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The army camped that night at the fork and Albrec and Avila were invited to the marshal’s tent. They ducked under the leather flap and found Barbius awaiting them, but he was not alone. Also there were Joshelin and Siward, and a young officer they did not recognize.
“Take a seat, Fathers,” Barbius said with what passed for affability with him. “We soldiers will stand. Joshelin and Siward you know. They have been your . . . guardian angels for some time now. This is Formio, my adjutant.” Formio was a tall, slim man of about thirty. He seemed almost boyish compared to his comrades, though perhaps this was because he lacked the traditional bull-like build of most Fimbrians.
“We have come to the parting of the ways,” Barbius went on. “In the morning the column will continue toward Orma
Albrec chanced a look at Joshelin, that grizzled campaigner, and was rewarded with a glare. Clearly, the old soldier was not enamoured of the idea. He remained silent, however.
“Thank you,” the little monk said to Barbius.
The marshal poured some wine into the tin cups that were all to be had in camp. He and the two monks sipped at it, while Formio, Joshelin and Siward sat staring into space with the peculiar vacancy of soldiers awaiting orders. There was a long, awkward silence. Clearly, Marshal Barbius was not a believer in small-talk. He seemed preoccupied, as if half his mind were elsewhere. His adjutant, too, seemed subdued, even for a Fimbrian. It was as if the two of them were burdened with some secret knowledge they dare not share.
“It only remains for me then to wish you Godspeed and good travelling,” Barbius said finally. “I rejoice to see you both in such good health, after your travails. I hope you find journey’s end what you wish it to be. I hope we all do . . .” He stared into his cup. In the dim tent the wine within seemed black as old blood.
“I will not keep you from your sleep then, Fathers. That is all.” And he turned from them to the table, dismissing them from his mind. Joshelin and Siward filed out silently. Avila looked furious at the curt dismissal but he drained his wine, muttered something about ma
“Is the news from the dyke bad, Marshal?” he asked.
Barbius turned as though surprised to find him still there. “That is a matter for the military authorities of the world,” he said wryly.
“What should I say to the Toru
“The Toru
“The dispatches I send out daily will have kept them up to date,” Barbius said gruffly. He hesitated. There was some enormous pressure on him; Albrec could sense it.
“What has happened, Marshal?” the little monk asked in a low voice.
“The dyke is already lost,” Barbius said at last. “The Toru
Albrec was thunderstruck. “But why? Has it been attacked?”
“Not as such. But a large Merduk army has arrived on the Toru
“What is the strength of this second army?” Albrec asked.
“Perhaps a hundred thousand men,” Barbius said tonelessly.
“But that’s preposterous!” Albrec protested. “You have only a twentieth of that here. It’s suicide.”
“We are Fimbrian soldiers,” Formio said, as if that explained everything.
“You’ll be massacred!”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Barbius said. “In any case, my orders are clear. My superiors approve. The army will move south-east to block the Merduk advance from the coast. Mayhap we will remind the west how Fimbrians conduct themselves on the battlefield.”
He turned away. Albrec realized he knew he was ordering his men to their deaths.
“I will pray for you,” the little monk said haltingly.
“Thank you. Now, Father, I wish to be alone with my adjutant. We have a lot to do before morning.”
Albrec left the tent without another word.
FIVE
P OWER is a strange thing, the lady Jemilla thought. It is intangible, invisible. It can sometimes be bought and sold like grain, at other times no amount of money on earth can purchase it.
She had some power now, some small store of it to wield as she saw fit. For a woman in the world she had been born into, it was impossible to possess the trappings of power as men possessed them. Armies, fleets, ca
She held the lives of two men in the palm of her hand, and that power had gained her her freedom. Allowing herself to be taken by the two guards had been unpleasant but necessary. She blocked out of her mind the acts she had performed for them in the dark firelight of her chambers, and reminded herself instead that with one word she could have them hung. It was not permitted for palace guards to couple with noble ladies in their care. They knew it—they had done so as soon as their lust was spent and she had risen from the bed still shining with their effluent, laughing at them. Which was why she was free to wander the palace whenever one of them was on duty outside her door.
Such a simple thing. It worked with common soldiers as easily as it worked with kings.
It was well after midnight, and she was prowling the palace corridors like a wraith wrapped in hooded silk. She was looking for Abeleyn.
The Royal chambers were guarded, of course, but there were untold numbers of secret passageways and tu