Child of Flame (Crown of Stars 4)

“He’s a foreigner, who can only rule as consort, not as regnant, over the Wendish.”

“Why—?”

“Hush, Blessing, no more on this subject if you please. Sapientia commands two legions.”

“What is a legion?”

The army made a great deal of noise, horses neighing, men shouting, the tramp of feet, and the crack of branches as they pressed forward along the road, which wasn’t much more than a track through the forest barely wide enough to accommodate two wagons abreast.

“A legion is an old Dariyan term, from the old empire. It designates a unit of soldiers who fight under one high commander.”

“How many soldiers?” Blessing asked.

Anna tried to count as Sapientia’s Wendish cavalry rode past, in lines of four, but she lost track after forty.

“That depends on what authority you read,” said Heribert, slipping into that way of speaking he had when all his fine education grabbed him by the throat. At times like these, Anna found him difficult to understand. “Some say several thousand infantry—that’s foot soldiers—and a few hundred cavalry. Some say a thousand men, organized in ten centuries, or what we call cohorts, each group consisting of one hundred men.”

Sitting on the platform, the army seemed to take forever to go by. “Is that a thousand men?” asked Anna. She thought about this for a moment, remembering the sums Raimar and Suzanne had taught her when it came time to count up thread and wool and cloth so that you wouldn’t get cheated. “If it was two legions, then it would be two thousand men, wouldn’t it?” The number dizzied her. She had to shut her eyes and just listen to the fall of hooves on the track and the persistent drip of moisture from the damp leaves.

“I’d guess not more than eight hundred under Sapientia’s command,” replied Heribert. “We aren’t truly an army the way the old Dariyans had armies. We just use the Dariyan words.”

“Why?” asked Blessing. These days she was full of “why.”

The last of Sapientia’s horsemen rode away down the track. After a gap, a new banner came forward, following the path of the first. “Here is Lady Bertha and her legion of Austran and Olsatian marchlanders,” said Heribert.

“Why?” repeated Blessing.

“Why do we use the old words? To remind us of the strength of the old empire.”

“I will be emperor,” said Blessing, “so I’ll call my armies legions, too.”

Lady Bertha’s legion was perhaps half the number of those who had ridden out with Sapientia. After she had passed, Sanglant rode forward, saluting his daughter, and headed down the track with Captain Fulk and his men, Lord Hrodik’s Gentish irregulars, and Lord Druthmar and the contingent from Villam lands. Prince Bayan and his Ungrians, the biggest and most experienced group of fighters in the army, came next, followed in their turn by Lord Zwentibold, Lord Wichman, and their legion of skirmishers and cavalry from Saony. Last came the baggage train under the command of Duke Boleslas, the Polenie duke with his bright silver tabard and feathered helm, the peacock of the army, as Sanglant had called him one night after the prince had been drinking too much.

The wagon in which Blessing was to ride trundled to a stop before the platform, and Blessing allowed Lord Thiemo to help her into the back as Heribert folded up her chair. Although she could ride a pony, she wasn’t old enough to do so under the circumstances, so they had tied her pony behind the wagon. As she settled down among sacks of grain, Captain Thiadbold of the Lions knelt before her.

“Your Highness, your father Prince Sanglant has charged me and my cohort of Lions to see that you remain safe until we come within the walls of Osterburg. I pray you, Your Highness, if there is any trouble, do as I command, and we’ll see that no harm comes to you.”

“I don’t like riding at the rear,” said Blessing.

He grinned, then hid the smile quickly, not sure of her temper. “Nay, but there are many fine and valuable things necessary to victory here in the baggage train. It is no insult to be left to guard them, Your Highness. Nor is it any insult to you to ride with the baggage train. Do you see?” He pointed toward the painted wagon belonging to Prince Bayan’s mother. “You are not the only warrior who rides with the baggage train.”

The sight of the wagon convinced Blessing not to argue.

Duke Boleslas rode up with a dozen frilled and colorful attendants to either side of his brightly caparisoned horse. He bowed before Blessing. “Your Highness,” he said, before riding away again, circling toward the tail end of the train as the wagon lurched forward and they began moving.

Because the ground was still damp from the night’s brief rain, there wasn’t too much dust, but Anna could still tell that eight legions of fighting men had passed this way before them. Dirt soon coated her lips and tickled her nostrils. Any overhanging branches were snapped back or torn off by the press of bodies.

A feeling of dread grew in Anna’s heart as they rolled onward and the sun rose higher. Would they be able to hear the clash of arms, ahead of them, when the vanguard met the Quman? Was it true that every Quman soldier carried a shrunken head at his belt, as a trophy? She touched her own neck, wondering if they chopped the heads off children, too, or if in Quman eyes she was old enough to be married or taken as a slave.

But at least, here in the rear guard, they were a long, long way from the front, where the battle would be fought.

By midday they came up along a ridge and caught a glimpse of the Veser River in the distance. Weapons and armor glinted in the trees below where the rest of the army wound away before them, closing in on the river plain.

Blessing stood up on the cart and grasped the shoulders of the good-natured wagoner who was driving. “Look!” she cried in her piercing voice. “I see the Quman army.”

Anna stared, thinking for an instant that she saw a dark stain, like a plague of locusts, swarming over the river plain; then the road dropped into a cleft that steadily widened into flatter ground as it opened into broken woodland, oak and hornbeam and the occasional pine or beech. The tree cover gave them occasional protection from the glaring sun, but she was sweating, even though she didn’t have to walk. The Lions, striding steadily alongside, had their helms thrown back and wiped their faces frequently.

o;I’d guess not more than eight hundred under Sapientia’s command,” replied Heribert. “We aren’t truly an army the way the old Dariyans had armies. We just use the Dariyan words.”