“Thank you, Lord Vranov.”
“And today I hear that your lady mother has been taken by melancholy. It is a heavy burden you bear.”
“Indeed it is,” she said. “Personally I suspect that some Speaker has laid a curse on us.”
“I could not agree more,” he said solemnly.
“You do? I mean, you couldn’t?” How dare he startle her like that!
“I believe it. Father Vilhelmas is of the same opinion. Pray, let us all sit down and discuss our mutual problems.”
He offered his arm, curse him, and escorted her to the corner fire, where the benches had been arranged in a V, separated by a narrow gap. He put her on the left one and sat on the other, across the gap from her. The seneschal moved swiftly to sit on her left, and the others arranged themselves and sat down-Kavarskas and Ekkehardt beyond Jurbarkas, with Kavarskas at the end next the wall. The second Pelrelm man, sitting beyond Vranov, was not introduced, but their family resemblance was obvious.
“Constable,” the seneschal said, “would you please advise Lady Madlenka on the present situation?”
The warrior’s nod of agreement displayed impatience at having to report to a slip of a girl who put on airs and sent for him. “My lady, Count Vranov has brought news that the Wends are planning an imminent invasion of Jorgary.”
“How imminent?” she asked, but it was an involuntary reaction, like a blink. Her mind was rummaging through memories of what Petr had said in the summer, when he returned from court. He had explained to her, summarizing what he had told Father, that the reason he had hired a troop of landsknechte to overwinter in Gallant was because Cardinal Zdenek had warned that Duke Wartislaw of Pomerania was mustering his army and Castle Gallant was his most likely target. So Havel Vranov might be telling the truth this time.
“Within days,” the constable said. “He believes that his sources are trustworthy.”
“It is almost winter!”
“Wars can be fought in winter,” Vranov interjected. “I beg you to trust me in this, my lady. I have been fighting the Wends all my life. I have killed them with arrows and pikes and swords and roasted not a few of them. My spies insist that what is being planned now is no mere cattle raid. The Pomeranian army is moving down the Silver Road towards the border. Crews are strengthening bridges and repairing fords. Their vanguard may be here by Wednesday.”
Madlenka lifted her veil and looked around the worried faces. “Castle Gallant is unvanquishable! It is well- garrisoned now, with Captain Ekkehardt and his men here to help.”
“It has no guns worth the name,” the landsknecht said loudly. “Castles all over Europe hitherto deemed impregnable are crumbling like eggshells. England, France, Italy, Spain-all their rulers have been investing in bombards to knock down castle walls. Unruly barons are being brought to heel, for only kings and some dukes can afford artillery trains. Fortresses that have stood for a thousand years are being breached, like Constantinople. Your father should have set guns in the barbicans. I told him. He said maybe. He said next year.”
Kavarskas scowled at the interruption. “Our curtain wall could be badly damaged by guns, but it stands on the cliff edge, so no breech would be usable. But the barbicans are vulnerable. One shot can smash a gate to kindling.”
It was Vranov’s turn again. “This explains why the curse was laid upon your honored father and brother! The Wends’ Speakers have cut off Cardice’s head and left it leaderless.”
And Madlenka had assumed that her marriage prospects were all that mattered. What a fool she must have seemed to the seneschal! It was true that Vranov had fought the Wends for years. She had no proof that Father Vilhelmas had cursed her family; some Wend Speaker could have been to blame just as easily. Cardinal Zdenek had warned Petr about the Wends. Despite her dislike and distrust of the count, Havel Vranov would be an indispensable ally in a war with Pomerania.
She glanced at the seneschal on her left, but he was deep in thought, staring at the floor. The door opened and closed, and Bishop Ugne came shuffling in. He had shed his formal vestments in favor of simple robes and a wide tasseled hat; he waved everyone down as they started to rise.
“Do not stop for me. Carry on.” He came to a halt in the gap between Madlenka and Vranov. He was puffing as if he had been running, an unusual breach of dignity for him. “A quick update, please, and then carry on.”
“Count Vranov,” the constable said, “has intelligence that the Wends will attack us within days. Castle Gallant has withstood sieges for months in the past, but Duke Wartislaw has a cannon big enough to destroy our fortifications.”
“Has the king been informed?”
“I sent all my news to Mauvnik three days ago, Lord Bishop,” Vranov said. “But His Majesty cannot even give us an answer in time, let alone reinforcements. If we do nothing, his courier will find nothing left here except ruins and corpses.”
“You exaggerate!”
“Not at all. Duke Wartislaw has obtained a bombard, a monstrous iron tube twice as long as a man. They call it the Dragon. It is not as enormous as some the Turks used to take Constantinople, but it is big enough. It shoots balls bigger than a man’s head farther than our crossbows can send bolts. Once installed, it will demolish your barbican in a few hours.”
“A cleric should not argue military matters, but surely the debris will block the entrance?”
“The barbican will collapse, the Wends will storm the breach over the rubble, and Gallant will be overrun.”
“It is not quite hopeless,” Kavarskas said. “They can only come by the Silver Road. They can move their Dragon by boat to the end of the lake, at Long Valley. The Ruzena rises there, but is not navigable, so from there the gun must be drawn by oxcart. There are half a dozen places where we may be able to block them if we move fast enough.”
“Then why don’t you?” Madlenka demanded. Why waste time just talking?
“I certainly shall, now that I have heard His Lordship’s news,” Kavarskas replied in a tone normally used only to address tiresome infants. “But the Wends know all this as well as we do. They may have scouts very close to us already, watching the road.”
“You have an outpost at Long Valley, don’t you? To watch the road?”
He rapped the wall beside him with his hook to indicate impatience. “And so far the patrols have ridden out and back undisturbed. But the Long Valley post could be bypassed. If I were the Wend leader, I would already have moved a sizable force around the outpost and brought it close enough to keep a watch on the gorge. If the defenders sent out a force larger than the usual patrol-a force large enough to start demolishing bridges, for instance-then I would ambush it and destroy it. We lack the manpower to afford suicide missions, my lady. They must outnumber us twenty to one.”
He grew louder. “These are not our grandfathers’ days! We can no longer skulk behind the walls as they did, waiting until the enemy starves and goes away. If the Pomeranians invade, we shall need an active defense, with frequent sorties against their gun emplacement. But we will take monstrous losses if we charge along the road into their volleys, and Captain Ekkehardt and I between us have less than a thousand men.”
“You have guns!” the seneschal protested. “Captain Ekkehardt’s contract requires him to supply fifty armed arquebusiers.”
“Those I have,” the landsknecht said, “armed and well trained. But personal firearms cannot throw a ball as far as a cannon can. The Wends can emplace their bombard far outside our range.”
“And arquebuses are very slow to load,” the constable added. “An archer can get off several bolts in the time an arquebusier needs to fire one ball. That suffices if you are firing from fortifications, but is close to useless in the field.”
This was all so wrong! Madlenka and the seneschal should not be here at a council of war. It should be her father or Petr listening to the arguments and making decisions based on experience and training. These men did not care a spit for her opinions or her military judgment, and neither did she. Some vital words had not yet been spoken. She wanted to know the real reason she was here.
“Da!” Leonas shouted in his slurred voice. “Why does this horse got horns?” He was examining one of the tapestries.
“I’ll tell you later,” Vranov shouted back. “Now be quiet!”
“How soon can we expect aid from the king?” Bishop Ugne asked calmly.
