Book 3, Chapter 5: Three Months Later
I woke up alone, in my own bed, behind a locked and barred door. No more mistress of the bedroom for me. No more dresses. I used the water closet in privacy, did all my toiletries myself, then dressed in my gambeson, my armor. I’d had several of the leather gambeson outfits made, so that I could air them out. The problem was, I was growing.
The mirror showed a slightly taller girl than when I arrived. Hips widening. Puberty for the second time. The thought alone made me want to head back out to war and not be a cute princess. A young woman. Not something I was ready for and didn’t have a choice in the matter.
Strapping on my dirk and sword, leaving my spear behind, and my privacy, I went to have breakfast.
“Good morning, Princess.”
“Morry! Did you sleep well?” He was waiting for me in the main hall of the largest apartments in the castle, which I’d taken over. Mainly to remind the Earl and Countess Carlisele who, exactly, was in charge. Worse, in their opinions and probably those of the court, Morry and a few select soldiers for guard duty resided alongside me in these chambers. None in my rooms, but in rooms of their own, entrances off the long hallway leading to my space.
I’m sure Bechalle’s former bannermen, now mine, called me all sorts of unflattering names. Among my own troops, I was ‘The Warrior Princess.’ But they had seen me fight for them. Now, I was inventing new weapons for them. Come spring, we would be ready. Hopefully, they saw it fitting that I wore armor daily.
“Well enough. I set out morning tea.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Though I understand why you have no mistress of the bedroom, wouldn’t it be prudent for a princess to have ladies in waiting?”
“Perhaps you just don’t like making morning tea?”
“Oh, it’s not that. I think a young lady of importance should be surrounded by young ladies and perhaps guided by young ladies-”
“Tread does a good job arranging my schedule, meeting my requests. I’m happy with Tread. He’s great, what a memory on that boy. And he doesn’t try to break my plans. Brin is always forcing dresses on me, hiding my armor.”
“Brin understands proper etiquette and how to handle a headstrong princess. Tread does not, though he makes a perfectly capable chamberlain.”
I glanced at the empty chairs. “Where are the other men?”
“I sent them out already. A new batch of sarissa are ready and I wanted my lieutenants to begin training alongside the new foot soldiers on their use.”
“And the progress?” We’d pitted the nearly double length sarissa against regular pikes to see who did better. Initially, it was quite close, but the sarissa were yet new. I was curious how they were doing now, the men having more time to train with them.
“The regular phalanx hasn’t been able to keep up. I recommend we simply switch all the foot soldiers over as soon as sarissa become available.”
“Brilliant!”
“What are your plans today, Princess?”
“I have to meet with the master weaponsmith to see how the tests are coming on the crossbow, talk with the armorer about new forms of armor, that sort of thing.”
“This crossbow of yours, I have worries about the device. A very slow firing rate and prone to breaking. And heavy, perhaps too heavy,” he sipped some tea, “for normal soldiers.”
“The early stages of development still, Morry. A bit of trial and error are needed. Once we get it down, it’ll turn regular peasants into deadly archers.”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to arm regular peasants with deadly weapons.”
“If we encounter manpower shortages, or have to face a much larger army, conscription might be necessary.”
“Princess . . . I know you don’t want to hear this, but it’s time to stop being reclusive. You healed. Your enemies are dead or cowed. The people need to see their princess again.”
“Not all my enemies.”
“Exactly why you need to engage in the public sphere. Meet with the other earls. Build trust.”
“You sound like Brin. You and she must be talking.”
“Brin is a bit young, but we drove off Bechalle’s staff. Most of them.” He looked dour, “And with good reason. Don’t take my words wrong. You’re stuck with Lady Brin to arrange your, ah, social calendar. You have nothing to fear. The soldiers are your protection, and we are all around you.”
“It’s not that, Morry.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing . . . It’s nothing.” I shook my head, wanting so badly to tell him. Of all people, Morry might understand. But I couldn’t. I was building up secrets, amassing them, and it was an isolating feeling. They weren’t just dangerous to me anymore, now they endangered anyone who supported me. Looking up, he was speaking, “What’s that? I missed what you said.”
“Their troops. We need the troops the bannermen provide. For the spring campaign. You don’t have to marry any of these suitors. Treat the endeavor as one of diplomacy. They’re coming to give you their fealty. Their oaths.”
Networking. They wanted me to network with aristocrats. Build alliances, get bannermen, call their men in for the spring campaign. But all in the guise of looking for a husband, something that just, I don’t know, rubbed me the wrong way. “Yeah, ok, I’ll talk to Brin. But read my lips: no dresses! I will not wear little girl costumes!”
“If you ask me, you look better in a dress than in armor. More shapely.”
“Morry . . . !”
He smiled, briefly, “Decidedly deadlier in armor, though.”
I looked at him for a bit, couldn’t tell if he was joking for the lack of mirth in his eyes, then forked an egg. The eggs were nice here, had actual flavor in the yolk. Unlike what I was used to back home, where the chickens probably lived in cages slightly bigger than chickens and were fed whatever was cheapest on the market. “The eggs are nice.”
“True.”
“I wonder how the alchemist is coming along.”
“The alchemist? Why did you let that crazy old fool back? The only thing that man is likely to do is poison you and cause your hair to fall out. Best stay away. Or drive him from the castle, again.” He pointed with his fork, “Whatever Bechalle saw in that man, you don’t want.”
“Alright. Ok, but I’ve already explained the process to him.” Morry was shaking his head. “Look, I’ll just check and see what he’s produced. If nothing, I’ll figure something else out.”
“With that strange equipment you had made?”
“The distillation gear, yeah. I want to introduce you to real whiskey, not that crap Bechalle produced. Probably would be easier to make vodka first.”
“Bechalle’s, what did you call it? Whiskey? Not bad. Pretty strong. Would be good for the campaign.”
“If you like hangovers. He didn’t make whiskey. He made alejack, which concentrates all the bad stuff. Distillation, on the other hand, separates the bad stuff out. You’ll see. It’ll be strong and not harsh.”
“Fruity tasting, like that girls’ ale?” He smiled, “Sweet, like girls’ wine?”
I tilted my head and glared at him. Then, a tiny, tiny smile from my eyes. He knew I hated sweet wine. “The whiskey I make will put hair on your chest and lead in your pencil.”
He looked puzzled. “Pencil?”
“Uhm, I mean, hair on your chest and ink in your quill.”
“Ha! You’d better give lots to Tread then.”
“And you, Morry, what are you up to today?”
“Checking troop rosters, double checking equipment, training with my regiment, talking to the weaponsmith about that new cavalry pike you’ve had him make.”
“Lance. It’s called a lance. You don’t like it?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“It can’t be thrust overhand. How am I to clear out foot soldiers if I have to use it underhand?”
“It’s not for thrusting.”
“This is why I don’t like it.”
“That’s too bad. Because I’ve decided to call your regiment, the Companion Lancers. Or maybe the Companion Cavalry. Yeah, actually, let’s go with that one. The Companion Cavalry. The alliteration is nicer.”
“We get our own name?”
“Definitely! It’s better than calling you guys Once Crucified.”
“I’m not sure. There’s a certain horror and fear in that last name.”
“I don’t know. Sounds a little emo to me.” Blank stare. “Uh, full of unbridled teenager angst.”
“A fitting name for your kingdom.”
“Grrr!” I glared at him, then smiled and finished my last piece of bread and cheese, “Alright. I’m off. I’ll catch you later.”
***
Four guards waited just outside the apartment. “Good morning, gentlemen. How are you today?”
“Your Highness,” said the head guard, who walked beside me, “very well, thank you.” The other three followed.
“Lennox, how are you finding the castle?”
“Oh, getting to know it, that’s for sure, my lady.”
“I’m starting to like it, too. Large apartments, lots of space, lots of tapestries.” I couldn’t exactly tell him it was my first castle.
“It’ll be cold come the winter, though. Your own castle would be warmer.”
“We will see what we can do about that, come spring.”
“My lady.”
Everything was progressing well. Mid-autumn, with winter approaching, our army here and training at Castle Bechalle. I hadn’t yet decided what to do with it, but changing the name was high on my list of priorities.
Much of the army yet resided in their tents, and accommodations were still being built. We were tripling the existing barracks. Given the time constraints, wooden, not stone, housing was going up.
Because we’d brought ours with us, the castle functionally had two of each weapon, armor, and black smithies. With the new weapons production, I’d expanded these, more than doubling the number of men working in them. I was considering introducing full-on factory style organization but was a little worried about pushback from the populace. Clocks were not a thing here, nor were regular hours or showing up sober. Still, such production would dramatically speed up our time crunch.
And time was against us, if we were to recapture the kingdom come spring. We needed 20 000 sarissa before we set out, more if possible. And I really wanted those crossbows. So, off I went to talk to the master weaponsmith.
Comments (0)
Please login or sign up to post a comment.