But my lord will not be alone in advance of the troop, for he must have his little military family with him, just a horse’s length or so behind. His ensign who carries the standard, & the trumpeter to signal the troop, & Snype to correct him if he make a fatal error.
Among this group I find myself, the poor drudge-secretary. I am necessary, it seems, in the event Lord Utterback wishes to dictate a message, or to have his thoughts recorded for posterity.
As I must fight, it seems I must practice fighting. Utterback’s Troop are demilances, which is to say that we are not fully armored as the knights of old, but wear only half-armor, helmets & cuirasses & sometimes thigh-pieces, all worn over a buff coat of thick yellow suede. I do not know why we are not called “demiarmored.” We fight not with lances, but with broadswords + pistols. Perhaps we ought to be called “no-lances.”
I may thank the v. late Sir Basil of the Heugh for providing me with my equipment. The armor needed only a little adjustment, as you told me when I first tried it on in Longfirth. The horse-pistols I have learned to shoot as well as such weapons can be shot, for they are v. unreliable & misfire often.
I have shot at my own armor with my pistols, & the bullets failed to penetrate. So Sir Basil’s proof-marks were not feigned.
Sword practice I have daily from Lance-pesade Stringway. I have practiced till my arm is ripe to fall off my body, but my talent for swordplay is v. sadly limited. Both Stringway & I agree that I have not a genius for the sword, & he maintains that I will be cut to ribbons in my first encounter with the enemy who knows his ricasso from his knuckle-bow. My wish to carry a pollaxe a-horseback has not been granted, however, & I continue with the routine of slashing & hewing, much to Stringway’s vocal & obscene amusement.
“Lucky for you,” says he, “that fights on horseback are won more with the spur as with the sword.” Though it must be admitted that I have no genius for the spur, either.
Stringway, by the way, is a native of Selford, & learned his art in battles fought in the streets between gangs of youths, some of them fifty or sixty strong. He says that hardly anyone was injured, for they fought to “white wounds,” meaning they struck only with the flat of their swords. Many young men, he tells me, learned battle-craft in these brawls, & provided good service to the King in his wars.
“But the rapier ruined all,” says he. This long thrusting blade is too deadly a weapon in a street brawl, & there are no white wounds, but fatal ones instead. Yet the rapier is nigh useless on the battlefield against an armored man, & so in the opinion of Stringway it is a weapon suitable only for mincing fashionable gentlemen in ribbons + bows, not for real soldiers.
I retain a vivid memory of Sir Hector Burgoyne nearly skewering me with his blade, so the sooner rapiers are banned from the streets, the louder will sound my approval.
The troopers for the most part live in town, being billeted among the people who greatly resent their presence. Utterback’s Troop is not the only detachment in the city, for my lord’s father, the Count of Wenlock, is the Lord Lieutenant for the district, & has raised a number of regiments, both for the Queen’s expeditionary force to Bonille, & for defense of the district against the onslaught of rebels who might appear, by sorcery perhaps, here in the middle of Fornland. But the Crown pays for those troops, whereas Wenlock has raised the Utterback Troop entirely at his own expense.
Lord Utterback has rented a small house for his headquarters, & I am tucked up beneath the rafters, on a truckle bed. I sup almost every day with his lordship and with Captain Snype, who relates stories of the late King’s wars, & of foreign wars in which he played his part. Snype is a fierce old soul, completely bald, with a chin-beard like a goat, but he has traveled the world, & met many of the great men & ladies from the Empire to the Triple Kingdom. He also knows his evolutionibus like the back of his hand. We form a pleasant company, & discuss everything from philosophy to football, all with the inspiration of Utterback’s excellent wine. We also dine with officers of the other regiments, for we are all very civil together, except when the Count of Wenlock is present.
Wenlock, you will remember, thought I had stolen his son’s ring & was trying to ransom it back to him, a slight for which he has no intention of asking my forgiveness. He is brusque at the best of times, & if I am in the room his pale face grows paler still, while his blue eyes narrow with suspicion, & he barks like a ban-dog at anyone who approaches. Utterback does not take me with him when he dines with his father, & I am pleased enough to forgo these pleasures, as Utterback implies the talk is all of schemes for advancement, for the doing-down of enemies, the looting of the rebels’ land and goods, & the finding of places for Wenlock and his affinity. I have had enough of these speculations at court.
I have also met again the three rogues who tried to knock down my door in search of Lord Utterback’s signet, & it is clear from the way they view me that they wish to pay me back for the reversal they suffered at my hands. Yet I am protected by my lord Utterback, who (I believe) has also defended me before his father, who suspects I have joined the army only to steal the regimental silver.
I have been at pains to learn from Snype all the misfortunes that might befall us on campaign, in order to forestall them. He seems filled to the brim with the idiocies of generals, the badly-sited camps, the robbers & thieves who follow the army, the dishonest contractors & sutlers, the ephebes whose hunger for glory outraces their ability and good sense, & the food that spoils before the soldiers can eat it. He pointed out that cavalry were ever in the advance, & the supply train in the rear, so our supplies might not reach us during the course of a day, & our men go to bed hungry. To remedy this, I have persuaded Utterback to purchase a string of twenty mules to be kept back with the train, & to carry our supplies to us even if the wagons are bogged down somewhere in the rear.
As for the spoiled supplies, I could but recommend the commissary purchase from my friends in the Worshipfull Societie of Butchers, & I would see to it that the meat was of the finest quality. That some would come from my own beeves was unstated, but I saw no reason why I should not profit by the war, when all from Wenlock down to the lowest groom hope to do exactly that.
Anent the business of the commissary, I have met an old friend. Below a drizzling winter sky, as the drops chimed off the peak of my helmet, I returned from an errand into town & passed by the kitchens of one of the mercenary regiments of foot, & there saw a burly Aekoi woman standing proud amid the stewpots, bellowing at her assistants in a stridulous voice that grated in a v. familiar way on my bones. I checked my steed Phrenzy & nosed the horse toward the kitchen, & when the woman looked at me, I recognized those irises like birdshot, all surrounded by white.
“Well, Dorinda,” said I. “Surprised am I to see you here.”
Sir Basil’s cook took a while to recognize me, mounted as I was on a charger & plated in armor, & carrying one of Sir Basil’s own swords with its hilt of gold-wire inlay. And when she knew who I was, I could see that for a moment she was inwardly debating action, whether to flee the camp or assault me I knew not. For though I was formidably armed, & rode a horse that overmatched even the ferocity of the cook, nevertheless I felt her to be a doughty kemperie-woman, & she stood close to any number of sharp cleavers & knives.