The King's Name by Jo Walton
“Ten horses, another ten too badly wounded to survive, though the grooms are trying with the weapons.” It is always more difficult with horses, who cannot say which weapon hurt them. “Only three armigers,” he added, uncertainly. He wasn’t used to being tribuno and we were both used to Emlin doing this.
“Good work,” I said.
Then I went to look at the dead as I always did. Govien had pulled them out of the battlefield and had them brought to the edge of the woods. Elidah was a girl who had been one of my first volunteers when I instituted the militia. I remembered visiting her parents on their farm near Derwen, and their pride at the thought of their daughter being an armiger. I had been meaning to promote her to sequifer soon. Mabon was a man who had served for many years under Galba. He had fought at Caer Avroc and at Foreth, only to die within sight of the place he had been born. The third corpse was Duncan.
He had been killed cleanly by a spear thrust through the neck. He looked old and confused, as if the world had confounded his expectations again. I remembered him long ago teaching me to fight. He had come here to die and he had what he wanted. I brushed away tears that helped nothing. If only Marchel had lined up her alae at that moment, I would have been ready to mount up and charge straight at them.
“Where are we going to camp?” Govien asked, coming up behind me. It was just starting to get dark and the rain was beginning. I knew as well as he did how vulnerable we were dismounted, and how any ditch we could build to keep them out would also keep us in. I frowned.
“We’ve got to keep them in there. Tomorrow ap Ranien and the Isarnagan army will be here and we can besiege them properly. For tonight, I think we rest here until it gets properly dark and they can’t see us leave, and then press onto Aberhavren, which has shelter and walls and supplies. We need to secure it in any case, and tomorrow we need to block Marchel’s route to Caer Gloran.”
Govien sighed. He was from Magor originally; he had been promoted to decurio by Galba. He was a broad, squat man, one of the shortest of the armigers but very strong. He was looking tired to death. Mabon had been a friend of his. “This is awful,” he said, looking not at the bodies but at the walls and the gate.
“You cannot,” I said through gritted teeth, “hate it worse than I do. But we’ll stop them. We can do it. Don’t worry.”
I was almost surprised to see him comforted by this, and sound confident and heartened as he rode off to relay my orders.
— 6 —
This is a time of war, we must stand firm
against the fearsome foe, not waste our lives
for empty dreams of glory or of skill.
All lives have worth, including this of mine
I lightly held so long, and those who die
are spent to save the fire in the corn,
the hungry winter, homes and farms destroyed,
more deaths than these we count, the land aflame
and all the Peace we built so long, forgot.
— From “Thirty Sword”
It took ten days to lure her out.
I held a council of war at Aberhavren at dawn the day after we arrived there. The place was not a town, just a little settlement that had sprung up around the spot where the ferry crosses the Havren. It had no walls, only a wooden stockade. Galba had widened this to make room for the ala when he had first been based down here. We also kept a supply dump here. I had been afraid to find that Marchel had taken it or that Aurien had given orders to the locals to forbid me entry. The whole spirit of civil war is caught in that fear, riding up to a strong place you know well and not knowing if the inhabitants are for you or against you. Fortunately the inhabitants of Aberhavren were indifferent. The man on the gate had inquired why we were riding so late, but made no move to stop us entering when I gave my name. He would probably not have tried to stop Marchel either. I did not know if the local people even knew about the civil war.
I gathered my decurios together in the shack where I’d been sleeping and they crowded around, leaning against the walls. As the day brightened I could see that in some places the plaster was wearing off and the willow wattles showed through. I had Talog bring breakfast, and we all ate porridge while they offered me their views and suggestions.
“The problem is that we want to get her out but not to let her escape,” I said.
“We can starve her out,” objected Govien, gesturing with his bowl.
“There are almost two months’ supplies for an ala inside Magor,” Bradwen said gloomily, putting hers down. “I put them there myself.” She had been the sequifer of Garian’s pennon before I promoted her after Garian’s death. It had been her job to deal with Nodol Boar-beard about supplies for Magor.
“That’s not counting anything Aurien might have been stockpiling,” I added. “Did any of you who were stationed at Magor see any signs she was doing that?”
Bradwen and Golidan shook their heads. I wished I’d thought to ask Emlin before leaving him at Derwen. “It’s a bad time of year for it,” Golidan said.
“We always keep supplies for the horses in case we have to move in a hurry,” Bradwen said. “But the cabbages and the turnips will be ready in ten days or so—if she’d done this after harvest she’d have had a whole winter’s supplies.”
“Summer is a better time to fight,” I said. “But if she has two alae in there with a month’s supplies, then starving her out is a possibility. That might take too long if there is trouble elsewhere.”
“Is there any news?” ap Madog asked. He scraped around his empty bowl for the last morsels, then set it down.
I shook my head, swallowing the last of my own breakfast. “None. But Cinvar could come south at any time. More Malms could land. We have no idea what Flavien or the other kings are doing. There is the possibility of a Jarnish invasion, which could come anywhere.”
Cynrig Fairbeard stirred uneasily, then realized we were all looking at him. He was a Jarnsman of course, one of Sweyn’s more distant kin, who had been taken into the alae after Foreth. Like Ulf he had learned fast and become a reliable armiger. I had made him a decurio when I formed the ninth pennon. I had thought long and hard about doing it, but I had never had any reason to doubt his loyalty and he was the best of the possibilities. It would have been unfair to pass over him because of the color of his skin or because he had fought against us twelve years ago. “I haven’t heard anything,” he said. “Arling hates me even more than he hates all of you; he calls those of us who ride with you traitors. But I can tell you this; he won’t land just anywhere, he will land where he thinks the land will be with him, and that is Tevin. Sweyn made the sacrifice there and Arling will think that the gods will listen to him because of that. Also, Sweyn’s son and daughter by Gerda Hakonsdottar are in Caer Linder with their mother, and Arling will want to secure them.”
“I’m surprised he won’t want to kill them as rivals,” ap Madog said. “The daughter must be what, eighteen or so by now? And the son was born the year before Foreth, so he’ll be twelve or thirteen? That’s old enough to be worrying, considering both of them have been brought up by Alfwin and in our Peace.”
Cynrig looked shocked. “No Jarnish king would ever kill his nephews. Even apart from the impiety, which Mother Frith would punish, who of his huscarls would risk his honor to stand beside a man who would do such a thing?”
“Sweyn killed his own daughter!” Govien objected. “You just said so and we all know it. He slaughtered her like a deer as a sacrifice.”
“That was his daughter, not his nephew,” Cynrig explained, then, seeing our faces, he laughed. “It does make a difference! But it’s hard to explain. And that was a sacrifice, which is a different thing. In any case many of us thought Sweyn was wrong to do that, and we were right, as events proved. Sweyn’s old wife, Hulda, never forgave him for killing the girl or for marrying Gerda.”
Govien opened his mouth, but I beat him to it. “If Arling is likely to land in Tevin then it makes it less likely we are going t
“What would get us out if we were in there and being besieged?” Bradwen asked.
“Good question,” I said. I thought about it. Cynrig grinned at Bradwen and she preened. I ignored them and considered what would get me out. Nothing would unless the walls were likely to fall, except lack of supplies. “Nothing. I’d wait until they’d gone away.”
“We could send the Isarnagans up against the town,” Golidan said. “I remember when they came against Derwen. We thought the sheer weight of them would have the gates down, and there was nothing we could do but sortie out now and then and throw things from the walls.”
“They’ll be there tonight,” I said. “We can try that. But if we could get the walls down and the Isarnagans into the town there would be no restraining them. None of us have forgotten we have friends inside as well as enemies.”
“What if we did go away?” ap Madog asked. “What would she do?”
“Probably go up the highroad to Caer Gloran to join up with Cinvar,” I said. “The last thing we want is two hostile alae on the loose and out of reach. They’re not strong enough to stand against us, but against infantry the light horses may not make much difference.”
“What happens if they come out and try to run past us?” ap Madog asked. “They’re very fast. They might try to form up and make a run for it.”
“Good point,” I said, leaning forward intently. “We need to keep her engaged and stop her escaping. We’ve got to stop her from forming up and getting away.”
“We could keep trying to flank them,” Govien said. “By pennons. Whenever any group of them tries to form up. That would work.”
“It might,” I said slowly, thinking about it.
“I think it would,” ap Madog said, moving his cup toward his bowl consideringly. “If we can keep between them and the road, and make sure we don’t charge through them.”
“I don’t know,” Golidan said. “That ought to work. But how about if we ambushed her? If we let her come out and make toward Caer Gloran, north up the highroad, and then caught her on the way? There’d be no problem with forming up, we could take her from both sides if we found a good spot, which we could scout out well in advance.”
“Tempting, but too risky,” I said after a moment. “If she went to Derwen or across the river here, instead, we’d be sitting there like a saddle on a cow while she started ravaging the country. We don’t know for sure that’s what she’ll do.”
“Ambush is a good idea though,” Cynrig said, stroking his beard. “If we pretended to leave and didn’t.” Bradwen smiled at him admiringly. Those two had shared blankets on and off for a while, before he had been promoted off to Dun Morr. I resisted the urge to pour cold water on them.
“We could destroy the crops in the fields,” Govien said. “That might get her out, and we could be ready.”
“We need to be closer,” I said.
“If we built a stockade on the hill with the cache just to the north of Magor,” Bradwen said, “the one with the good spring. Then we’d be close enough but not too close. And we could have the Isarnagans build it and guard it when they come up. Then, rather than burning crops we could start to gather them in the fields, even if they’re not quite ready. We could use the cabbage and turnips for the horses, even small. If she saw that it might make her sortie out, especially if she only saw the Isarnagans.”
“We have to think like a fox,” I said. “What would we do if we thought the besiegers had gone away?”
“Send out scouts,” everyone chorused, then we all laughed.
“So that won’t work,” I said, leaning back on the rickety wall. “Because scouts would find out the real situation. But what if we tried to make her think that we had gone and were pretending we hadn’t?”
“She’d still send scouts,” ap Madog said.
I thought about what could get me out of there. “If we acted as if we’d left half an ala that was pretending to be a whole ala, with the Isarnagans, she’d think she could take them. She wouldn’t want to send out scouts then, because half an ala would be enough to get scouts, and scouts might scare them into the stockade to stop them bluffing.”
“We could have someone else in your praefecto’s cloak so she thinks you’ve gone and have left someone pretending to be you. Someone not as tall,” quiet Cadarn said. It was the first thing he’d said all day. “I’ll do it if you like.”
“I will,” Bradwen said. “It’ll look more likely on a woman, but I’ll go close enough that someone will recognize me, or at least see that I’m not Sulien.”
“Why would you go, though?” Ap Madog protested. “I mean, she’d guess it’s a trick. You’ve no reason to go off anywhere.”
I thought for a moment. There wasn’t much that would get me away from Magor at the moment. “If Derwen was attacked, or if Urdo called me away,” I said.
“So we need a messenger!” Govien said, excited. “A messenger arriving very obviously from Aberhavren, a red-cloak riding up exhausted and rushing up to the camp, and then that night you sneak away. She’d believe that I think.”
Between us we worked out all the details of the subterfuge. Then we rode back to Magor and secured the hill and the roads. I left half a pennon at Aberhavren under ap Madog with strict orders to send for me if there was any trouble or any troops sighted from any direction. We brought up the supplies from two of the nearby caches and added them to the cache on the hill. We spent most of the day demonstrating as showily as we could what a whole ala looks like and pretending to threaten the walls. They threw spears but were otherwise helpless. I gave orders that no local farmers were to be hurt and that as much as possible we should try to avoid damaging crops and property. We would need to cut trees and gather some crops later but I explained we would compensate the farmers for them. This had been close to our standard way of operating in the war, so the ala took this calmly.
I had no herald so I sent my trumpeter, Berth, under herald’s branches to try and negotiate. Aurien, or Marchel, sent Father Cinwil out to ask us to go away and stop invading Magor. The negotiation was as pointless as I had known it would be; it just wasted an hour of the morning.
When the Isarnagans came up that evening we set them to building the stockade around the hill. Ap Ranien and Emer came up to me in the long dusk. I was standing by the newly driven posts of the stockade, gazing down the valley at Magor and the distant line of the sea.
“There’s just no possibility of holding them, sir,” ap Ranien said, as soon as I greeted him. “It was hard enough on Derwen land, but here? How can you expect it? They’re out in arms, they’re bound to loot.”
It took me a moment to realize they were talking about the rule on looting. “But this isn’t an invasion, it’s a civil war,” I said, as calmly as I could.
“We know all about civil wars,” Emer said. “More than you do, I think. The people have come to fight, and they won’t understand what you mean by restraint. I’ve told them they mustn’t kill the farmers of Magor, that it would be dishonorable, and I think they heard that. But as far as property goes—if we try to say that they should harm nothing they’ll just go home, probably looting all the way back to Dun Morr.”
“It’s barbaric!” I exclaimed. They said nothing. I looked from one to the other of them. Ap Ranien was standing as stiff and bristling as a pine tree. He looked desperately unhappy.
Emer wasn’t looking at me at all. “It’s our custom,” she said. “We will need to be in the land longer than this to change it.”
So the next morning I went around the local farms warning them about the war, explaining that nobody could restrain the Isarnagans, and offering the farmers the protection of Derwen if they cared to go there. More of them headed west than I expected. I did not think they would be so afraid. It was going to be very crowded at home. I hoped Ven
I set scouts to watching the two gates of Magor in case Marchel or anyone ventured out. Then I set the other half of ap Madog’s pennon, with all the scouts, to scouting the whole area to give warning of any approaching troops from anywhere. They would be based at Aberhavren under ap Madog’s command and use the supplies and the stables there. This left me with six pennons and an Isarnagan army. I tried to keep the army inside the stockade as much as I could to minimize looting problems. I ordered some of them to gather the ripest cabbages nearest to Magor. They could have done with another ten days or half a month in the ground, but the horses were happy at the addition to their diet. I hoped to make Marchel think we would gather all the crops as they ripened, leaving her nothing.
All that day I kept half the ala rested and ready to mount if she came out. At noon, the fake red-cloak arrived with what looked like an urgent message. Then, on toward twilight but when there was still light to be seen, I led three pennons quietly away north up the highroad as if we were sneaking off toward Caer Gloran. When it was completely dark I led them even more quietly back around to the hill with the stockade and inside.
For the next seven days we tried hard to make six pennons look like three trying to look like six. Bradwen wore my gold-leaf praefecto’s cloak and rode about as if she were trying to keep out of direct sight of Magor, but actually hoping to be recognized. I stayed in the stockade. The deception made my head hurt, especially as time went on and there was no indication that Marchel was fooled at all.
On the tenth day she came out, as the Isarnagans started to gather the turnips. What she could see was half the ala waiting unmounted but ready under the trees, and the disorganized Isarnagans. The rest of us were in the stockade, and likewise ready. I felt we had been ready so long that the sortie would never happen and we would remain there until the Malms started to get hungry.
The hardest part was letting her get them all out before we attacked. We had arranged the palisade so that we could move out a section and ride downhill. I knew that if she noticed us before she had her pennons committed she would pull back behind the walls. Waiting just the right amount of time was agonizing. Evenstar was restless under me and I tried to speak soothingly to her. Marchel’s armigers advanced through the gates, and I waited and watched. The half ala under Govien mounted up. Bradwen discarded my spare cloak to avoid confusion. More of Marchel’s forces came out. Then, as soon as they were all there, I gave the orders. The Isarnagans swung out the wall section, and we charged downhill, spear points lowered, ready to take them in the flank.