(Luis)
The main reason I rode so hard to Soggo wasn't what Mazeppa had said—I couldn't do anything about that—but it had added a sense of urgency. I arrived at the Duke's mansion a bit after midday, to learn what steps he'd taken, and tell him time was shorter than I'd thought.
I turned over my horses to the stableman, who looked at their sweat-lathered hides, then disapprovingly at me. He shouted the stableboy from his lunch, and as I left, was telling him to water and grain them lightly, and rub them down "right now!"
The duke's secretary was eating at his desk while thumbing through papers as if looking for something specific. Duke Noncheba was away, he said. He'd left the day before to visit each barony personally, armed with his notes on my situation report. He could have sent couriers, ordering his barons in for a general meeting, but there'd have been delays and excuses, exchanges of messages, and general reluctance. By carrying the word himself, the hard-handed old warrior would simplify and speed things. He was a big man, with an aura and presence hard to stand against.
I arranged for an exchange of horses. To continue with the three I'd arrived with, riding them hard all the way to the brother house, might ruin them. So the secretary went to talk with the stableman personally, while I trotted a furlong to the bishop's manse, to see what progress he'd made.
Old Mtutuzela left his desk to pump my hand and clap my shoulder. He'd penned a short but potent sermon on the importance of defending Sota against the tribesmen and their pillaging, burning, raping and killing. By supper the day before, he'd had every literate person locally available, penning copies. I scanned one and winced. Strong stuff! We'd have to reeducate both sides after the war, but first we needed to win. Meanwhile, tomorrow morning, he and two deacons would ride out to visit every dean in the duchy, with copies to distribute immediately to each pastor in the dean's jurisdiction.
I asked for a copy of my own, that I could have copied in other duchies. He gave me three. Meanwhile I was looking at his wiry, well-grayed hair and wrinkled skin, thinking of the years behind them, and the long hours he'd be spending in the saddle.
He chuckled, as if reading my mind. "I'm no longer young," he said, "but as bishop I ride often, and sometimes long hours. So I'm up to it. And these—" he held up a copy of the sermon "—will be more convincing received from my own hand."
He and the duke were a matched pair in everything but age. I hoped things would work out as well with the other nobles I intended to visit.
Then, without taking time for lunch, I left Soggo with fresh horses. As I rode, I updated Carlos, Tahmm, and Freddy via com. Probably within a day or so, Eldred would hear what was going on in Soggo; he almost surely had an informer there. Then he'd put two and two together, and come after us, so we needed to evacuate the brother house. Before next daylight.
Carlos agreed entirely.
I pushed my new horses as hard as I'd pushed the old, gnawing from time to time on a loaf of hard and pungent rye bread from the duke's kitchen.
Blurry-eyed and rump-sprung, I reached the brother house near midnight. I wakened the novice on stable duty to see to them, then went to the house and wakened Carlos and Peng. They'd been sleeping fully dressed, needing only to pull on their boots.
"How long will it take to evacuate?" I asked.
Carlos grinned at Peng. "What's your best estimate?"
Peng peered at the tall clock clacking in a corner. "We'll be ready at two," he said. "Catch some sleep, Luis."
We'd decided at Moleen that Sota was potentially hostile, so during my trips first to Kato, then to Austin and Nona, Carlos had made preparations for evacuating quickly if need be. There were travel rations for two weeks, including oats for the horses. Pack saddles had been lashed up, and stashed in an empty stall. Each brother and novice, as well as their two masters, had hooks by his bed, with civilian riding clothes, hooded oilskin cloak, saber, knife, longbow and quiver.
Horses had been assigned. Not all the novices had arrived as able horsemen, but since being recruited they'd ridden almost daily, often fast, on roads, trails, and in untracked woods.
"Do we have a guide?" I asked.
"In a guest room: a deacon from Sugar Grove. I sent for him this noon. And we have Tahmm's maps, and the royal list of nobles by duchies, annotated by Pastor Linkon."
"Good," I said. "I'll need fresh horses. The three I arrived with can follow along unburdened. They'll have to recover on the go."
I pulled off my boots wondering if I'd lie awake, and fell asleep so quickly, that even with the verikal, I don't remember lying down.
It was Peng who manhandled me out of bed, and once on my feet I was functional. As we rode quietly down the night-bound road, the three of us counciled, with Donald at my side. I intended to involve him in every discussion allowed by policy. Before long he'd need to operate independently of me, talking to hardheaded nobles and bishops on his own, getting them to do what was needed.
We'd ride first to Cloud, to rouse its duke and get its militias mustered. The molli king and archbishop would try to destroy the whole effort. And we? We would convert any king's men we could to our side.
"Your Majesty?"
The lunch nook was small and private, and the voice from the door an unwelcome intrusion. Both the king and Elvi turned frowning. Mary's departure had left Elvi at loose ends; she missed her twin more than she or their father had expected. They lunched together regularly now, and interruptions were not appreciated.
"Yes, Brookins?" he said, more severely than he'd intended.
"Your Majesty, Mr. Rodney Sipliwo is here to see you, from Soggo. He says his business is quite urgent." Sipliwo was Duke Nonchebe's "expediter"—and the king's ears in Soggo. That he had come here himself was more than remarkable, suggesting something too important to send by post rider.
"Thank you, Brookins, I'll see him shortly. Just now I am lunching with Princess Elvi."
Brookins bobbed a bow. "Of course, Your Majesty," he said, and left the room.
Eldred turned his attention back to his daughter. "You were telling me of your sword drill," he said. She'd finally tired of being his "deputy," and returned to her earlier game of armsman. In a prepubescent child there'd been a certain charm in it, but in a princess nearing her eighteenth birthday? Well, she was the way she was.
"Yes, father," she said. "Halldor and I need instruction. By one of your better men. We've gone as far as we can with our old drills."
She had not wheedled. Her tone and expression were of someone stating an undeniable and important truth. He sighed inwardly. "Of course. I'll talk to your uncle Jaako. He'll know who best to assign."
"Thank you, father, you're a dear." She got off her chair and stepped around the table to kiss his forehead. "I must go now. To the . . . you know."
"Of course. And my dear, as you leave, tell Brookins I'm on my way." He watched her depart. Apparently she'd been spending substantial time with a young man new in his court, a well-mannered and rather good-looking lad, but empty-headed. His father was Halvor Eriksen, Baron of Floren. At their age, the two young people might develop a serious interest in one another. Eldred decided to learn more about the young man.
Brookins himself ushered Sipliwo into the small audience chamber, a gangling, disheveled black man who walked with evident discomfort. Eldred wondered if the man had been beaten. His face wasn't swollen.
Brookins bowed. "Your Majesty, this is Mr. Rodney Sipliwo. He brings urgent news from Soggo."
Eldred nodded acknowledgement. "So, Mr. Sipliwo, what is this urgent news?"
Words tumbled from the man's mouth. A Higuchian, a "Master Luis," had arrived at the duke's manor with rumors of a Dkota invasion expected soon. There'd been a conference, with Bishop Mtutuzela taking part. Questions were asked and answered, plans made, and actions begun.
Unfortunately, Sipliwo had had no opportunity to contact either of his sometime couriers, for the duke had kept him at hand, and when he'd left Soggo, had taken him along. Not till the night before last, in Riverton Sancroy, had a chance shown itself. Armed with a false oral "message from the duke to the bishop," Sipliwo had wakened the baron's stable master, gotten his horse and left. He'd ridden most of the night and till noon, almost without a break and entirely without eating, until "now I can scarcely walk."
Eldred was outraged. "Brookins," he snapped, "send for the archbishop! And Jarvi! I want them here at once! I will put a stop to this treachery in such a way it can never recur!"
In the real world, every action takes time. In this case beginning with a constipated archbishop who resisted being hurried, but finally came away with his mission incomplete. Still, seventy-six minutes after Eldred had risen angry from his throne, he, along with a dismayed Clonarty and a grim Jaako Jarvi, were in the saddle, jogging down the road toward the Higuchian brother house, followed by a platoon of armsmen.
Jarvi was an old warrior nearing sixty, a kinsman of the late queen, thought of as an uncle. The king trusted and relied on him. But even if Eldred hadn't invited him—ordered him actually—he'd have been there. He knew Higuchian military prowess from the Anti-Pope's War. Locally the brothers were too few for meaningful resistance, but there'd be the problem of rounding them up, if they scattered.
Jarvi had the true warrior's innate sense of loyalty. But his loyalties were various—to family, kingdom, monarch, God, and his troops. And the Church! And there were levels, and priorities. To his mind, at the spiritual level the Church was second only to God. But at the same time, a good and just king acts on lives at a very basic, material level, and good rule was essential to the welfare of kingdom and people. While the Church, with its saints, angels, pope . . . acted on a less material, less immediate level. But men erred, and both king and pope were men. Jarvi had pledged his loyalty to both, but for years he'd lived by the king's dollar.
They reached the brother farm and school to find them abandoned. Furnishings and tools remained, but no people—not even servants.
Now Jarvi took over. He sent two squads, each under a sergeant, to visit neighboring farms. They were to learn what locals the Higuchians had employed, and when the exodus had taken place. And to bring in any employees they found, for further questioning. Two other armsmen, who as youths had been hunters and trappers, were ordered to determine by tracks whether the Higuchians had headed west or south.
On the farm across the road, the armsmen found a woman who admitted to cooking there, she and her lame adult daughter. A son, also lame, had worked there as a handyman. They'd been wakened the night before and told not to come again till asked, she said, and referred the sergeant to another neighbor, Milo Bambino, who supervised the actual farming for Master Carlos.
Bambino admitted taking in the brotherhood's livestock. Master Carlos had asked him to, telling him to treat them as his own until notified otherwise. Early that morning he'd gone to check on them. All the cows and calves had been there, but of the horses, all that remained were the foals, two pregnant mares, and two heavy draft animals. The pigs seemed to have been let loose to fend for themselves. There'd been no goats or sheep. He and the missus had rounded up the ducks, along with the truculent old gander who guarded against weasels and the like.
The king was disarmed by Bambino's volubility and seeming artlessness—that and his not working in the brother house, where he might have overheard things—and he was one of those released. Several were taken to Hasty, herded on foot—"for further questioning." The two lame young people were helped to mount behind soldiers.