The constable banged the wall angrily with his hook. “Weeks or months! He cannot yet have received my report of the count’s death. Count Vranov’s news about the Pomeranians will arrive a few days later. In another fortnight we may receive a note telling us that His Majesty expects us to fight to the last man. To muster the army, with all the food, equipment, and fodder it will need, will take months. Then it must march across moors, through forests, zigzag from ford to ford… When it eventually meets the Pomeranians, they may well be closer to Mauvnik than to Cardice.”
And by then Castle Gallant would be only a memory. Fortresses that refused to surrender were sacked. The conventions of war allowed the successful besiegers three days of unlimited rape, murder, pillage, and atrocity.
The bishop cleared his throat. “We appreciate your coming in person to warn us, Havel. It is time you told us your terms.”
Terms? But of course there would be terms.
Vranov looked up with a smile like a child caught stealing a cookie. “I offer an alliance. I can spare a hundred horses and a thousand men now, and twice that many as soon as I am sure that Wartislaw is not just feinting at Cardice to conceal a move on Pelrelm. I can also lend you a single cannon. It is nothing like his monster bombard, but if you can emplace your gun first, he will have to work much harder. I will supply a master gunner, fifty balls, and enough powder for them. If you can delay the Wends until the flux breaks out in their camp, or until winter strikes, or until King Konrad can bring up his army behind you, then you will have won. At least this time you will have won.”
“And why are you doing this, my lord?” Kavarskas inquired.
“Because you are my first line of defense. I hate the Wends and they hate me. If they force the Silver Road and occupy northern Jorgary, they can squeeze Pelrelm from both sides.”
Never mind Pelrelm! What of Castle Gallant? At best it would be besieged, meaning famine and suffering. No wonder Seneschal Jurbarkas was worried.
“But there is more,” said Bishop Ugne at Madlenka’s shoulder. “You want more than that.”
The count nodded, watching the seneschal, not looking up at the bishop standing over him. “Cardice provides board for my men, of course. And their women, if they bring them. Those are worthwhile extras for you, to make the men fight. Plus a thousand florins for the munitions and the rent of my gun and gunner. We can hammer out the details later.”
“Later is the time for action,” Ugne insisted. “Now is the time for talk.”
Madlenka had never had much respect for the bishop, but suddenly she was very grateful for his support. She could trust his motives in this crisis more than anyone else’s. He would be the last person to sell out to the Orthodox Wends.
The Hound shrugged. “You are right, my lord bishop. No disrespect to the constable or Captain Ekkehardt, but the strongest ally commands, always. I want Marijus here to be acting keeper of Castle Gallant. Just during the emergency, of course. Sir Marijus is the finest warrior among all my sons, well qualified to direct the defense of the castle.”
Marijus Vranov glanced around the group without speaking, nodding to each in turn; his eyes lingered longest on Madlenka. His nose was not as dominant as Havel’s and had been badly broken at some time in the past, but it must originally have had the same hooked shape. He was an imposing man, somehow, although he had yet to open his mouth. If she were to be forced into marriage with a Vranov, this one at least looked better than the first two suitors the count had produced-scars and all.
“Marijus has fought in Italy and France,” his father continued. “He is familiar with sieges and the use of guns. If he defends Castle Gallant against the coming attack, then he can reasonably petition the king for a permanent appointment. I will leave him behind as surety for my good faith while I rush home to make preparations.”
“It seems strange to me,” the bishop said, in his sonorous, trained voice, “to appoint a schismatic Orthodox commander to defend a Catholic country. You also want your pet priest to replace me as bishop, I assume?”
Religion could turn any discussion into a raging riot. Madlenka caught the seneschal’s eye and knew that he shared her foreboding.
“Not at all, Lord Bishop,” the count said calmly. “It is true that Father Vilhelmas is a friend of mine, but I remain a faithful son of Rome; my family likewise. You have my sacred word on it.” He crossed himself in the Catholic fashion, left to right. Marijus did the same.
The bishop beamed. “That is indeed welcome news. But then why did you bring Vilhelmas with you today, and the last time you visited Cardice? Why do you consort with a heretic cleric at all?”
The Hound chuckled. His air of confident good humor was probably designed to raise the bishop’s hackles. “Because he happens to be a relative of mine. A distant one, to be sure-about a third cousin, or so. My grandfather’s sister was captured in a raid from what is now Pomerania and carried off, never to return. Even so, Father Vilhelmas, her grandson, was born in wedlock and is an authentic, ordained priest. And yes, I allow him a small chapel in Pelrelm. Your archbishop is well aware of this, as you must be yourself, my lord bishop. The frontier within the hills is not as clearly defined as one might like, and many residents of my county prefer their traditional form of worship. My bishop turns a blind eye. The border is hard enough to defend without having religious differences fomenting discord and disloyalty.”
“And why do you bring him here, this Vilhelmas?”
The count’s tone hardened. “Because you have secret Orthodox supporters in Gallant also, Lord Bishop. If you do not know that, you should. Vilhelmas has only to walk your streets and he will be invited indoors to hear confessions.”
“Or celebrate mass?”
“Please!” The interruption came from Marijus Vranov, who had not previously spoken. “We are here to talk war, not religion.”
“My son is right,” the count said. “We must unite. The best strategy for all of us is to appoint him temporary keeper of Castle Gallant.”
The resulting silence dragged on until Kavarskas said, “The terms are generous. I would serve under Sir Marijus on his terms.”
Why shouldn’t he approve those terms? He had probably helped negotiate them behind everyone else’s back, and been well paid for it already. At least there had been no mention of anyone being married yet.
“That is all?” the seneschal said at last.
The Hound opened his mouth, but his son spoke first. “It is enough! We are both threatened by the barbarous, schismatic Wends, and we must unite.”
Captain Ekkehardt had hardly spoken since Madlenka joined the meeting, but now he did. “It is not enough for me. Our contract is for overwintering and garrison duty, not enduring a siege.”
Silence and shocked glances. Surely the landsknechte were essential for any hope of holding off a Pomeranian assault?
The seneschal smiled toothlessly. “I am familiar with the contract. There is provision for more money if you have to fight. If the Wends do appear, then Cardice will certainly honor the contract. We expect you to do likewise.”
“Not enough more,” the landsknecht growled.
“You are backing out?” The older man spluttered like a kettle suddenly coming to a boil. “This… this is treachery! And cowardice. No ruler in Europe will hire your troop after this, Captain.”
The mercenary’s face was too well hidden behind its bush of gold hair to show a change of color, but his eyes flashed and his beard bristled. “There is no contract! The signing was made by Petr Bukovany, who is dead. His father is dead. The contract has lapsed, and I will lead my men out tomorrow.”
“The contract was signed by the keeper on behalf of King Konrad.”
“I saw no royal writing, no royal seal. This castle is indefensible against guns. Here to be slaughtered we do not stay.”
“He just wants more money,” Marijus Vranov said. “How much is he being paid now?”
The seneschal said, “Ten florins a month now, rising to twenty as soon as an enemy appears.”
“That is generous for three hundred lances. How much more do you want, Captain?”
Everyone looked to Ekkehardt, who said, “Forty, starting today.”
“Forty total, I hope, not forty more? You would serve under me, as acting keeper?”
