Prince of Dogs

Lord Geoffrey hesitated as the others left. “Is this course of action wise? We should attack while surprise is with us, or withdraw and await King Henry. That would be prudent.”

The count waited in disapproving silence until Geoffrey began to look uncomfortable. “Do you acknowledge my leadership, cousin, or reject it?” he demanded suddenly.

Flushed, Geoffrey knelt. “I ride with you, my lord.”

“Then follow where I lead.”

Geoffrey nodded in acquiescence and, with a final glance toward Alain, took himself off. Only Lavastine, his captain, and Alain remained.

The captain approached the count carefully, one eye on the hounds—but they only growled softly at him and did not move. “You know, my lord, that when I speak my mind it is from an honest heart.”

“That is why I trust your advice,” replied Lavastine, and the merest quirk lifted his mouth, as close as he ever came to showing amusement. “Go on.”

“I advise that we withdraw back to Steleshame and wait there for the king and his army. Then, if we unite our forces, the Eika will not be able to stand against us.”

Lavastine and the captain were of a height, although the captain had broader shoulders and the stocky build of a man who has marched much and hewn a great deal of wood. Old Terror moved up beside him, sniffing at the captain’s hand, and Alain knew then how brave the captain truly was, for he did not flinch.

“Sit, Terror,” said Lavastine. “I think you for your council. I have great respect for your knowledge of war, good captain, but we do not know how far behind us King Henry rides or if he can ride to Gent at all. I have prayed that by some miracle we may welcome the king on the field here, but since that is not to be, we must hold out here until he comes—or until we triumph through our own strength. I have given my word to take Gent.”

“My lord.” The captain coughed, looking uncomfortable, perhaps because the hounds waited so close by. He glanced toward Alain, then seemed to flush and look away. Good Cheer whined and thumped her tail. “My lord, I pray that it is not your head that greets the king from the walls of Gent. A vow may be broken if life and land are at stake.”

“Nay,” Lavastine turned to look out over the river plain. It was too dark now to see the glint of river or the distant city walls, but the moon rose, full, gleaming in the mist that swaddled the east. “The value of an oath is far greater than the worldly gifts of life and land. We’ll speak more before the dawn. See now to your camp, and have faith.”

To this the captain inclined his head obediently. “My lord count,” he said to Lavastine, and then, with a half turn, “My lord Alain.” Without further words, he left.

Was it truly wise to sit here and wait for the king with uncounted Eika nesting in Gent? The captain’s advice seemed prudent as dusk lowered over them and the evening’s wind rose off the river. A corner of the pavilion came loose and began to flap, and a servant hurried forward to bind it down.

But the count seemed to know what he was doing. Then again, he always did. He had the gift of a clear conscience and absolute conviction in his own judgment and, in most things, he proved himself right.

Lavastine turned to Alain as if he had completely forgotten the previous exchange. “Alain, I want you to oversee the defenses here at the central portion of the camp. From the top of the hill my banner can be seen by all the troops under my command. All shall rally here should the day go ill for us.”

“Go ill for us? But I thought you intended for us to wait here until King Henry arrives.”

“So I do,” Lavastine’s expression was shrouded as he glanced into the evening mist. The huge moon had crested the low-lying mist and now washed the eastern sky with its light. Alain could only pick out a few bright stars. “But the Eika know we are here, and they are not lacking in battle sense. We must be ready in case they attack us. If I fall, then our soldiers must follow you.”

“If you fall!”

Lavastine seemed not to have heard him. “If the center is hit and the rampart and ditch breached, then form the infantry into a wall of shields, spears, and axes. Against such a wall the Eika will break in the same way surf breaks on a cliff. Should the shield wall breach—are you listening, Alain?”

“Y-yes, Father.” He was listening, but with horror more than anything.

“Are you afraid, son?” the count asked, more gently.

“Y-yes, Father. I wouldn’t lie to you, even about that.”

The count reached out and with an odd, awkward gesture touched Alain on the cheek, a brush more than a caress, almost as he would pat one of his beloved hounds. “There’s no shame in being afraid, Alain. There’s only shame if you let your fear cloud your good judgment. Now then, listen carefully. You, and the men here in the center, will protect the banner. Lady willing, you will know I am with you throughout. I will leave you Graymane as a mount. I will ride the roan gelding.”