Two Kingdoms 61 - Array

[DoctorM]

TWO KINGDOMS 61 - ARRAY

This is Part 61 of an ongoing AU construction about a Gwynedd where the duel at Kelson Haldane's coronation went very differently indeed. We are now almost four years into the Gwynedd Wars-- Charissa's new kingdom at Valoret against the Haldanes in the south and the kingdom of Torenth in the east. This episode is set some weeks after "Dukes". As always, comments and suggestions are very much appreciated.

****

It's already turning autumn here in the Lendours, and this morning there's a sharp breeze in from the northwest. The arrayment camp is set up at a place called Laurel Creek, and there are both Carthmoor and Royal Haldane banners snapping in the wind by Conall's tent. There are guards in Carthmoor livery standing with spears by the pavilion entrance. They're in the flat-topped helmets and metal face-guards that have become the new fashion for knights.

Tables are set up here in front of the pavilions, all filled with clerks flicking abacus beads back and forth and scribbling onto rolls of parchment. This is an encampment for men in armour, but it's the clerks and scribes that are keeping the Carthmoor contingent of the royal army in the field.

Conall's at a table of his own, and he's in a heavy chair with armrests— something expensive and grand enough to impress the locals. Duke Nigel's son is in chain mail this morning, and he's wearing a longsword and a silk surcoat worked with the Carthmoor arms. There's a necklace with a Haldane lion in silver around his neck-- the insignia of a royal commissioner. There's a ritual to all this, he knows, and the local lords and landholders have a right to be enrolled into the royal army with proper ceremony. Whatever else the locals are all about, they're loyal and they're here. Armour and the ducal arms, the pendant that makes him the king's chosen agent here— that's been part of Conall's job these last few weeks.

There's a shout from the guards on the road, and Conall looks up to see Lanherne and Trevanion cantering into the camp. They're both in armour, too, and each lord's banner-bearers are flying a royal pennon next to their own colours. These are the Lendours, after all— it never hurts to show the locals that you're traveling with the King's warrant.

Conall watches the two lords dismount and stride over to his table. "My lord commissioner," Trevanion says, and they both salute.

Conall nods back. "My lord Lanherne. Lord Trevanion." They've saluted him, but they've been his father's friends forever, and they're known Conall since he was an infant. He's listening for any hint of condescension. He can't really be annoyed, he knows. The two lords are absolutely loyal to his father and to Gwynedd, but he does wonder if they still see him as being a child. No, my lords, I'm not five years old any more. These last few weeks, he's found himself noticing the way he's addressed.

The two lords pull up camp stools and sit. Conall has to ask himself if they'd do that with his father, but then...they've been with Duke Nigel for twenty years and more. Maybe protocol isn't something to insist on here on the march. He knows enough to know that here, this day, he's still a beginner at running an army, and there's no way he'll risk alienating two men who are both his father's friends and veteran captains of long standing.

Lanherne stretches his legs out. "Well," says, "we've got most of the supply wagons on the move, and we've got avant-riders headed up the Drellingham roads. This isn't going too badly. If the weather holds."

Trevanion looks around and motions for a servant. "You, there— let's get some ale over here!" He looks back at Conall. "How's life as royal commissioner of array going?"

Conall shrugs. "They're coming in. No outright refusals. The last one this morning was maybe an hour ago." He looks down at a slip of paper on the table. "That was a...Sir Muir of...well, Someplace. He came in with two more-or-less men-at-arms, four spearmen, and four who looked like they could more-or-less handle a bow."

"Let me guess," Lanherne says. "They were here because they're loyal to King Kelson, but they were unfortunately short of rations and needed an issue of grain if they were going to get up to the Molling."

Conall nods. "Oats," he says. "I gave Sir Whatever-he's-called a chit for oats from the purveyancers. They can live on oat cakes for a few days. And, oh yes, the archers all needed a new shirt apiece."

"Of course they did. You didn't give them any cash, did you?"

Conall makes a face. "I'm young, I'm not a fool. I was on Lord Denevore's staff for the march to Desse and Rhemuth. No cash for the locals. I have some idea how this is done."

Trevanion leans back. "This latest mountain country knight— how'd you deal with him?"

"Kept a smile on my face, told him that King Kelson and my father both thanked him most courteously for his service. I even admired his horse."

Both lords do a slow clap. Lanherne grins. "Well, my lord commissioner of array, you're learning."

Conall jerks his head at the table where the clerks are flicking abacus beads back and forth. "I'm learning to hate that sound, though."

Trevanion laughs. "Get used to it. You'll be hearing it the rest of your life. Your grandfather Duke Richard, the old duke, he kept his own abacus. Made all his captains and purveyors and stewards account for every copper penny. Your father can use one, too. Duke Richard always said the abacus may not be suitable for gentlemen, but living without money these days is a lot less suitable."

"This Sir Muir," Lanherne says, "how'd he seem to you?  Was he just here to see what you'd give him, or do you think he'll fight?"

Conall shrugs. "I think he will. This is poor country. He's hoping that we'll fight the Witch Queen and he'll come back with loot. Valoret's a Gwynedd city, but he'd be willing to loot it all the same."

He looks down at the slips of paper on the table. "He started to raise a question, though. He mentioned that this part of the Lendours is actually Morgan country, Corwyn country. Meaning that Duke Alaric's arrayers should be the ones calling him in. He was looking for a bribe; I could tell that."

The two lords exchange a glance. "What did you say?"

Conall looks hard at both men. "I told him that my father was still Lord General of the Armies and that I had a royal warrant and commission with the King's signature and seal. I even showed it to him, not that he reads a word of Latin. I never raised my voice; I want you to know that. Kept smiling and gave him full-on Rhemuth Castle politeness. Now I did happen to mention that I was of age, a duke's heir, and that I'm a knight and I've been in combat. I just think people should know that."

He's watching the two lords. He can see their eyes. Trevanion's quicker on the uptake than Lanherne; Trevanion is always the more clever. But they both see where that arrow's aimed.

****

The servant's brought ale and cups, and Trevanion slides a cup down to Conall. He's sniffing the air in the encampment. "Pottage," he says. "That's the smell of being on campaign. What are the cooks putting in the pottage these days?"

Lanherne raises his own ale cup. "Probably better we don't know. I've been in winter quarters in Meara. What's in the pottage in winter could be salted pork from back in King Donal Blaine's day. Or maybe Mearan peasants— you never know."

Trevanion taps his cup on Lanherne's. "Put enough oatmeal in the pot and you can't taste anything anyway. Not even boiled peasant."

Conall smiles to himself. Message sent, message received. Maybe that's one thing he's made clear. Maybe he won't have to try the same message on Alaric Morgan. God knows he doesn't want that.

"Lord Conall," Trevanion says, grinning: "I hear you have someone cooking for you back at Rhemuth." He's pointing at Conall's arm and at the circlet of dyed wool around his left wrist below his hauberk sleeve. "I hear you've got a girl now."

Conall's face freezes. He starts a stammered denial and then stops and takes a breath. I'm not a boy now. I'm a knight, I've fought in affrays, I've killed men with a sword, and I'm a royal commissioner. This is part of my life now. He takes a breath. "I do," he says. "She's back at Rhemuth."

"Never take a leman on campaign," Lanherne says. "Never works out. Lots of people learn the hard way."

Trevanian looks at Conall over his ale cup. "Dear God, tell me she's not high-born. Tell me she's not married and not a baron's daughter. You end up in a duel and your father'll hang Lanherne and me both."

Conall's keeping his face arranged. "No. She's not high-born. She's a dyer's daughter. She's just a girl."

"She pretty?" That's Lanherne, and there's nothing smirking in his voice. Conall lets himself relax a bit.

"Very pretty," he says. "She's very pretty. Petite thing with light-brown hair. She has the loveliest eyes. She's younger than me,  and she's...kind. Vanessa. Her name's Vanessa."

Trevanion tilts his head. "Your father knows about her?"

Conall nods.

"Did you get The Speech? Fathers always give the same speech. God knows mine did. He told you about taking care?"

"He wasn't happy, but...what was he going to say? If he trusts me to bring troops to the Molling, he can't say much about me having a leman."

Lanherne laughs. "Don't think your mother doesn't know. Mothers always know. Fathers give you The Speech, mothers give you The Look. Maybe you should hope for a long campaign."

Conall shakes his head. "No. If I'm alive after this, I'll go back to her. I won't just ride away. I won't just send a gift and tell her it's over."

Trevanion draws a breath. "I'll ask this because I've known you since you were too little to walk. Is there a child on the way?"

"No. There isn't."

"When there is— and you and I and Lanherne here all know there well could be and probably will be —what will you do?"

Conall takes a mouthful of ale and straightens himself in the chair. "I won't turn her away. If she needs it, or her family needs it, I'll dower her if she marries someone. I have an allowance from my father, and I have a couple of villages my father gave me when he knighted me. Lord Denevore gave me a gift for being with him— the income from land some abbey rents from him. If there's a child, I'll make sure it's cared for. I won't just throw her away. She's kind and gentle and I won't do that to her."

Trevanion nods. "Well, I can't fault you on that. We all— or almost all of us —go through the same thing. Remember you're a duke's son. You have the family honour to maintain and the family fortunes to protect. But also remember that you don't have to be a swine about things. Don't be that."

Lanherne lifts his cup to Conall. "I agree. Stay alive in the field, and stay away from being a villain in your own story. When you were a boy, you started to be an arrogant type. We wondered if you'd get past that."

Conall half-smiles. "I was with Lord Denevore. You know what he's like— he pushes everyone and keeps pushing. Nothing's ever good enough for Denevore. I couldn't play at being the princeling. And you spend a few nights in the rain in the Danoc hills with the Witch Queen's hired horsemen out there in the dark, you don't feel arrogant."

Trevanion looks over at the clerks. "When you and Duke Alaric manage to join up, we may outnumber the Witch Queen. We took Rhemuth back, and we have a good chance to get into Valoret in a few months. There's going to be a full-on battle. You could end up being famous— if you handle yourself well, it won't just be Alaric Morgan's victory."

Conall takes a breath. "You've been talking to my father."

"Of course I have. Why wouldn't I? I've seen politics and war in Orsal country and in Meara. I know what happens backstage."

"We have to fight Charissa first. That won't be easy. She'll have Bran Coris as her general."

Lanherne leans in. "You ever see her— the Shadow Queen, the Witch Queen?"

Conall shakes his head. "Not really. I was at the Coronation at Rhemuth, but I don't remember much. Not anything, really. I remember that she wore a blue dress and that she was really tall. I remember seeing Alaric Morgan fighting her champion, and I remember the fighting and people getting me and my brothers out of the cathedral. The whole city was catching fire. That's about all that I remember. Hiding in a field while my father got us horses and got us out."

"I saw her that day," Lanherne says. "You're right— she's tall. Tall as Duke Alaric, anyway. I mean, you could say she's beautiful, if you like your women six feet tall and ice-cold and scarecrow-thin. They say she has a long scar across her face, now. She got that in the fighting. I saw her just for a minute, when the fighting started. They call her Charissa the Cruel in Rhemuth city. She'll never give up. She wants the throne and she won't give up, not ever."

"When it happens," Trevanion says, "when we get the whole army together and go across the Molling, you remember that she's smart and she's Deryni and she knows how to spring a surprise. Her people stopped Wencit of Torenth at Cardosa. Set his army on fire, they say. You'd best remember that. She'll try to surprise us, or that bastard Marley will."

Conall looks up at the banners by his pavilion. "We'll get to the Molling. How many more stops are we making before we get up toward Drellingham and the river? Two?"

"Just one," Trevanion says. "There are a couple of big local lords there who'll have decent-sized contingents. We'll be there a few days, then on to the river."

Conall looks down at the longsword he's wearing and rests one hand on the hilt. He looks up. "Not one stop. Two. Send copies of our warrant to all the villages another couple of days southeast of Drellingham. Tell the local landholders and village heads I want everyone who owns a horse and a sword or owns a bow ready to join us on the march. Requisition every ox and cow and sheep and riding horse you can find. Grain, too.  If a town has a militia with crossbows, I want their men. Get chits written up. We'll pay them all after the war."

The two lords look at each other. "The Lendours are supposed to be Corwyn country, Morgan country. We'll be crossing paths with Duke Alaric's purveyancers and his own arrayers. That could be a problem."

"No," Conall says. "Use our warrant. Tell anyone who questions you that I'm here for the King, and that outranks the Duke of Corwyn. When we get to the river, I want us with as many men as we can find. All under the Carthmoor banner." He lets out a breath. "I want us ready for any surprises."

He looks back up at the banners. "I agree with you, my lords. The Shadow Queen will send Coris and every surprise she can manage against us. This will be a hard campaign with a big battle at the end. My lords, maybe we can get to Valoret. Maybe we can.  But we're going to be ready and able to fight, with or without Duke Alaric. I mean, Alaric Morgan's a fine general; nobody doubts that. But we're going to be able to survive on our own. We'll strip every village in the western and central Lendours if we have to. If we have to, we'll fight on our own, and if we have to, we'll get clear on our own, too, and save what we've brought-- whatever happens to Corwyn. I'm the one arraying this part of the army. I'm not telling my father that I lost it for him."

[Jerusha]

A very interesting "new" Conall.  We'll have to wait and see how this plays out.

[DoctorM]

A very interesting "new" Conall.  We'll have to wait and see how this plays out.

He's interesting to work with. He's the heir of a second son, someone who knows his career will always be in second place. He's sensitive to what Nigel has told him about the backstage politics here. He's beginning to see that the Gwynedd wars (and personal/family relationships) are a lot more complicated than he thought. He's not quite eighteen, and a lot is being put on his plate. I want to see how all these stresses play out.

[tmcd]

he's wearing a longsword and a silk surcoat worked with the Haldane arms

If the heraldry is anything like our timeline's, and it is:

That would be high treason, a claim that he is the Haldane king. He should be wearing the Carthmoor arms differenced with a label (attested at least once in the canon).  By the Codex, it's Haldane counterchanged (Or, a lion rampant guardant gules) within a bordure gules. Given the tinctures, I'd suggest a label azure (blue) for contrast.

A label looks like a simple bridge, sort of: often 3 vertical posts with a crossbar across the top usually the width of the shield.

As before, I'm enjoying the rich interplay of characters and plot, and wishing I could introduce several well-supplied modern combined-arms divisions to massacre a lot of the people.

[DoctorM]

he's wearing a longsword and a silk surcoat worked with the Haldane arms

If the heraldry is anything like our timeline's, and it is:

That would be high treason, a claim that he is the Haldane king. He should be wearing the Carthmoor arms differenced with a label (attested at least once in the canon).  By the Codex, it's Haldane counterchanged (Or, a lion rampant guardant gules) within a bordure gules. Given the tinctures, I'd suggest a label azure (blue) for contrast.

A label looks like a simple bridge, sort of: often 3 vertical posts with a crossbar across the top usually the width of the shield.

As before, I'm enjoying the rich interplay of characters and plot, and wishing I could introduce several well-supplied modern combined-arms divisions to massacre a lot of the people.

Huh. I have Conall wearing royal arms because my assumption is that as a royal commissioner with a royal warrant, he's the king's direct representative and agent-- in other words, a stand-in for the king during the array. He'd wear the royal arms because for purposes of the array, he'd be the king-- like holding a power of attorney/mandate. I'll defer to your knowledge of heraldry on this.

Hmmm... which characters are you thinking of for a massacre?

[tmcd]

In our world: plenty of people had delegated authority, in limited areas or nigh unlimited (regents, say).

But the coat of arms meant the king (or the lord or the body corporate).

The exceptions I can think of:

Heralds. I think it's fair to summarize it as "The voice of the herald is the voice of the king". But in English practice, at least, the arms were on a stylized tabard, and they usually had other insignia (chain of office, herald's staff, coronet of office, whatnot). https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herald#/media/File:The_King's_Coronation_(52874898271)_(cropped).jpg is a nice example.

Seals of office.  The seal signifies the king's or lord's act, and could often be a better authenticator than a signature, so be careful of who you give it to!  In England, you had officers like the Lord Chancellor (keeper of the Great Seal), Keeper of the Privy Seal, or Keeper of the Signet Seal.  But the arms are on the seal, not on the person.

Certain possessions.  A keystone on a major arch, or stones on either side of the fireplace.  The dishes. The letterhead, when printing started.  (Or illumination as decoration or illustration, if done by hand.)

And that's all I can think of. Certainly not officers otherwise, regardless of how well-regarded they were or how important their duties.

[tmcd]

As for whom to kill, I'm a Kelson partisan, so all the other factions. And with Conall throwing dirt in the face of Alaric—I am more firmly of the opinion that the Haldane cause does NOT need fracture—Conall needs to have a fatal accident cleaning his pistol. Several of them, just to be sure.  ("Aieee! President Allende has committed suicide by shooting himself in the back with a machine gun at a range of 50 meters, pausing only once to reload!" — National Lampoon, I think, on the Chilean coup that overthrew Allende)

[DoctorM]

As for whom to kill, I'm a Kelson partisan, so all the other factions. And with Conall throwing dirt in the face of Alaric—I am more firmly of the opinion that the Haldane cause does NOT need fracture—Conall needs to have a fatal accident cleaning his pistol. Several of them, just to be sure.  ("Aieee! President Allende has committed suicide by shooting himself in the back with a machine gun at a range of 50 meters, pausing only once to reload!" — National Lampoon, I think, on the Chilean coup that overthrew Allende)

The National Lampoon / Allende reference was unexpected and brilliant!

[tmcd]

As I should have done before, I started to look for the quotation.  My first search had an AI answer starting

The phrase "Aieee! President Allende has committed suicide by shooting himself in the back with a machine gun at a range of 50 meters, pausing only once to reload!" is a well-known satirical quote attributed to National Lampoon ...

But the only hit was my text above.  Good old AI.

Edit: Found it! Someone had scanned the November 1973 issue National Lampoon. Looks like a newsprint insert:

Chile is back on the Menu!

I. T. T.'S ALL OVER FOR ALLENDE

¡Eet ees muy tragico! Our beloved President is dead, the victim of a self-inflicted air strike. Also, he shot himself twenty-seven times in the back with a machine gun from thirty feet away, pausing only once to reload.

[DoctorM]

As I should have done before, I started to look for the quotation.  My first search had an AI answer starting

The phrase "Aieee! President Allende has committed suicide by shooting himself in the back with a machine gun at a range of 50 meters, pausing only once to reload!" is a well-known satirical quote attributed to National Lampoon ...

But the only hit was my text above.  Good old AI.

Edit: Found it! Someone had scanned the November 1973 issue National Lampoon. Looks like a newsprint insert:

Chile is back on the Menu!

I. T. T.'S ALL OVER FOR ALLENDE

¡Eet ees muy tragico! Our beloved President is dead, the victim of a self-inflicted air strike. Also, he shot himself twenty-seven times in the back with a machine gun from thirty feet away, pausing only once to reload.

I loved National Lampoon back in my Lost Youth. They were hilariously sardonic and wickedly funny.