The Red Knight

Sir Ricar Fitzroy fingered his beard. ‘You Grace, she’s got a head on her shoulders. She’ll still be faster, and she’ll carry a great deal more food and fodder than a wagon convoy.’

The constable sat back on his charger and put a fist in the small of his back. ‘Am I the only man who thinks he’s too old for all this?’ he said. ‘Your Grace, I propose that we fall back along the line of the river until we link with the Queen. We only have five days’ rations – we’re short on meat already, and the woods are scoured of animals. The Royal Huntsmen – begging your Grace’s pardon – aren’t bringing in enough game to feed the Royal Household.’

The Count of the Borders agreed. ‘No need to rush to a fight,’ he said. ‘Not with the Wild.’

The Earl of Towbray shook his head. ‘The fortress could fall,’ he said.

‘Lissen Carak will stand or fall,’ the constable said. He looked around, and lowered his voice. ‘My lords, we carry the weight of the kingdom on our shoulders. If we lose this army there is no new army to replace it.’

‘Albinkirk is all but in cinders,’ the king answered. ‘I will not lose the Fortress of the North, as well.’

‘We need food,’ the constable argued. ‘We planned to resupply from the magazine at Albinkirk. Or to find the drove coming south from the Hills and buy their beef.’

‘Can we last five days?’ the king said. ‘And how long can the fortress last?’

Jean de Vrailly rose in his stirrups. ‘Bah,’ he said. ‘The men can last without food. Let us find the enemy,’ he said.

The Albins looked at him wearily.

‘Let us finally face these creatures!’ the captal insisted.

The Lord of Bain didn’t comment. He merely raised an eyebrow.

The king’s friend, Ser Driant, scowled. ‘I’m not the hardiest warrior, and I’m well known to these gentlemen as a lover of my dram.’ He leaned forward towards the captal. ‘But we are not going to risk the king’s host on a battle where we have unfed horses.’

Jean de Vrailly sneered. ‘Of course, you must be cautious,’ he said.

The constable narrowed his eyes. ‘Yes, my lord. That is exactly what we must be. We must be cautious. We must fight on ground of our choosing, with a well-ordered host in tight array, with secure flanks and a defensible camp to which we can retreat if it all goes awry. We must take every possible advantage over our foes. This is not a game, nor a tournament, my lord. This is war.’

‘You lecture me?’ Jean de Vrailly allowed his charger to take two heavy-footed steps toward the constable.

The constable raised an eyebrow. ‘I do, my lord. You seem to need it.’

The king nodded. ‘The captal’s willingness to go forward is noted, but I sense my constable would rather dig in here and wait for the Queen. Is that your thought?’

The constable nodded. ‘It is. I expect to hear from the Prior in the next day. It would be foolish to move forward without word from our most trusted knights.’

Jean de Vrailly’s anger was palpable.

Gaston put a hand on his arm and his head snapped around like a falcon’s.

Gaston met his wild gaze.

‘And let us at least travel south of the river. Our best information places the enemy on the north bank.’ The constable was openly begging the king to take these measures, and Gaston felt for him.

The captal made a grunt of contempt for such precautions. ‘If the enemy is on the north bank,’ he said with patronising and deliberate offence, ‘surely it is our duty as knights to be on the north bank to contend with them?’

But there were quite a few nods of agreement in favour of the south bank, so the king smiled gracefully at the Galle and turned to his knights. ‘We cross back to the south bank,’ he said. ‘It is my will. We will encamp and dig a fortification on the south bank of the Cohocton, and throw out a heavy screen of prickers and pedites.’

‘So cautious,’ de Vrailly spat.

‘It is my will,’ the king said. He didn’t lose his smile.

Gaston had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Lissen Carak – Michael

Michael sat and wrote by strong afternoon light.

The Siege of Lissen Carak. Day Ten.