Quillifer

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

looked down from the high ground above Mankin Clough to see the army toiling up the road, pikes sloped, heads bowed, and colors furled. Volleys of April rain beat down on helmets and armored shoulders, and the long, winding serpent that was the Queen’s Army dragged itself up a steep road that had become a river of mud. Mud had plagued the advance to Howel from the first day, and slowed not merely the army, but the wagons that drew the artillery and carried the victuals, plus of course the camp-followers, the sutlers, the speculators, the whores, and the officers’ mistresses.

We suffered inexplicable halts followed by inexplicable marches. Half the time the army went to bed hungry, with the wagons leagues back, the oxen dragging them from one ditch to the next with mud packed around the axles. Even the string of pack-mules I’d persuaded Utterback to purchase sometimes never found us.

The siege train, with the duke’s two great guns, was days behind.

We could have avoided this by taking either of the military coast roads built in ancient times by the Aekoi, but that would have allowed Clayborne to sweep in behind us and seize our base at Longfirth. And so we marched straight for Howel, or as straight as our mire-beset road permitted.

I had also discovered why I had purchased more than one horse. My gentle mare, Daffodil, had died in Longfirth of nightshade that had been mixed in her fodder by whatever careless person had cut the grass the previous autumn, and my bay courser, Shark, had died on the march of a colic. That left me with Phrenzy, an ill-tempered animal who over the weeks I had brought to a grudging obedience, and who I hoped would be as savage to the enemy as he was to me.

The whole campaign had been a shambles from the first day. I wondered if all wars were like this, or if I were simply unlucky.

On maps, the mountains of the Cordillerie were a neat line stretching from the northern coast of Bonille to the city of Lippholme on Lake Gurlidan, but I was in the act of learning that the Cordillerie was not a single row of mountains, but many long, irregular folds of ground rising up one after the next. Each time the army climbed one pass, it was only to view another, higher pass beyond.

Today was no exception. The army had toiled up from Mankin Clough, where the lucky among us had been billeted in the town, only to top the pass and view another, higher slope beyond. The next ridge was heavily crowned by dark pines that obscured the location of the pass, and for all I knew, Clayborne’s entire army might be hidden in those trees.

The dragoons, who I could see already dropping into the next valley, would be scouting the pass by sundown.

No one knew where Clayborne or his rebel army was, but it was certain that we would have to fight before the Queen’s Army reached Howel. A defense of one of the passes was very possible, but Clayborne might choose to wait until the Queen’s Army descended to the plain of Howel, where the many rivers and bogs formed natural lines of defense, and where our supply would have to cross every pass in the Cordillerie before it reached us.

I turned my horse’s head and trotted across tall, sere meadow grass to where the Utterback Troop waited in an untidy mass by the side of the road. They were dismounted and resting their horses, which were splashed to the shoulder, and for lack of any other occupation cropping the brown grass. Lord Utterback stood apart, his eye to a glass as he viewed the ridge ahead. I drew Phrenzy to a halt and dropped the reins.

“My lord,” said I. “Can you explain to me the function of dragoons?”

For certainly I did not understand their purpose. They were cavalry, but they fought not with sword or pistol, but rather with a special weapon called the dragon, after which they took their name. The dragon was either a very heavy pistol or a very short blunderbuss, with a bell mouth sometimes cast in the shape of a dragon’s mouth, and intended to be used one-handed. It had a very short range and was very inaccurate, and once it was discharged the dragoons had to withdraw to reload. It seemed they would be quite useless in battle.

“The purpose of dragoons,” said Lord Utterback, “is to make we of the demilances feel superior to them.”

“That seems reasonable,” I said. I looked over my shoulder at the valley beyond.

“We’ll be made to encamp in the vale,” I said. “We should go down and find a bivouac before the rest of the army arrives. Upstream of the rest of the army, to avoid the foulness they’ll cast into the water.”

Utterback lowered the glass and cocked an eye at me. “You are an old soldier already, then?”

“I’m old enough to prefer my drinking water clean.”

“You reason well.” Utterback put the glass back in its case and slung it over his shoulder, then turned to mount his bay courser. At his gesture, the trumpeter issued the call to mount, and the troop was on its way down the road.

Ere long, we were down in the valley, across the stream, and camped in one of the meads upstream of the ford when one of the camp marshals arrived and ordered us to shift to another place, because another regiment had been awarded the site. Utterback flat refused him, and said the other group could find their own bivouac, which they must have done because we never heard from the camp marshal again.

I was developing admiration for the way Lord Utterback defied Necessity. Of course, he was a lord, and had no obligation to pay attention to anyone who did not outrank him—and those who did, in fact, outrank him, did not run their own errands.

We of Utterback’s household spent the night listening to the rain drum on our canvas tents, eating cheese and brawn served cold with mustard, and pottage once the cooks managed a fire, and our train of mules could find us. We ate much the same food as the troopers—Utterback cared for them as well as our supplies permitted, and did his men the courtesy of not hosting banquets while they starved—though of course the ordinary soldiers did not enjoy Utterback’s excellent wines and brandies.

I was sleeping in my own tent when a messenger arrived to summon Lord Utterback to the Knight Marshal, and I was awakened to drag myself along and take notes. It was pouring, and I put on a hat and oilskins before saddling my horse, and carried my notebook inside my doublet, where it would not be soaked.

The Knight Marshal’s tent was marked by blazing torches, and by men riding to and fro. Waiting inside on an ivory-inlaid folding chair, our commander looked worse than ever, much shrunken, and wore his coat of sable fur tufted up above his chin, a coat so thick and rich that it made his lean form seem thick as a barrel. Atop his head was a fur hat pulled down over his ears, and he wore mittens of marten skin.

In one corner of the tent was a little shrine, with statues and symbols of the many gods, among which the Pilgrim stood tallest. Frankincense stung the air. “Utterback,” said the Marshal, as he regarded my patron with his opalescent, cataract-shadowed eyes. The eyes shifted to me. “You,” he said.

I bowed. “Your lordship’s surmise in correct. I am indeed myself tonight.”

He grunted in reply, while his staff and the other officers glared at me. The Count of Wenlock, raindrops glistening in his grizzled hair, gave me a disgusted look.

Wenlock had arrived just before the army set sail from the city to the head of the Long Firth, from which our march commenced. From what little I could discern, he spent all his time poisoning the Knight Marshal’s mind against me. He was one of a pack of nobles and rich gentlemen who accompanied the army without actually having joined it, and who expected to be honored and catered to while they treated the men and officers as if they were lackeys. They were well-bred enough that the Knight Marshal couldn’t get rid of them, and they buzzed about him like insects. Had it been up to me, I would have given them all to Clayborne.

The sound of clanking spurs came from outside the tent, and more officers arrived. There were more officers than were strictly necessary, and the redundancy included Lord Utterback himself. For he commanded a troop, and normally troops would be combined into squadrons, and squadrons perhaps into regiments. But the troops were for the most part commanded by nobles, and nobles could never agree to serve under one another, and the Knight Marshal did not insist. So, the cavalry were formed all of independent troops, and did whatever they pleased.

Our breath steamed in the light of the lamps. We waited, not speaking, till the tent was full, and then the Marshal heaved himself to his feet, steadied himself on the arm of one of his grandsons, and leaned on a folding table.

“The usurper’s army has been located,” he said. “Beyond this next pass, and the pass after that. I shall attack tomorrow.”

His mittened hands searched among the papers. “He is at a town called Peckside, half a day’s march away. He is fortifying the place, though the weather is hampering him, and the rain fills his trenches. Ha!”

He straightened, and his nostrils broadened, as if he was already smelling the gunsmoke. “The weather is clearing, and the march is straightforward. I will attack tomorrow afternoon.”

I looked in surprise at the canvas over our head, and heard the sound of rain drumming unabated. The weather seemed not to have been told that it was clearing.

The Marshal looked again at his maps. “I am told there are two roads to Peckside. I shall take the main road directly to the town and attack the enemy on his left, where his fortifications are incomplete and partly submerged. But the other way must be guarded, lest some portion of the enemy’s force get behind us.”

He looked up. “Lord Utterback, I have chosen you for this duty.”

This caught Utterback entirely by surprise. “Yes, my lord,” he said. I looked to the Count of Wenlock and saw a satisfied expression on the count’s face, and knew that it was Utterback’s father who had procured this appointment.

“When we reach the crossroads,” the Marshal continued, “you will take the way to the left. It leads to a village called Exton. When you come to the pass above the village, entrench yourself there. If you come upon an enemy, you will send me an estimate of his numbers and then, if he advances, fight him as long as possible.”

Utterback straightened in surprise. “Yes, my lord,” he said. “What force may I have?”

“Your own troop. Lord Barkin’s troop. Bell’s company of infantry, and Fludd’s, along with Ruthven and Grace. Lipton’s gunners, and Frere’s dragoons for scouting.”

“Yes, my lord.” Utterback blinked. “May I ask where I may find my companies?”

The Marshal seemed irritated by the question. He waved a hand. “Ask about, Utterback. Come the dawn, they will be easy to find.”

Utterback seemed bewildered. “Yes, my lord.”

“You may apply to the quartermaster for supplies.”

“Very good, my lord.”

After the Knight Marshal made his other dispositions, Utterback and I splashed back to our troop. I could tell that my patron was less than pleased by his appointment.

“My lord,” I said as we rode, “it seems to me the best possible outcome for you.”

He regarded me suspiciously. “Yes? How so?”

“You have been honored with an independent command. Yet you will miss the battle.”

Rainwater dripped off his nose. “And how is this to my advantage?”

“You run not the risk of being killed, and will therefore have full opportunity to enjoy your new command.”

Utterback was irritated. “Yet will I have no share of glory.”

“You will attain the glory of having participated in a victorious campaign. As you intend not a military career but a political one, any greater share of the glory will be superfluous.” And then, as this seemed not to content him, I added, “Submit to Necessity, my lord. This fits well with your philosophy.”

His lordship was still displeased. “You claim more understanding of my philosophy than I do,” he said.

We had no further sleep that night, for soon the trumpet was blown to rouse the camp and fires lit to provide breakfast for the troopers. By the time dawn lightened the clouds, we were in the saddle and ready to move, and Utterback sent the main body ahead while he tried to find the scattered regiments which were his honor to command. He found the cavalry easily enough, but everyone else was far back in the column, and so we rode out alone on the heels of the cavalry, over the pass and down again, to where the road turned off to Exton. There I was stationed, to find and turn aside the elements of Utterback’s command as they came up.

The Knight Marshal intended the whole army to march at first light, but it took till midmorning for the Queen’s force to heave itself up, like a barely conscious animal rising from its slumbers, and begin its daily trudge in the direction of the rebels. The rain clouds began to break apart shortly thereafter, and blue streaked the gray sky, with bright sun shining down through flurries of rain.

By early afternoon my task was done, and I rode on to catch up with Lord Utterback. Which I did at the top of the Exton Pass, a broad, bare, stony sett lying between a pair of high bluffs. The place was swept by wind and bitterly cold, and so wide that our little force could not hope to hold it against a more numerous foe.

“The Marshal wants us to hold this?” cried Lord Utterback. “The wind itself will blow us off the pass, never mind the rebels!”

“Let us go a little farther,” I counseled. “There must be a more defensible place farther down—and of course there is this Exton-town, where we may place a roof over our heads.”

“It grows dark,” said Utterback. “We cannot march far.”

I rode ahead with the dragoons, and less than two leagues from the pass we found a suitable place called Exton Scales, a narrow piece of summer pasture that sloped gently to the east, in the direction of Peckside. The pasture was cut by a crossroads, where the road to Peckside carried on straight while the track to Exton broke off to our left. The few lights of the village were just visible on the left, gleaming from behind a stony bluff, and the Exton road was bordered by hedgerows of blackthorn intended to keep flocks of sheep and cattle penned in the road until they reached their destination. The wind was much reduced here, and the hedgerows would provide a windbreak. Off on the right, shepherds had built a small earthen dam to make a pond and provide water for their flocks, and they had also built some drystone huts for themselves and stone pens for their flocks. It was already near dark, and I was unable to fully scout the place, but it was clear that no enemy force was camped in the vicinity, and I sent a rider back to bring Lord Utterback and the rest of his force. I myself rode with some of the dragoons to Exton, and found no enemy there, and few people to welcome us. These told us that they had seen no soldiers in years. I returned to the camp.

The dragoons lit fires of the sheep dung found on the field, and it was a cheerful if malodorous scene that greeted Utterback as he arrived a couple hours later. I had appropriated one of the stone huts for myself, and another for my commander, and had warm fires burning merrily in the hearths.

“A message arrived from the Knight Marshal,” he said as he eased himself from the saddle. “He holds the pass above Peckside, but his attack on the usurper has been postponed till tomorrow.”

“I am not surprised,” I said. “Nor will the enemy be, I’ll warrant.”

The rest of the soldiers and their support straggled in for the next hour, and camped wherever there was room. Fires were lit and our supper cooked. Utterback fretted as he paced back and forth, looking ever to the east, and I knew he was worried that he would miss the war altogether.

I myself thought the war would be one siege after another, starting down below at Peckside, and there would be plenty of time for everyone to get killed. It seemed to me that Lord Utterback would not welcome this wisdom, however, and I kept my peace.

I spent a pleasant night in my warm shelter, and rose when trumpets called me to breakfast. I came through the low door into the morning light, stretched, and viewed Exton Scales properly for the first time.

The rosy sun hung above distant Peckside, still half a day’s march away. The storm had blown itself to shreds overnight, and the sky was a deep blue that shaded to indigo in the West. The pasture was still in its winter colors, brown and faded gold. It was too early in the season for the shepherds to have brought the sheep up from their winter pasture, and the only sign of life were the crows that swooped low overhead, bright eyes alert for anything they might scavenge from our refuse piles.

The soldiers lined up for a brief parade, to be counted. The cavalry then went on watering parade to the pond, and the rest went to their messes for breakfast. Various ensigns and cornets and sergeants jogged up to report to Lord Utterback—which is to say to me, for it was I who wrote down the reports. For the first time, we now knew how many soldiers Utterback commanded, and in what order.

The two troops of cavalry, Utterback’s own and Lord Barkin’s, made up four hundred, with Frere’s Dragoons adding another hundred sixty. The four regiments of foot soldiers massed in excess of three thousand men, and Captain Lipton’s eight pieces of artillery required a hundred men to serve them.

I was able, that morning, to congratulate Utterback in commanding nearly three thousand seven hundred soldiers, not counting teamsters, sutlers, quartermasters, laundresses, camp followers, and the occasional wife. This was over twenty percent of the Queen’s Army, I pointed out, a very significant responsibility for a young man on his first campaign. “The Marshal has placed great trust in you.”

He frowned as he stared off in the direction of Peckside. “It’s a compliment to my father, not to me. I’m sure my father argued for my command with the understanding that this errand is a needless precaution—I was never meant to use these men in battle.” He looked down at the brown turf, and scuffed it with his boot. “Well,” he said, “we shall do what we may.”

By which he meant that he wished to get into battle as soon as possible. While Oscar and Utterback’s varlet were still frying the breakfast bacon, Utterback turned to me and said, “We shall send Frere scouting toward Peckside, and get everyone else on the road as soon as we can sort them out into proper marching order. I want to support the Marshal’s attack if I can.”

I wished to stress caution. “Let us not get too close to the enemy. If the main army is delayed again, you don’t want to attack without supports.”

“The Marshal said he would attack at first light.”

“He also said he would attack yesterday. We don’t know his dispositions, his delays, or his problems.” And, to Utterback’s petulant look, I said, “At least wait for the sound of the guns.”

He nodded. “Ay,” he said. “But we must be close enough to hear the guns, at least.”

He mounted and rode to Frere’s camp to send the dragoons toward Peckside as soon as the men had eaten, and the horses given their water and fodder. When he returned, he found me eating the bacon along with porridge and a glass of cider.

“It would have gone cold, else,” I said. “I knew not when you would be back.”

Bacon was not on Utterback’s mind. He dropped from his horse and had his trumpeter blow the officers’ call.

“They will not love you for interrupting their breakfast,” I said.

“Open your book,” said he. “I want everything set down.”

I finished my breakfast before I went for the ledger and my pot of ink. As the ledger had previously recorded only the information for Utterback’s single Troop, I had to begin on a new page, which I headed with the words “Lord Utterback’s Division of the Queen’s Army.”

Utterback intended but a simple march down the road, but it took some time to marshal his forces, as some of the regiments had precedence over others and would insist on having the post of honor on any battlefield, and had to be placed in the column so that they could take their place without delay. I duly recorded all this, and then it was time to don my armor, strap on my spurs, and hang my sword on its baldric.

In time, the column was duly formed, and Lord Utterback placed himself at the head of it. I rode just behind, along with the trumpeter and his lordship’s standard of golden seahorses on a field of blue. I am sure we made a brave sight, all arrayed there in the morning sun, horses pawing the ground, pikes sloped over shoulders, plumes nodding over helmets, and everyone waiting the word to advance.

Which never came. For a party of dragoons had come into sight down below, and as they dashed closer to us, we saw their captain Frere was among them. Utterback rode forward to meet him, and I followed. As we came close, we saw their horses were lathered, and heard the breath rasp from their nostrils.

Frere threw an arm back and pointed. “The enemy, my lord!” he called as he reined up. “The enemy is upon us!”