Through the Darkness

“Place is called Hagenow,” Panfilo told him. “Not that I care, as long as the lines in front of the brothels don’t stretch around the block, and as long as they’ve got plenty of popskull in the taverns.”

Trasone nodded. Strong spirits and loose women ... he was hard pressed to think of anything else he required from a leave in the rear areas. After a moment, though, he did. “Be nice to go to sleep and not worry about waking up with my throat cut.”

“And that’s true, too,” Panfilo said. “If the dice are hot, I’ll win enough silver to make myself armor out of it when I go back.”

“In your dreams,” Trasone said, and then, remembering proper military etiquette, “In your dreams, Sergeant.”

They marched along in silence for a while, two weary, filthy men in a battalion full of soldiers just as weary and just as filthy. From somewhere up ahead, Major Spinello’s bright tenor came drifting back on the breeze. Somehow or other, Spinello kept the energy to sing a dirty song. Trasone envied him without wanting to imitate him.

Something else came drifting back on the breeze, too: a stink of unwashed humanity worse than that rising from the soldiers, along with a strong reek of nasty slit trenches. “Phew!” Trasone said, and coughed. “If that’s Hagenow, the Unkerlanters are welcome to it. I don’t remember that it smelled all that bad when we went through it before.”

“Neither do I.” Panfilo peered ahead, shading his eyes--not that that did much against the dust. Then he pointed. “Look there, Trasone, in that barley field. That’s not Hagenow, not yet. We haven’t gone over the little river in front of it. So what in blazes is that? I’d take oath it wasn’t here when we headed west over this stretch of road.”

“So would I.” Trasone narrowed his eyes, also trying to pierce the dust. After a little while, he grunted. “It’s not a town--it’s a captives’ camp.”

“Ah, you’re right,” Panfilo said. The guards and the palisade around the place helped make its nature clear ... or so it seemed. Then a gate opened so more people could go into the camp.

Trasone grunted again. “Those aren’t Unkerlanters--they’re blonds.” His laugh was nasty. “Well, I don’t expect they’ll be in there stinking up the place all that long. And when they go, I hope our mages give Swemmel’s whoresons a good kick in the balls with their life energy.”

“That’s the truth,” Panfilo agreed. “If it weren’t for the Kaunians, we wouldn’t have a war. That’s what everybody says, anyhow, so it’s likely right.”

“Well, by the time this war’s over, there won’t be a whole lot of Kaunians left,” Trasone said. “Maybe that means the next one’ll be a long time coming. Hope so.”

Half an hour later, they got into Hagenow. It was more than a village and less than a city, and had taken a beating when the Algarvians managed to drive the Unkerlanters out of it. Not many Unkerlanters were on the streets now. The ones who were flinched away from the Algarvian soldiers. As far as Trasone was concerned, that was how things were supposed to be.

Major Spinello turned to his men. “Listen, you rogues, I expect you to leave bits and pieces of this town still standing so the next gang of soldiers coming in have somewhere to enjoy themselves, too. Past that, have yourselves a time. Me, I aim to screw myself dizzy.” And off he went, plainly intent on doing just that.

“He’s got it easy,” Trasone said, a little jealous. “He won’t have to stand in line at an officers’ brothel.”

“He pulls his weight,” Panfilo said. “We’ve had plenty of worse officers over us, and cursed few better ones. Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”

“Can’t do it,” Trasone admitted. He pointed to the queue in front of the closest brothel for ordinary troopers. It wasn’t quite so long as Panfilo had feared, but it wasn’t what anybody would call short. “Can’t get my ashes hauled right away, either. Might as well pour down some spirits first.”

An Algarvian soldier served as tapman in a tavern that had surely belonged to an Unkerlanter before Mezentio’s army swept into and then past Hagenow.

Trasone wondered what had happened to the Unkerlanter, but not for long. “What have you got?” he demanded when he elbowed his way up to the bar.

“Ale or spirits,” the fellow answered. “Wasn’t much wine in town, and the officers have it all.”

“Let me have a slug of spirits, then,” Trasone told him, “and some ale to chase it.” The tapman gave him what he asked for. He knocked back the spirits, then put out the fire in his gullet with the ale. Before other thirsty troopers could shove him away from the bar, he got a refill.

He thought about drinking till he couldn’t stand up any more. He thought about getting into a dice game, too. Three or four were going on in the tavern. But he had other things on his mind. He looked around for Panfilo, but didn’t see him--maybe the sergeant had other things on his mind, too.