The Free Company- Book V: Bloody Retribution

Evening, Trianda

Osman was sleeping. He had cried out several times, but that was a positive sign in Jan's opinion. It meant he still had life, still felt pain. When his patients could no longer feel, that was when Jan started to get worried.

Even so Osman was in a bad state. Whoever had busied himself with him was a professional Jan conceded. Nothing life-threatening had been inflicted. This was detached work, not filled with passion. The bitch clearly had not done this herself.

Still Osman was now sleeping, his breathing shallow but steady. Jan left the room, his hands now steady, his breath heavy with the scent of cheap wine. To the guard at the door he ordered that none, bar Captain, was allowed in. He specifically mentioned Maria and Frederik by name as ones that were not allowed within ten feet. Then he limped down to the practise grounds to be greeted by chaos.

Men were swearing, having worked all day. Many had developed calluses where their body was unused to the work. Their muscles burned from exertion. Some of the calluses were a minor cause for concern. Well, there was precious little he could do. The muscle pains would pass in time he knew, and the calluses were minor irritants. Still, he limped upto the tavern.

In the tavern he found the officers all gathered together. He headed over.

"Captain, where's Milo?"

"Why?"

"I need more brine water. I've never seen so many calluses in my life."

There were wry chuckles, but Erik muttered "Get used to it Doctor."

Jan smiled. "I wish I would. I would far prefer calluses to broken arms and legs, believe me."

Lochlan, who had until then not taken much notice of Jan started to speak. The man had a firm grasp of tactics Jan judged. Clearly this business had to do with Osman.

"I know for some of you fast and brutal won't be a problem, but if its one now, go with Leclerc, because these men are going to have to be slaughtered."

Jan grimaced slightly, but nodded to himself. A necessity, a messy practicality. Damned.

"You said three things?" Captain pointed out.

"Right." Lochlan nodded. "The other is making sure the Byzantines know what the hell is going on, but thats easy enough. All we have to do is drop a few scouts off and have them tell Mataxes what were planning."

"Are you volunteering?" Captain asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not really." Lochlan shrugged. "Though if you want me to I will. I doubt it will be as bad as some of the things you sent me to do." The Lieutenant said pointedly.

Captain just grunted, and shared a glance with Constance, who's eyes were tight, though she hid it well. Then he looked up at Jan.

"Doctor, how do you feel about a trip to Patras? I fear we may need your services for things more serious than calluses."

Jan nodded once. "No problem. It is why I am here after all. Though that means I need to find Milo for a whole lot of other stuff as well."

"Very well, last I knew he was inventorying the stores on the ships, but I don't imagine it'll be long before he is back at the camp."

"Thankyou Captain. Oh, incidentally Osman is resting. He'll live - providing no one decides to play anymore games with him." Maria scowled, and Captain grunted again. Jan started to walk away, and then stopped and wandered to where Lochlan sat,

"What is it Doctor," the tall man asked as the discussion about what to do started up again.

"A request. In the last few months I've gotten out of practise with my sword. I would rather get back in practise than dead, and I was hoping you would agree to be a sparring partner."

"Why not someone else."

"Honestly? Because fighting with a bad leg is hard. Most people don't know enough to offer anything constructive. Can't offer help on how to work around the leg. You, I imagine, can."

Lochlan thought for a moment. "Of course."

"Thank you," Jan replied, and then started to walk away. He had things to do.

March 18th, Trianda
Evening-The Camp

Jacques had left her side the moment they exited the tavern, wary and willing to give her whatever space she needed. Annette was grateful, but also disappointed. She didn't know what to say to him anymore, after so many months of saying nothing, and he, it seemed, would not supply the words.

She'd been imbued with a sudden sense of purpose, not revenge or Italy or fighting the Company's inevitable voyage to the Morea, but, very simply, very directly, going to Milo and putting the campaign in operation. It was basic and unshattering, and that's what she had needed. A task. She understood it was temporary, a brief sanctuary, and that it would do nothing to mend her. But for the next few days she could fixate, revel in what Sir Francis had called direction, that thing she would have none of in her youth. It would tide her over until it, too, faded away and set her adrift.

After the quartermaster was informed and given Captain's directions and timetable, she'd gone to the doctors and clergymen to order the medical supplies they would, again and undoubtedly, be needing. There was enough, even if, as she suspected, the Company was divided between the Morea and Rhodes. Stacks and reams of bandages, herbs, acids and knives. Even after so many years, the sight of them, the sheer number, struck at her heart. In the wagons that jogged through town to the docks, the dead were speaking. Warning the living of what was to come, of what they'd seen.

It was common for her, as the implements of healing, and most often of hopelessness, were her vision of war. But then, all at once, she saw them.

Jonasz, who was most assuredly lost, with his low eyes, the smoke of his voice admonishing them all to keep still. Roos, his face of a stoic, quietly, mournfully shaking his head, his men, all of them, a block at his back, shaking theirs in time. Tomas, Owyn, the Greeks in a mob, the Germans blood shot and rancid. Mongols, Moors, Hungarians and Italians. They watched her, silently, ghosts of solid, across the baggage line. Formed up like an army, beaten and scarred, presenting arms to the victors, a mass of Turks haggard in their triumph, limp hands on their bridles.

And at their head was Venerio lo Gratto, his the only grinning face. He looked at her, briefly and winked and vanished.

They existed only for a moment, not long enough for her to scream, but the image of it persisted beneath her eyelids as she held them tightly closed. She dropped to her knees so suddenly that the men nearby rushed to her aid, grasping her arms and fanning her face. As she opened her eyes, she watched them carefully, a half dozen becoming a dozen, all of them fresh recruits who did not know her or her position.

From the way they gazed at her, from the urgency of their questions, she guessed they did not know her husband, either. She waved them off as she stood, smiling slightly in spite of her heart, but grasped the hand holding hers. It was attached to a strong but slouching arm, that was in turn attached to an unlikely body and from there an unlikely face, which had just a moment ago been twisted in resentment. Now, there was concern and, she suspected, awe.

Sitting above his unlikely head was the unlikeliest thing of all, and it startled her.

"I think," she said, "I knew your father. He would be most displeased to learn his son is such a gentleman." Annette kissed the man's cheek as she pulled away, letting her fingers dwell a moment too long on his. She flashed him a private smile and strolled past the tavern, adrift again.

The boys began to chuckle and catcall him, but he watched her wind her way down the street in stupefaction. For the first time in his life, for the first time in his family's long history, Artur de Bloomfield couldn't think of anything to say.

March 18-FC Camp

"You wanted to know what fighting was like, Robert, here's your chance. 'Volunteers' even. heh-heh. Like any of us'll have a choice in the matter."

"It wouldn't matter if we did or not, I'm going." Robert said firmly.

"Aye, and you have a brave face about you when you say it too. We'll see what a few days of shippin' does to it." His tentmate said with a cackle.

Later that evening, Robert slipped a note to Lochlan's tent.

If it would not be too impertinent or inconvenient. I would like the opportunity to speak with you at your convenience about matters of personal import I think you would have insight to.

Of course, if this is too much of an imposition, I apologize.

Your obedient servant, Robert O'Glaigh

March 18, Evening

Maria had sat quietly, subdued by the events of the day, as others argued matters of naval strategy. She studied the map of Patras. Tough to pull off, but if we manage...

She looked up. "Captain, with your permission, I'd like to overcrew a few of my ships."

Captain looked away from Frederik and Lochlan and toward the lady sailor. "Overcrew? Why? Surely you don't think the Venetians will be able to kill your crew off, if they're as lightly manned as you say?"

"No, not at all. Quite the contrary... since they are so lightly manned, we stand a fair shot at taking a few prizes."

Captain frowned. "This is no time to be profiteering. If we're going to save Dimitris, we have to get in, and get out."

"True... but only out of port. As you say, the Turkish fleet is in the Aegean, and even with only prize crews we'll have long vanished by the time they turn up. Their army isn't going to do much to us once we're at sea. And..." she said, almost as an afterthought, "I do have to garner some profit out of all of this, you understand." Maria cast a sly grin toward Frederik, who returned it.

Lochlan nodded thoughtfully. "But won't the extra crewmen slow your ships?"

"Perhaps. But we will have the element of surprise." She gestured to the map as she spoke. "We send a first wave of ships with a full load to neutralize the galleys and clear the skiffs out of the way -- say, four or five ships. Then the second wave -- two or three ships -- follows behind with the extra crew to clean up what the first wave took care of. Then along comes the three empty ships to head into port and get Dimitris out." She looked up at Captain. "I'm sure the Knights could spare a few oarsmen and officers... might cost us a galley in repayment, but it'd be worth it." Her lip curled in a sneer. "Fewer Venetians to deal with later."

March 18th, Evening - Trianda

"... might cost us a galley in repayment, but it'd be worth it." Her lip curled in a sneer. "Fewer Venetians to deal with later." Maria's smile flashed as she detailed her plan, and for a moment Lochlan saw who she had been before she had changed, then within a moment it was gone.

"I don't see any problem with it, if the Venetians are going to break if we take a few of them that should make it easier on your crew anyway." Lochlan nodded to the sailor. "However, if push comes to shove, Ill sink their ships if taking them with us slows us down." There was no compromise in his voice.

"They won't slow us down." Maria said in a similar tone, and nodded sharply to Lochlan, not in agreement, but understanding.

Seeing Lochlan and Maria were done for the moment, Captain took the moment. "Anyone else have anything to add?"

If anyone said anything right away, Lochlan hear what it was, his mind swirled with thought for a few moments. Maybe I should turn in early, lots of work tommorow. Landen, Jan, Bloomfield, Gert...or Gerd...or whatever, Bloomfield, Landen, maybe I should get some bloody sleep. Shaking his head slightly, Lochlan brought himself back to the conversation.

Evening the Lazy Dolphin.

Frederik smiled back at her, this was the Maria he had fallen for all those months before in the harbour of Teke, decisive and sure of her self.

Lochlan looked at the assembly and Captain tried to round of the meeting, but Frederik raised a hand, “I know that they are holed up, that’s why we are rescuing them,” his voice heavy with sarcasm, “but I wasn’t talking of a land based diversion, after all what would that do? It’s their fleet that is a threat. No I was talking about making them think we are going somewhere else entirely. There is bound to be spies here, and if they see you sail of the day after tomorrow, everybody knows of the Byzantine Galley in the Harbour, then they will be able to gather their forces.”

Maria nodded, more than one successful pirate raid had been done on land based information.

Captain sighed tired with the interruptions, “so what do you suggest?”

“I don’t really care what way you do it, I have the fullest confidence in Maria, but what if you made the knights sortie their fleet at the same time, but headed for a slightly different port, say Athens?”

*********
Late night, the Camp

Johan stumbled through the dark camp after a long and delightful evening at the tavern, he smiled to him self, or rather in a room above the taproom. The young maid had been very forthcoming, but unfortunately so had her boss and now Johan had to find a way to tell Bernhard that he had indeed spend their collective pays on one evening.

He found his newfound friend in front of their tents, sitting with a small group of men, sharing a wineskin talking of the upcoming action. The former Knight took one look at his German friend and grinned,

“So I gather you didn’t stay away this long to hide your shame for failing?”

Johan grinned back, “No but you’ll have to wait another few weeks before you can pay for your own beer again.”

“You spend it all?” Johan nodded. “Oh well, hopefully it was worth it?” Johan nodded again.

The German sat down by the fire and Bernhard handed him the skin. He took a long pull, “So any news on our destination?”

“Kent was by, he seeks volunteers to the expedition, to fight on the sea.”

“On the sea?”

“Yes, I volunteer us both, perhaps you should practise your sword tomorrow, that axe might get cumbersome?”

Johan nodded sombrely, but Bernhard continued with a wicked grin, “Oh and you better say goodbye to Hannibal, no horses are going with us, we are not making landfall.”

Johan looked up, he hadn’t considered that. “No horses, are they to stay here?”

Bernhard shook his head, “No they are going to go by sea to our final destination, Italy I believe.”

Johan thought back to the dusty roads and the sea trip to Rhodes, he would have to have a long talk with both Hannibal and the grooms tomorrow.

March 18th, Evening


Geoffrey heard her long before he saw her. That well remembered shrill warble calling his name in the night. At first he thought he was mistaken and what he was hearing was the cry of some demented animal but with the second call he knew she had found him. Isabelle! How that crazy dark eyed frizzled haired woman had tracked him down to the Free Company he didn’t know but he couldn’t let her see him. If he stayed out of sight and got off the island quickly there was still a chance of escaping her dementedly erotic coupling rituals.

Hearsay within rumors were exchanged throughout the camp and what filtered down to the lowest of the low was that volunteers were being called for a dangerous mission. Geoffrey pondered his choices with the cold deliberation of a master mathematician trying to solve one of Claudius Ptolemy’s conundrums on mathematical astronomy. On one hand he had a demon woman trying to suck out his soul in a frequent and admittedly pleasurable way. On the other was a dangerous sally to Patras with death on all sides. The next shrill GEOFRREYYYYY from the dark forcibly propelled him in a desperate search for Sergeant Baer and a place on the coming expedition.

March 18th, late night. The camp.

Bernhard felt a sting of jealousy as he knew Johan would be sitting in the tavern enjoying himself.

Instead, Bernhard was stuck in front of a fire with some other company members. They were all excited about rumours of travelling. Bernhard perhaps more so than anyone else. Earlier, he had snuck out of camp just to try and find his beloved girl one last time. Alas, she was nowhere to be seen.

The prospect of sailing was appealing to Bernhard. He didn't at all mind spending time at sea. He was wickedly looking forward to seeing Johan bent over the rails of a ship, though. He must've smiled, as the man beside him looked at him in a funny way when he passed the skin.

"What's so funny, mister Bernhard?", he said.
"Oh, nothing, really. Just looking forward to the sea journey"
"Well, I'm not. I remember us fighting some damned pirates last time..."
"Pirates?"
"Aye! Nasty fellows, they were"

Bernhard remembered the pirates; he had been on the Hospitallier fleet then. No reason to tell these people, though.

Johan stumbling through the camp brought Bernhard back to the present. He grinned in the dark, and shouted:

“So I gather you didn’t stay away this long to hide your shame for failing?”

Johan grinned back, “No but you’ll have to wait another few weeks before you can pay for your own beer again.”

“You spend it all?” Johan nodded. “Oh well, hopefully it was worth it?” Johan nodded again.

The German sat down by the fire and Bernhard handed him the skin. He took a long pull, “So any news on our destination?”

“Kent was by, he seeks volunteers to the expedition, to fight on the sea.”

“On the sea?”

“Yes, I volunteer us both, perhaps you should practise your sword tomorrow, that axe might get cumbersome?”

Johan nodded sombrely, but Bernhard continued with a wicked grin, “Oh and you better say goodbye to Hannibal, no horses are going with us, we are not making landfall.”

Johan looked up, as Bernhard thought, he hadn’t considered that. “No horses, are they to stay here?”

Bernhard shook his head, “No, they are going to go by sea to our final destination, Italy I believe.”


"Come on, you'll see Hannibal again soon. Consider the fresh sea breeze, my good man! It'll be splendid!". Bernhard felt uplifted. Rhodes would soon be history. And history was, if nothing else, easier to forget than the present.

18 March 1440 - Camp in the late evening

The handsignals were simple enough. They weren't terribly different than what he used with his own men; there was just significantly more of them to know. It was mentally challenging for a few. For most it was practicing something they had done instinctively for years.

It was like that for any soldier returning from the field. The return to passive duties, drill, and procedure was a bland and frustrating environment compared to that of the field. There was no tension, no palpable threat on life or death. The tedium would numb the bones and the mind. Inevitably, pursuits started. And the first was always gossip.

The word was floating from somewhere that volunteers were being sought out. Every man was discussing it, and the volunteers sought changed with every man. Some thought archers, others blades, others stealth, and then that German with the bad arms kept talking about cavalry. Of course the mission ranged from spying to killing the Sultan to rescuing a princess. One enterprising man even thought it was to liberate the treasury.

"Enough! Everyone to their tents. Rest hard, you're going to need it tomorrow." Slowly the rangers gathered themselves and moved towards their tents, gossiping unabated. In a few minutes fires glowed and the gossping had turned into storytelling.

"So where are we to sleep, hmm?"

"In the campaign tent Fop, less to deal with on the morrow." Landen turned towards the tent. Alain followed silently. When they arrived a cheery fire was going, made with an ember stolen from Pierce's forge. They greeted the others and entered the tent.

"So what do you think of this mission?" Alain sat on a crate and swung his boots up onto another. Landen picked up a lamp and exited the tent, returning shortly with it's candle lit.

"Have mulled it over some. Lochlan said it's Petras."

Alain leaned back and closed his eyes. "Rescue mission?"

"So he says. Thoughts?"

"We don't have the strength to go head to head with a full Turkish army. This group is maybe a quarter of what they were before the fall." Landen nodded and began running a stone over his dagger. "Beyond that, I can't see any reason to hold Petras. And if you hold Petras, you have to hold most of the isle."

"I'm of the mind that this is an in and out job."

"I'd hope so."

"I'm going to anticipate a small force landing, enough to hold the area while the rescue takes place. Unless the Turks are after someone with alot of value to them, this should be conscripts with a few mercenaries for experience." Landen put the stone down and looked at the blade edge in the candlelight.

"So who is going?"

"I don't know. I suspect Lochlan will pick who he wants. Maybe half a dozen. The rest will probably be in the screening force. I can't see the horses or longarms going." For a moment Landen outlined possibilties, contingencies, things that could go wrong. And then he stopped. Alain sat up and looked at him.

"What's wrong?"

The grin appeared, along with the bright burning green eyes. "It's funny I suppose. For the first time in ages, I don't get to make the decisions." Alain looked at Landen quizzically. "I'm not in charge. All I can do is plan for what might happen and react accordingly."

"Happy with what you've got us into?" Alain chuckled and stood. "Well Sergeant, I feel the urge to write a letter. If you'll excuse me." The Alsatian turned towards the stacked personal chests.

"No time Fop." Landen sheathed his knife and stood. "We're going for a walk in the woods."

-----------------------------------

Some time later the rangers were mostly assembled and divided into groups of three. Most were still passably awake, the energy of the impending departure and the wild gossip feeding their bodies with anticipation. Some fought slumber from their eyes, and a few struggled to see through the effects of the tavern's ale. Landen suspected the missing hands were probably still there.

"The target to scout is Pastida, about two hours walk to the southeast. Map it, with names, guards, lamps, patrols. Be back before dawn. No grousing, you were all standing about gossiping and favor culling anyway. If you're caught by a patrol or a watchman, then you're out of luck. I will be moving among you, and it's possible the officers might grace you with their presence as well. You have been warned. Move!"

The rangers turned and began walking towards the road next to camp. A few commented on the madness of a night run, most were silent. As they neared the road, Will spoke up. "This is bloody crazy. What does he think he's doing?" A few voices grumbled in agreement. "What is with your Sergeant Landen anyway?" Will was looking at Bretrand.

"You do realize he's never been to Pastida before?"

---------------------------------

Landen waited until the rangers were on the road. Then he left instructions with Pierce to inform Lochlan or any of the officers where they were headed, and they'd be back by dawn. He tore into a chest and removed a grey-brown hooded cloak. Then he began to run.

It would be close, but he should have just enough time to scout before the rangers arrived. At least as long as none were in a hurry to do their task.

The Tavern

Shur'tu half listened to the discussion on naval tactics. He was still contemplating going in without his horses. It made sense. It would be faster and give them more time to train the unit as whole. Still he found it distasteful. Half of the time I've been with the Free Company, I have fought without a steed.

Lochlan's words echoed in the steppelander's head. I know for some of you fast and brutal won't be a problem, but if its one now, go with LeClerc, because these men are going to have to slaughtered.

No problem here ranger, but I think you know that. Fast and brutal. That is the Mongol way.

Shur'tu continued to ponder who he would bring. His men were of course a given. The Moors were skilled with a bow, even if it was a crossbow, and a sword. They would go. The Europeans were a mixed bag at best. Shur'tu wondered about Jean and his Italians. It may be best if they stay behind. They are not yet properly trained.

The Mongol was so lost in his own thoughts that he was startled when Captain snapped, "Enough. I'll go see Jean de Lastic and Thomas Palaeologus in Rhodes first thing in the morning. If they agree, then we shall use it. If they don't, it changes nothing. Agreed?"

The other officers nodded, and Captain left, his woman close behind.

Shur'tu stood himself. “I must arrange my men and inform them we will not be using our mounts.” Shur'tu's face said volumes about how he felt about that, even though he knew it was the right way to do things. The Mongol left before anyone could speak and he headed to gather up his jaghuns.

Gao, Wut'tu, Omar, and Jean quickly gathered around Shur'tu.

“We leave in two days, but all of us will not be going. We will only fight from the ships. There will be no pikemen and no horses.” The cavalry men all stirred. “Archers and swords are all that is needed.

Gao, gather our men, they are all going. Omar, take an account of your men. Anyone not skilled with bow ... er, crossbow or sword stays behind. The rest of you come with us. Jean, you and your Italians will be going with LeClerc to Ancona. We will rejoin you when the fighting is done.”

Jean was trying to keep his temper in check. Slowly the Frenchman rose to his feet and began to speak in a deliberate but forceful tone.

March 18th, The Lazy Dolphin

With Captain's departure, Maria rose, Frederik at her side. She nodded to the remaining officers, rolling up the outspread map as she spoke. "Well, it would seem we all have work to do, gentlemen. I will see you on the ships two days hence, if not before." She looked past them to Yorgos the barkeep, who was keeping one eye on the group; her words were directed to them all, though. "And, my... apologies for the... incident earlier," she muttered. She gave the assembly a nod, gave Frederik a faint smile, and together the two departed.

Outside the tavern, Maria was surprised to see a figure leaning against a horse post. He took a swig from a flask. Odd. Most do their drinking inside. A few more steps, and she saw it was the doctor, Jan. He spied Maria at the same moment, and turned away.

"Do not concern yourself," she called out as she untied her horse. "I'm not off to kill your patient."

"He will live," Jan replied, turning back to the couple, "no thanks to you."

Maria took a long stride, halving the distance between them. "Do not become too attached to your Turk, doctor," she snarled. "He will meet his end, soon, and rightly so. I will make sure of that. If you knew what he did in Constantinople..." She shook her head. "Come, Frederik." Maria swung herself up into the saddle and the pair were off.

Maria took a long stride, halving the distance between them. "Do not become too attached to your Turk, doctor," she snarled. "He will meet his end, soon, and rightly so. I will make sure of that. If you knew what he did in Constantinople..." She shook her head. "Come, Frederik." Maria swung herself up into the saddle and the pair were off.

Jan spat onto the street as he watched the bitch ride away. What did she know? War wasn't the place for niceties, and if she thought so she was living in a dreamland. Certainly though there were elements here he did not know. It would be something he would have to ask someone about, if he had time. But by acting this way why did she think she had the right to claim she was any better?

He stood up, faltering slightly before steadying. "Why don't I retire?" he asked of the night, and wandered off.

Evening, outside the lazy Dolphin,

Frederik and Maria had been riding for a while in silence when Frederik suddenly pulled at the reins and turned the horse around. Maria stopped her horse in surprise,

“What are you doing?”

“Just thought of something, go on to Rhodes I’ll be back in a few hours.” He sketched a wave and rode back towards the camp.

Maria looked after him curious as to his sudden change of mind.

Frederik headed towards camp in a roundabout way, finally getting to the entrance, he stopped the first and best soldier he could find, “where can I find Lt. Lochlan?” The soldier gestured in the direction of the Rangers and Frederik spurred his horse on.

He found Lochlan on his way through camp. “Lochlan a moment please?”

“Now what? I thought you left for Rhodes?”

“Not yet, could you do me a favor?”

“Only if you stop pestering Captain.” Frederik grinned at the answer and Lochlan’s lips twitched ever so lightly, “All right what do you need?”

“Will you let me know if you hear anything about Johan, that man-at-arms that came a few weeks ago?”

Lochlan thought back, he remembered, the man had made Frederik react. “All right, will you tell me why you are interested?”

“No,” Frederik sketched a salute and turned the horse back towards Rhodes.

********

Late night the Camp.

Johan looked curiously at Bernhard, “No I’m not worried about the sea, was only sick the first two days on my way here, I’m worried about Hannibal, on the way here, I had to stay down in the holds calming him for most of the journey.

Bernhard grinned, “Poor grooms then.”

Johan nodded, “especially if something happens to him.”

He took another drink of the skin, “So, you never did tell me how you got here? There seems to be some story behind that?”

March 18th, Night - The Camp

Lochlan thought back, he remembered, the man had made Frederik react. “All right, will you tell me why you are interested?”

“No,” Frederik sketched a salute and turned the horse back towards Rhodes.

Lochlan let out a low whistle as the merchant walked away. It must be important if he saluted. Then the lieutenant turned and headed back, deeper into the camp.

It was quiet, the news had obviously gotten around fast, and the veterans were most likely contemplating it with a keen eye, while the recruits were unsure, and so aid just as little.

He glanced up at the clear sky, and for just a moment, he saw the stars wheeling above him, and he smiled, for just a moment.

Lochlan threaded through camp, he passed groups of cavalrymen talking, infantrymen cleaning their weapons, archers sifting thought their arrows, looking for the tiny imperections that developed over time.

I wonder if anyone else senses the change. Last night this was a training camp, and now, now you'd think were on the eve of battle.

He waved to some of the recruits he had himself signed up, he could see Shur'tu having a somewhat impassioned discussion with his troop of light cavalry in the distance, and the ranger waved to his mongol comrade.

Things were busy elsewhere, Lochlan exchanged greetings with Fyrsil, as the youngest of the Lieutenants readied his men. "Relax Fyrsil, Captain and I have faith in you." He told his friend as they parted.

He could see Baers recruits all in a bunch, mostly sitting as if too tired to move. Lochlan's eyes went flat for a moment. The more training they got now, the more likely for then to survive. Wait, aren't John and Dieter supposed to be with them? Lochlan shrugged, he would deal with it in the morning if it came up.

The Lieutenant reached his tent, and stopped to pick up a note. tossing it onto the small table that was one of his few field possessions, he sat down, and lit the lantern he used. As was his custom, he left the tent flap open, and let the light spill out. As long as he was awake, his ear was open to any company man.

I have a few hours yet, might as well use them. The ranger reached into leather haversack, and pulled forth a worn book. Leafing through it, he found his place.

"Ahh, the note." He said aloud. He opened it, and scanned the contents. It'll have to wait til tommorow then, Landen has them out tonight.

"Relax Fyrsil, Captain and I have faith in you."

"Thanks.", Fyrsil replied vainly, for Lochlan was already gone.

His unit was as ready as ever, though some of the finer points of organization would require further training. He had not tarried at the tavern. The matter at hand required his soberness and attention.

We need to practice formations to have those skilled in using the sword at the front in case the infantry doesn't hold.

19th, the camp, late night very early morning

Johan was awake early, the night had been late because of the barmaid and the stories, but not particularly drunk. He walked over to the stables and fetched Hannibal. It was still very early and nobody was around. He quietly saddled the horse, but left all the gear and armour in his tent.

Once outside the camp he nudged the big horse into a slow trot, then as they cleared the small town, into a canter. He had decided to exhaust the big beast a little before their talk, figuring that this would be the only exercise for the horse in a couple of weeks.

They followed the coast, the road gently undulating up and down through still sleeping fishing villages and up into the low coastal mountains. The sun was barely up and part of the road still in shadow. Mindful of how hot the day would be Johan hadn’t brought any warm clothes, and he soon regretted that. Shivering in the cold his thoughts went back over the last couple of weeks, how easily he had made friends with Bernhard and how little he had seen of Frederik.

He had heard all kinds of wild stories from the veterans about the Dane as they called, wondering what was truth and what was gossip. How strange it was how their roads had been so different since they were young together, and yet here they where on the same island, in pay of the same mercenary band. Or not, the persistent rumour had it that Frederik didn’t work for Captain as much as with him, or perhaps around him, affiliated somehow, but not completely a part of the Free Company. He smiled, so much like the Frederik he knew, around and yet not a complete part of the surroundings.

They had cleared the coastal mountains and the small sleepy towns, placed out of reach of marauding pirates near the coast, had given way to small farming communities and the odd monastery or small manor house. The road now demanded more of his attention as it began winding into the wilderness twisting and turning around bends and often walled in with ancient walls of stone.

He slowed down the horse as the road got steeper and soon there were no signs of humans except from the odd flock of sheep. He leaned over the neck and whispered into the great mount’s ear,

“Hannibal”

The horse neighed softly.

“We are going to go sailing again.”

The horse didn’t miss a beat but shook it’s great head.

“This is an island, we have to.”

No response this time.

“I’m not coming with you, I have to let the grooms take you, but we’ll meet again once the sailing is done.”

No response, but the horse picked up speed, Johan sighed and leaned into the saddle resigned to ride it out.

It was late morning when they finally returned to camp, Hannibal doggedly walking through the camp, covered in sweat and foam and Johan covered in caked dust. He dismounted and picked up a whisk of straw and slowly started to wipe the horse down, while gently whistling. Bernhard dropeed by,

“Out for a morning ride?”

Johan nodded, but didn’t stop whistling,

“Did you two reach an agreement?

Hannibal neighed softly and tossed his head.

Montague sighed, and tried explaining the situation to Slow John again, speaking as though to a child. "No, John, look. Captain Maria says that we're not going to Alexandria anymore. Understand? Not."

John nodded, slowly, uncertainly. "Alright, Monty."

"So we need to take these furs back to the warehouse, OK? Back."

John bit his lip. "But the other day, you said 'move these furs to the ships, John.' You said that."

"Yes, I said that, but now..." Monty groaned with exasperation. He didn't know how long he had been going around with John on the subject, but he could see that the wagon loading had already been finished. "Listen, just take the wagon back to the warehouse, OK, John? They'll know what to do."

John nodded again. "Alright, Monty." He plodded off towards the cart.

Montague gritted his teeth and let out a long wheeze. "I tell you, it's barely worth keeping that oaf around."

His assistant, Max, shook his head. "C'mon, Monty, be a bit gen'rous, 'ey? Ye know 'e's not been right since he took that 'ead wound in Constantinople. Any'ow, 'e's still strong as an ox, if not quite as quick as 'e once was. 's not everyone kin be a wit like you 'r I."

* * *

Victoria snorted and shook her head. John reached up to pat the mighty beast's black neck. "There, there," he murmured soothingly. "I know, the flies are bad today. I'll brush your mane later." The horse rolled its eyes at the deckhand and stomped in response. Nodding with satisfaction, John clambered aboard the wagon and snapped the reins.

The horses had just gotten to a good clip when a man staggered in front of them wielding a sword. For the life of him, John couldn't understand why anyone would walk in front of a quartet of moving horses and a fully loaded wagon.

* * *

Intent though he was on his prey, Osman froze as he heard the clatter of hooves, the creak of the wagon's wheel. He turned toward the sound, his single open eye taking in the onrushing horses, the driver barely beginning to comprehend the situation, the massive wagon loaded to the brim with crates. There were shouts, distantly, a flurry of other noises, but they hardly mattered. He saw the lead horses rear up, their flashing hooves kicking at him. They were death, and he was ready. Allah, most merciful, you have delivered me...

And then he was traveling sideways, sideways and down. He caught a glimpse of Maria, her face a wild storm of emotions, far too close. Did I make it? Perhaps I got her. And then, without understanding, he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head and dropped back into unconsciousness.

* * *

Maria opened her eyes and saw nothing but the shattered face of Osman below her. It didn't make sense to her. She had spotted the prisoner -- her prisoner -- coming for them, had shoved Jacques and Annette aside, tugging at her sword. Then she had spied the horses, and...

She propped herself up and away from the figure, recoiling in revulsion. She choked back a sob. He was coming to kill us, but the horses... they would have killed him. He would have died, and I... Someone was next to her, trying to help her to her feet. She staggered up. I saved him. She pressed her fingers to her side, and they came back with a streak of blood. Osman's stolen blade had apparently nicked her.

Maria was shocked to discover the figure at her elbow was not Frederik, but was instead Artur de Bloomfielde. She shoved him rudely away, then pulled him back by his shirt-front, transplanting the smear of blood to his rumpled clothes. "Get him aboard," she mumbled, gesturing with her free hand at the unconscious Turk. "Now."

She turned and surveyed the scene. The wagon had twisted out of control and capsized -- fell over -- onto the dock, scattering its cargo everywhere. One of the horses, a great muscular black one, had been dragged down with it, and now whinnied piteously under the wagon's weight. Leaving Artur and Osman behind, Maria stumbled toward the wreck along with the rest of the bystanders, and she had to shove her way through the throng. Remarkably, no one apart from the horse seemed to have been hurt. Except...

She didn't know Slow John in any meaningful way, but she recognized him, and suppressed a squeak when she saw his body. He had been thrown clear of the wagon, and lay unmoving on the cobbles of the wharf. His head was twisted at an unreasonable angle and left little doubt as to his fate.

Maria gripped the tunic of the nearest person -- it was LeClerc. "Help him," she pleaded. "I beg you, help him." The mercenary lieutenant waved Jan toward the body, and then directed Maria into Frederik's arms. The merchant-turned-agent led her toward her flagship, passing by Janos, the commander of her marines. She waved him forward.

"Prepare to sail," she croaked. As she said the words, she could feel the wisps of her consciousness slipping away. Maria collapsed backwards into Frederik's arms. Perhaps the Turk got me after all, she thought.

END OF CHAPTER ONE