The Crown of the Conqueror

I

Wood smoke drifted between the mud-stained tents and through the line of legionnaires waiting at their company kitchen. Gelthius queued beside his friends, bowl and spoon in hand. Though tradition entitled a man of his rank to cut the line ahead of the rank-and-file he was still uncertain about taking advantage of most of the privileges of being Third Captain, to the amusement of both legionnaires and fellow officers.

Not that such benefits would make any difference in the present situation, as he pointed out when Muuril reminded him that he did not have to wait in line with the rest of them.

"First in line for slop?" said Gelthius. "What's the point of that? Now, if the foragers had found a bit of meat or some nice vegetables or fruit, you can be sure I'd be up front quicker than a dog after a hare."

"This isn't right," said Loordin. "How long's it been now since the last wagons came in? Fifteen days?"

"More like twenty since we had a proper resupply," said Muuril.

They shuffled forward a few steps with the line. Up ahead, a legionnaire loudly voiced his discontent at the poor fare the legion had been enduring lately. There was nothing the men serving the plain boiled oats and heavy bread could do but shrug.

"It's not right," Loordin said again. "Within two days' march I reckon there's plenty of Salphorian food. What's the king wasting his time for?"

"How would I know?" said Gelthius.

"Thought you were best friends now, captain," Muuril said with a grin. "Special advisor, isn't it?"

Gelthius took this with a disconsolate shake of the head. His friends knew well enough that being a 'special advisor' was more of a chore than a blessing, but there were others in the company who genuinely believed Gelthius had some inside line to the workings of command; they would pester him for news that he did not have, or demand that he take up their complaints with the First Captain and King Ullsaard.

"Advancing without secured supplies is risky," said Muuril, answering Loordin's question as the line took a few more paces towards a bench sagging under three soot-stained pots of gruel. "Come on, you've been on enough campaigns to know that. Like when we was down in Mekha, we couldn't go nowhere less we had enough water. What if there's a caravan coming right now? They know where we're meant to be. If we head off from here, they might never find us."

"Yeah, but it's not right," said Loordin.

"Say that again and I'm going to batter you," said Muuril.

"Look, we're all hungry, right enough," said Gelthius, feeling that as Third Captain he had some responsibility to keep the men in the best spirits possible. "We can moan about it, or we can do our best to find some proper food next time we're on forage rotation. Other than that, you might as well work your jaw less and save yourself the energy."

Loordin looked for a moment like he was going to continue complaining, but contented himself with an annoyed huff. Gelthius knew Loordin was far from alone in his view. Walking the rounds of guard and hanging out with some of the captains from other companies, he felt the discontent. There was the griping that legionnaires were always prone to, and then there was genuine dissent.

Having had a hand in spreading a fair bit of unhappiness through the legions that had stood against Ullsaard's bid for the throne, and spent a dreadful winter with the Thirteenth when they had been beset by blizzards and plague, Gelthius knew how easy it was to tip the balance from discipline to desertion. Nobody had fled the legion yet, but with all of Salphoria to get lost in, it would only be a matter of time. It was only the presence of the king in the camp that was holding the legion together. As the Thirteenth, Ullsaard's chosen legion, the royal bodyguard, pride currently won over hunger, but there was a point at which pride would fail; when that happened, Gelthius was not sure which side he would be on.