‘That man’s no model for anything,’ she snapped. ‘Think of your father. He was brave, none braver, but between your grandfather’s treason and the weakness of Angland when he took charge, he learned to be patient. He knew what he was good at. He never had too high an opinion of himself.’
‘You’re saying I do?’
Jurand cleared his throat again and Leo’s mother laughed. ‘You know I love you, Leo, but yes, painfully so. Still, it’s hardly a surprise you turned out hotheaded. You were conceived on a battlefield.’
Leo caught Glaward and Barniva grinning at each other and felt himself blushing. ‘Do you have to, Mother?’
‘I don’t have to. Honestly, every generation seems to think coupling is some grand new invention never thought of before. How they believe they came into being in the first place is entirely beyond me. High time you found a wife of your own. Someone to keep you out of trouble.’
‘I thought that was your job,’ he grumbled.
‘I have a war to fight.’
‘That’s the problem. You’re not bloody fighting.’
‘Did you never read that Verturio I gave you? Not fighting is what war’s all about.’ And taking the last word, as ever, she trotted off westwards with her retinue following.
Jurand cleared his throat yet again and Leo rounded on him. ‘Could you just bloody cough and get it over with?’
‘Well, the lady governor always makes some very good points. And you really should read Verturio—’
‘She’s only governor until the king confirms me in my father’s place.’ Three years since the funeral, and Leo was still bloody waiting. He glared across the valley at those bastard Northmen, watching from their ridge. ‘Then I can do things my way.’
‘Mmm.’ Jurand had that worried crease between his brows again.
‘Whose side are you on?’
‘The Union side, along with you and your mother.’
Leo couldn’t help grinning. ‘Very reasonable, as always.’
Jurand grinned back. ‘Someone needs to be.’
‘Reasonable men might live longer.’ Leo pulled his gloves off and tossed them over, left Jurand juggling them as he swung down from his saddle. ‘But does anyone remember the bastards afterwards?’
The drummer boy at the head of the next company had given up playing altogether, shambling along with knees knocking against his drum, teeth chattering from the cold. He looked up as Leo came close and snatched his white hands from his armpits, but fumbled his sticks and sent them tumbling to the dirt.
Leo stooped and plucked them up before the boy could bend, gripped them in his teeth while he shrugged off his cloak and offered it out. ‘I’ll swap you.’
‘My lord?’ The boy could hardly believe his luck as he wriggled from the strap of his drum and swaddled himself in several dozen marks’ worth of best Midderland wool.
Barniva had hopped down from his horse, smiling for once as he fell into step with the soldiers. Now Glaward and Jurand joined him, too, Whitewater Jin shaking his shaggy head but showing that grin as he muscled into the column.
‘I’ll just take the bloody horses back, then, shall I?’ called Antaup, struggling to gather the reins.
‘Mine’s a mare!’ shouted Glaward. ‘You’re always saying how much the ladies love you!’
Some laughter through the column at that. The first in some time, by the look of things. Leo settled the drumsticks in his fingers, just like he used to when he marched the servants around the lord governor’s residence as a boy.
A leader should share the hardships of his men, his father used to tell him. He’d have a dry tent, a warm fire and a good dinner this evening, while they’d be lucky to get a blanket and a bowl of soup. But if he could put a little spring in their step on the way, it would be something. Something for them, and something for him. Something to show those bastards on the hill.
That, and Leo had always been the worst man in the world when it came to doing nothing.
‘I’ll try to remember how to play,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘if you lot can remember how to march!’
‘I’m no genius like Jurand,’ called Glaward, turning so he was trotting backwards, ‘but as I recall, it’s one foot after the other!’
‘We’ll give it a try, my lord!’ called a thickset sergeant, the men already moving faster.
Leo smiled as he started to tap out the rhythm. ‘That’s all I ask.’
The Moment
‘You asleep?’
‘No,’ grunted Clover. Only sort of a lie, since he had in fact just woken up. ‘Shut my eyes, is all.’
‘Why?’
He opened one and peered up at the boy. Hard to say which he was, with the sun flickering through the branches. Specially since Clover had forgotten their names again. ‘So I don’t have to see the injury you two are doing to the noble art of swordsmanship.’
‘Doing the best we can,’ grumbled the other boy, whichever one he was.
‘That’ll be a comfort to your mothers when you’re killed for not attending to my wisdom.’ Clover let his hand hover over the basket of apples, then plucked out one he liked the look of. Nice blush to it. He took a bite and sucked out the juice.
‘Tart,’ he said, baring his teeth, ‘but tolerable. Like life, eh, lads? Like life.’ They stared at him blankly. He heaved a weary sigh. ‘Back to it, then.’
They shambled unhappily out into the sun and turned to face each other.
‘Yah!’ The dark one dashed in, swinging his stick.
‘Urgh!’ The blond one parried, stumbling back.
Clack, clack, as the sticks knocked together. Coo, coo, went a cuckoo in the trees behind. Somewhere men were arguing over something, but so far off their voices were no more than a comforting burble. Clover wedged one hand behind his neck and wriggled back against the tree.
Sometimes, it could feel like life wasn’t so bad.
Then he gave an unhappy grunt. Then a twitch. Then a grimace. Problem was, these students of his were about the most terrible swordsmen he ever saw. The blond one swung, swung, swung, teeth clenched, while the dark one snarled and burbled, more running away than defending, both already out of breath.
‘Stop!’ He sat up, tossing his half-eaten apple away. ‘For the dead’s sake, stop!’
The boys stuttered to a halt, sticks wobbling down.
‘No, lads, no.’ Clover shook his head. ‘Very much no. You’re going at each other like a dog at a bitch. Wild and wayward. You’ve got to put more thought into this moment than any other. All your thought and all your effort, because everything you’ll ever have is apt to be snatched away in the next breath. Your lives are hanging in the balance!’
‘They’re just sticks,’ said the blond one.
Clover rubbed at his temples. ‘But we’re pretending they’re swords, you halfhead. I’m not a bloody stick teacher, am I?’ The dark-haired boy opened his mouth and Clover held up a silencing hand. ‘Don’t answer that. Just take some time. Your dinner ain’t getting cold, is it?’
‘You said strike fast.’
‘Aye, once you strike, like lightning! But think before you strike, eh?’
‘Why don’t you come and show us?’ asked the dark one.
‘Out there in the sun?’ Clover chuckled to himself. ‘I didn’t become a bloody teacher so I could get up and do it my bloody self.’
‘But …’ The blond boy shaded his eyes with his hand. If Clover had been the dark one, he’d have smashed him right then when he wasn’t looking. But the dark boy just stood there picking his nose. No initiative, these little bastards. ‘Aren’t you going to show us some … what do you call it … technique?’
‘Technique.’ Clover laughed. ‘Technique is what we come to last. So far, you two are only just holding the sword by the right end.’
‘It’s a stick,’ said the blond one, frowning at his stick. ‘The ends are the same.’