing upward by twisting your body, arms following. “Yes, that’s the basics. But the blade has to stay straight, in the direction of motion. Don’t twist it.”

“Like this?” I swung, cutting through an imaginary villain’s torso.

“No. That’s how you cut firewood.”

I deflated a bit, tried from the other side.

“Ok, just keep practicing, Princess. You’ll either get it or make the world’s first and finest woman lumberjack.”

Later, he showed me diagonal cuts starting from up high and cutting low. I practiced these, checked in later, he told me I’d make a great gardener. Destroyer of branches! Culler of weeds! Me.

After some training, and after the army had resumed its forward crawl, I dragged Brin to the quartermaster, made my introductions and learned the basics of this place’s system of accounting. Basically, the quartermaster kept detailed records. Much, much more detailed than I’d imagined, down to how many pounds of pepper we had. Liaising with him, I decided, was a perfect task for Brin. After all, she was trained in running castles, keeping everything working, and so on whereas I always hated the fact that accounting was a required course in university. Blach! No thanks. Off to you, Brin and good luck!

She was quite happy about the whole thing and I was gladdened for the extra distraction it gave her.

***

We’d stopped for midday dinner sometime after the sun had crested its zenith, and I was happy to sit down. I guess I could order stops whenever I so choose but seeing as how this was my first forced march, it was better to let the experts handle the movement.

The problem with forced marches with this level of technology was that it took time to cook food. You had to light the fire, get some coals going, slaughter your animals if you were going to eat fresh meat, cook everything, and so on. Dinner, then, was always going to be a long affair. Which is exactly why it was held later in the day. Eat something quick in the morning, march for six hours, take an hour and a half break, back to marching.

Yet it felt decadent to take all this time. So, I asked, “Hey, Morry, is there any way to speed dinner up? I mean, it feels like we sit here too long.”

“Well, you could eat what the soldiers are eating.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dry rations don’t need to be cooked, Princess.”

“Oh my god. I feel so dumb. You’re saying that I’m the one holding up the entire army?”

“Yes, though I’m sure they enjoy the rest.”

“I’m going to start insisting on hourly freshly squeezed orange juice.”

“That won’t help to speed us up.”

I sipped my tea and stewed. I’d have to ask Brundle if we could decrease dinner time. I didn’t need fresh roasted meat every day, dry rations would be fine.

A couple boys from the smithy appeared, carrying a bundle with them. They bowed as low as they could with their arms full, “Your Royal Highness, we’ve brought, uhm, the, uhm-” They were nervous.

“Yes? From the smithy?”

“Ma’am! Your weapons. The ones you requested. Back, uhm, back at the encampment.”

“Oh, right. I’d forgotten about those. Thank you, boys. This is great.” I got up, eager to check on these, the weapons I’d ordered, but the dowager had canceled. “Just put them over here.”

“On the dinner table?” Brin asked.

“No? Ok, over there on that wagon.” I led them over to the wagon and they placed it down. Blunted swords and spears, short swords, no dirks. “I also requested two shorter dirks.”

“The master smith apologizes,” the little boy, no older than eight, spoke carefully and slow. “My lady, he is waiting on the leatherworkers for the sheathes and belts.”

“You tell him that is great news.” I patted the boy’s head, “now go eat something before we get back underway.” They ran off and I returned to the table, “Well, Tread, looks like we can start practicing together.”

“I guess we can, but-”

Morry jumped in here. “Princess, that’s a level of danger I was hoping we could leave off for a bit.”

“There’s just so much I don’t know to sword fighting, though!”

“Yes, that’s the problem. You’ll get there.”

“Not fast enough.” No point in arguing with him, though. I decided to change topics. “Hey, where’d you get that greatsword anyways?”

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all you’re going to tell me about it? How long has it been in your family? Where’d it come from?”

Morrentz looked slightly more grim than usual, his mouth shut, but then Brin jumped in, “A greatsword like that belonged to a noble house. In my great grandfather’s time, these signified the king’s favor. Not many were made. The royal weapon smithy at that time-”

“There are lots of replicas around the kingdom, no doubt,” Morry said, standing, “but you wouldn’t know anything of that, Lady Brin. The sun is high and soon we’ll be underway. Time for more weapon practice, Princess.”

He didn’t offer any more information and I didn’t ask. Brin almost pouted for a moment, but then directed the servants to pack away dinner, the tents, get everything into the wagons.

Morry had Tread and I drill variations on slicing over and over. Slide forty-five degrees right, slice down from above my head through the imaginary target’s wrists. Repeat on left. Over and over, but he didn’t criticize much or tell me I should be using an axe. Just one “You’re too stiff, Tread. Loosen up.”