Once again, it was a kiss that finally lulled Luthene awake. It had taken some time to get Galin’s forgiveness after telling the officers he could read, and in truth, she didn’t even mind it. They were awake well into the night again as a result, and she slept soundly, even though Maria had announced there was another tray of food left out for them, along with her freshly-washed tunic and trousers. She was exhausted, but cancelling the inspection again wasn’t an option.

“Good morning,” Luthene said with a smile, leaning in to kiss Galin one more time before getting up. She sat up in the bed, the blanket still covering her, and pulled on her shift. Galin was already at the table, but when Luthene stood up to join him, she stumbled. “Don’t you laugh,” she mumbled, but it was too late.

“I imagine someone will need to visit the goldsmith for Domnall’s silver later today,” Luthene said once she reached the table. She speared a piece of fried beef with her knife and ate that while her tea cooled enough that she could drink it quickly. “No women have spoken to me about leaving yet,” she added, “but they may. They haven’t really seen much of me since the feast.” She flushed a bit. “It took us three days riding to get to that manor, and I expect many of the widows will prefer to take whatever we can afford to give them rather than move such a distance. That may be for the best, anyway, as there will be less work for them there, and less space. But anyway, my hope is that the goldsmith also has Domnall’s copy of the contract with the Crown. It will be a lot easier to read and understand our new contract if I can look over the old one first, and compare.”

As she’d done the morning before, Luthene pinched her nose before gulping down her tea. Then she finished her breakfast and stood up to get dressed. “I’ll tell you what I’m looking forward to most,” she added. “A proper door.” She leaned down to kiss Galin again, and he pulled her into his lap.

By the time they were both dressed, the men had been waiting a good twenty minutes. “Sorry,” Luthene mumbled as she took her place with the men. Judging by the snickers of the men, Galin was not in the least big apologetic, and when she turned to face him, he actually looked a bit smug. She glared for a moment, then waited for Galin to address the men.

Galin was not a very stubborn man but that night it took a great deal of convincing on Luthene’s part to persuade him to let go of his anger at her conduct during the conference of officers. First she nearly assured that he was stuck with command and then she made him out to be some sort of scholar, as she had been teaching him to read against his better judgment. Still and all, it had been an enjoyable night and so too the wee hours of the morning. Maria arrived with food and a knowing grin again and this time Galin hurled a boot at her, the hobnailed sole thumping on the wood of the door frame as she slipped back out behind the leather hanging. Shaking his head at her impudence, he leaned over to kiss Luthene and felt her stirring. Letting her wake in her own time, he slipped out of the bed and prepared for the day’s inspection.

After the meeting the evening before, Galin had found one of the boys around the camp, the orphan of one of the men in his old company, and gave him a crescent to clean his mail hauberk with sand and vinegar until the links shone like silver in the sun. The boy had done a good job, Galin noted as he inspected it where it hung on a small stand. Not a spot of rust remained, he saw approvingly and his helmet was likewise burnished to a brilliant silver sheen. For a while the night before, while he brooded over Luthene’s unthinking betrayal of his confidence, he had sharpened and oiled his sword and fighting knife before he decided that his time was much better spent making peace with his woman, so they hung from the stand, gleaming and ready. It would not do, after all, for a commander to look the part of an unkempt recruit when he inspected his men, and like it or not, Galin was stuck in the position of commander until there was a better option available to him.

Luthene staggered getting out of bed and Galin stifled a laugh at her predicament, but not quickly enough to avoid a good-natured glare. “Aye, I think we ought to head into the City. I have a few things there that need taking care of, as it is, along with Domnall’s silver.” He winked when she flushed and pushed a piece of bread onto her plate. “Trust me, love, they know exactly why you’ve been busy and wouldn’t expect any less. Nothing they havne’t been guilty of, and their men late for parade, much to their detriment.” He nodded and ate some of the beef himself, mulling over her thoughts on the widows’ situation. “Aye, we will need the silver for sure, with them needing their men’s pay and all. And the contract would help. In the City, I think we might be able to wedge ourselves into a Crown envoy’s offices long enough to get ourselves situated again with work and pay.” He grinned when she mentioned a proper door and kissed him, pulling her close again and illustrating very clearly what would happen behind the privacy of that closed, bolted door.

It was good that Luthene was also a soldier because once they had final disentangled themselves from each other and the sheets again, she helped him into his armor, ensuring it did not look like he had rushed straight from bed, even if they were already a quarter hour late. By the time they reached the company, the men were starting to mill around impatiently, but a bark from Cooper snapped them back into ranks, though not without more than a few knowing grins and winks. Somewhere in the back of the formation, someone mimicked the sorts of sounds that came from their hut until Cooper, prowling quietly behind the malefactor, clouted him on the ear. “Company ready for inspection, Galin,” he called in a bellow that was pitched to roar over a battlefield, and Galin nodded.

“I think it is only right to first lay out the facts, before I inspect you all. After the terrible fate of our comrades, I want to know you are all now released from any oaths that bind you here, with no malice or shame. If you choose to leave, I will pay you all I can from Domnall’s silver so that you are able to live well after you leave these walls. This goes,” he said, his voice pitched to carry as well, “for the widows and orphans as well. You will be seen to in the same way. We plan to petition the Crown to move us to the manor where we stormed the lord’s fortress, and use that land as our own. It is three days ride from here, so those that do not want to make that journey and prefer to remain in the City, you are welcome to part ways with our blessing and respect.

“Finally, I have spoken with the other officers and we have decided that, of us, I am to maintain command of the company, in concert with the other officers as advisors. I, for one, would rather be with you, in the ranks, where a man’s a proper soldier, but someone’s got to be in charge of you goat-swiving drunks, no offense Maria but you know how Cooper gets on a march,” he paused as a titter of laughter came through the ranks, relieving some of the tension of the moment. He knew he looked every inch the warlord that Domnall had seen in him, his mail shining, his mail and helmet glinting like some wandering bard’s image of a hero, but he knew it was just the sun as ever it was. But still, in that moment, he felt in command for the first time since Domnall pushed the burden onto his shoulders. The men whispered among themselves, some looking to their officers to confirm what Galin said, and, once they were assured that this was not a rash power grab, they began to stamp and hammer their spear shafts against the iron rims of their shields. With that clamor, Galin was accepted as their leader in the most ancient fashion of the North.

Grinning, he drew his sword and held the hilt to his eyes and saluted them in recognition of the honor they did him, an honor he did not want but could not deny. “Men, you are dismissed. After the evening meal, those that want to strike out, come to the armory and you will be paid off and given whatever we can to provision you. The rest, you are dismissed until noon. Then you are Cooper’s. Owen,” he said, using the man’s given name for the first time, “you are in charge. Luthene and I are heading to gather Domnall’s treasure and see if we can’t choke a few more crescents out of the Crown. Carry on.” Leaving the men grinning and explaining to the particularly dense of the company Luthene’s terribly executed deception, Galin motioned for her to follow him to the stables, where their mounts were saddled by the same orphan boy that had cleaned Galin’s armor. He ruffled the young boy’s hair as he took the reins. “Now run along, Colum. And don’t get into trouble, you hear? At least no trouble you can’t whup,” Galin said with a crooked grin as he hauled himself heavily onto the horse’s back.

The pair rode through the camp, through the ruined north gate to the city of Adeluna and, as the camp faded behind them, Galin turned to Luthene. “So, how do you think that went? Seemed better than I expected,” he said casually, trying not to let the pride of the acclaim creep into his tone. The city gates were open as it was a market day and Galin smiled, planning a little surprise for Luthene if he could find time between supplies, silver, and civil servants. “The smith’s down this way, same road as the Mermaid but closer near the gate. You see, the one with the gold chalice and the small forge?” He pointed to a well-to-do smith’s place of business and guided the horse awkwardly toward it, still hating to ride. “The man’s name is Blas, a man of the City. You have the ledger, so I’ll let you do the talking and I’ll just menace him like something out of a Highland nightmare if he gets mouthy.” Half-falling from the roan’s back, he scrambled to his feet and offered Luthene a hand to dismount with a wink and a grin. “Shall we, my love? Maybe he might even have those silly rings you southron ladies like so much when you’ve taken unto yourself a man,” he said off-handedly as he helped her from the saddle, expecting the fluster and blush that followed. “Lead on, dear, lead on. We haven't got all day, you know!”

There was some quiet immediately after the laughter died as the men looked to each other and to their officers— Cooper, Hugh, Padraig and Donchad, as well as their more immediate section officers— to confirm what Galin said. Luthene’s heart pounded as she waited, worried for a moment that she had been wrong about their willingness to follow him. Then some men began to stomp their feet, and hit the shafts of their spears against their shields, and she smiled and did the same. Galin drew his sword and saluted the men who had accepted him as their leader, and she was pleased to see that he was smiling.

For a moment, after Galin had used her name, Luthene didn’t think anything of it. It was her name, after all. The confusion on the faces of a handful of the men tipped her off, however, and she was impressed with how Galin had handled it. Just an off-hand comment, rather than having her address the men and give another embarrassing apology.

Before following Galin to the stables, Luthene went back to their hut and changed into her dress again, getting Maria to help with tying it. If they were going to meet with a Crown envoy, this would be better for her. She also stuffed Domnall’s ledger into a bag, and returned to hear Galin tell a boy of about eight or so to run along. She raised an eyebrow at him and smiled. “Who’s Colum?” she asked, tossing Galin his cloak and getting into the saddle.

“I think it went precisely as well as I expected,” Luthene said with a smile as they rode towards the city. She could tell he was pleased, in spite of his efforts to keep his words modest. “The men like you, and they trust you to lead them. Will you have them swear new oaths?”

They reached the goldsmith and Galin nearly fell from the saddle. Luthene could dismount well enough on her own, but she still took the hand Galin offered, then flushed when he suggested a ring. “Maybe he does,” she said, though she knew he spoke in jest. “Though the tradition is for a man to give his woman a ring when they are wed, or at least betrothed. Be careful about offering something like that, even in jest. I might accept.”

Galin held the door while Luthene entered, holding the ledger. Inside, there was a young man at the forge, probably an apprentice. “We’re looking for Blas,” Luthene said.

“Who’s ‘we’?” A gruff-looking man appeared from behind a leather flap.

“This is Galin,” Luthene said, gesturing to him. “New captain of the Company.”

Blas raised his eyebrow. “What happened to Domnall?”

“Died of plague a little more than a month ago,” she explained. She saw Blas touch a medallion around his neck, and she waited until his lips stopped moving in silent prayer before she continued. “I have his ledger. He left about thirty thousand silver with you, and Galin has need of that.”

Again, Blas raised his eyebrow. “There was a man in here a few days ago demanding that money, said he was Domnall’s successor.”

The colour left Luthene’s face. “Did you give it to him?”

“That’s Company money,” he replied. “Not for one man, and I could tell by the look of him that he was going to take it and run.”

She was relieved. “That man left behind quite a few widows and orphans, and the silver is for them, plus to pay any man who wishes to leave the Company now,” she explained. “Cormac was the one who kept this ledger, and his wife and son are among those we mean to care for.”

Blas nodded. “Cormac was a good man.” He turned to the boy. “Juan. Get the chest, the one with the Company seal.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a contract in there as well?”

“The one with the Crown, aye.” Blas jerked his thumb at Galin. “Is he the captain, or you?”

Luthene smiled. “Just the contract for now, and we’ll be back in a few hours for the silver.”

When the chest was brought to him, Blas produced a key from around his neck, opened it, and took out a scroll. Luthene took the contract, and her and Galin left the shop. “I’d like to read this over before we meet with an envoy,” she said. “You and I need to get our personal money from the Mermaid anyway. Let’s go there, and have a drink. Then I can read this to you if you want, or just summarize what it says if you’d prefer.”

Sipping his pint at his old, familiar table, Galin felt the strangeness of his life in a more immediate way. Months ago, he would sneak out to this tavern to meet Isabella, believing that Luthene did not see him as anything but a comrade in arms. Now Isabella was dead and buried from the plague and he and Luthene admitted feelings for each other. The Maker, he thought for the millionth time in his life, was a capricious bastard, and he knew he would think it a million times more. But it was no matter, the present was the present and it was useless to contemplate what things may or may not have been. Instead, he focused on the terms in the contract with the Crown, simple enough, a crescent a day for each man, as well as fourteen cattle and pigs a week or the equivalent in barreled beef, fifty barrels of flour, and three hundred bushels of whatever vegetables and beans were in season. It amounted to a ration of about a pound of beef, a pound of bread, and a pound of vegetables a day, though those rations were more a standard than the actual practice. On top of that, every man was entitled to a gallon of beer or a quart of wine a day, provided by the Company, in addition to whatever they procured for themselves. It was a staggering undertaking, feeding a company like theirs, with a thousand men at arms, but it was still a very lean contract, Galin thought, as each man had to feed his family out of his ration and wages and after a while, that may start to pinch.

“Well, if my numbers are right,” Galin said as they walked to the offices of the exchequer, their pints downed and arguments prepared, “It cost them three and a quarter thousand crescents a week to feed us and all, and another one and a half thousand on top for wages. So about six thousand a week, twenty four thousand a month.” He paused and cursed. “That’s a lot of bloody money. Maker’s cods… Well, regardless, we’ve only got about one in ten of our old numbers, so we should be one in ten the price of the company before, no? So I think, so we don’t have hard winters, we could live on about five hundred a week, give or take. Shouldn’t be too terrible for the Crown, see, if we’re to do their dirty work too and hold the castle out there in debatable land, and costing about as much as year as the company did a month.” He did not have a head for letters but numbers came easily enough to him, at least the simple ones like sums and figures on the ledger about the company.

At the offices of the Crown’s exchequer, Galin was able to convince one of the clerks to get him and Luthene in front of one of the principal magistrates quickly with a subtle combination of flattery and a threat to pull the man’s balls out through his mouth. Once there, seated in an opulent enough room with three hanging tapestries from across the sea and a roaring fire, Galin gave the magistrate a long, hard look. He had the soft look of a palace dweller, as Galin called the host of people that flocked to the royal service like flies to shit. Pale and overweight, with bulging eyes and a receding hairline, he looked more like a toad than a man and Galin, ever quick to judge, instantly disliked him and his condescending tone. “Oh, I see,” the man droned on after Galin explained the situation, his voice like a particularly pedantic teacher speaking to a slow, stubborn child. “You get your men slaughtered by a little more than a rabble of alewives and farmers with mallets, and now you are asking my leave to move, vacate your contracts, and what’s more, to be given a new contract and lands to hold for the Queen when you could not see off a handful of rebellious muck farmers? Have I about given you the measure of it, Northman?”

Galin took the silver-inlaid cup of sweet white wine from the table alongside him and downed it in a gulp, then stood menacingly, his armored bulk seeming to fill the room as he radiated anger. The fingers of his right hand closed on the hilt of his fighting knife while his left crushed the goblet’s bowl into a misshapen lump of metal that he let fall to the stone floor with a dull ringing bounce. He could see Luthene trying to restrain him with a look but he ignored her and crossed the garret chamber in a single long bound and grabbed the royal functionary by his heavy gold chain of office. The man began to squawk like a wet chicken, demanding to be unhanded, did he know what offense he was giving the Crown and its dignity? Galin just grinned, the same grin he always wore when he fought, and dragged the man over to an open window overlooking the courtyard three stories below.

“One more word against the company and we will see if you fly,” Galin growled and pushed him half out of the window, holding him up by the gold chain around his neck. “Now I know you are a reasonable man,” he said in the same calm, conversational tone he used when he had been interrogating the prisoner on Aelle’s ship. “And I know you can find it in your ledgers to pay for the survivors of a raid your people bolloxed up to a fare-thee-well and give them a plot of land you and your incompetent bastards can’t defend yourselves. And pay us like I said, before, enough cattle, pigs, flour, and vegetables for one hundred men, and pay at the old rate. If not, I will throw you out this window now and you’ll have a few long seconds to contemplate your mistake before your brains are scattered over the cobbles. And,” Galin continued, grabbing the cruet of wine from the table with his other hand and pouring it all over the terrified dignitary, “no one will suspect anything more than another drunk, miserable clerk threw himself out a window when some scheme or other was discovered. Death and disgrace, my lord, or a manor, food, and pay. It’s your choice, after all. You’re the one with the chain of office.” Galin jerked on the chain and the man gasped in abject terror, babbling that Galin could have whatever he wanted, so long as he let him back into the room.

“Luckily, Luthene has taken the liberty of drawing up a contract with just these stipulations. Your signature and seal, if you please, my lord,” Galin said, hauling the man back in and throwing him bodily at his desk where Luthene had deposited the parchment. With a shaking hand he signed and sealed the document, and handed it back to Luthene. “She’s left you a copy as well for your records. Now, I was thinking, the holding of Lord Arnholt, who we so kindly murdered for your Queen last summer… We will be taking that and, as a bonus, clearing out the brigands that have holed up there. Once we’ve done that, and repaired the place, expect an itemized list of expenditures. But don’t worry, we will leave an address in the city to send the coin, no need to trouble yourself bringing it all the way to us by hand.” The man was as white as a sheet when Galin finished and Galin winked at Luthene, then opened the chamber door. “A pleasure doing business with you, my lord. We will show ourselves out.”

As he slammed the oor behind them, Galin broke out into a laughing fit. “Maker’s bollocks, but did you see his face? That was bloody priceless!”

Luthene had originally thought it presumptuous to draw up a new contract before negotiations even started, but she did so anyway, according to Galin’s specifications. He had a good head for numbers, she noted, possibly even a bit better than her own, and she wrote down his figures. She thought they might need to haggle a bit, and suggested they propose a higher amount at first, but trusted Galin when he said he had a plan. He was the captain, and she wasn’t even an officer, and right now she was more a clerk than a soldier.

Things got off on the wrong foot quickly enough, with the magistrate insulting the Company’s abilities. She didn’t think they would leave with the contract they wanted, especially when she saw how angry Galin was. She gave a very slight shake of her head, and Galin ignored that in favour of assaulting the man. In the end, the contract Luthene drew up was signed and sealed.

“I thought his eyes were going to burst,” Luthene said with a smile. She rolled up the parchment and put it in her bag. “Now, I was the fool who let Cedric use her shield, and now I’m in need of a new one. I think I have enough for a hauberk as well.”

The last time Luthene had seen Ranulf, she had been Alyson of Egjora. The armourer recognized her, and raised an eyebrow when Galin introduced her again using her true name. “Luthene, eh?” he said. “During the war, we always figured you stood eight feet tall and had three tits.” He moved closer to her, one hand outstretched. “Sure there ain’t three in there?”

Luthene stepped back and clung to Galin. “Lucky for you I don’t have my knife, or you’d lose that hand.”

Galin’s response made Luthene flush, and the men laughed. Galin told Ranulf what he was looking for, then mentioned he had something else to pick up and he’d meet Luthene later at the goldsmith’s. She nodded, then pulled him closer so she could kiss him. Ranulf smirked.

“A shield, please,” Luthene said, getting back to business. “Round, same as the men use. And how long would it take to make a hauberk?”

Ranulf thought. “I’ve got one started, maybe two days to have it ready. Such a wee thing, but I suppose that makes for a nice, tight fit.”

It took a moment for Luthene to understand, and then she coloured again. She took the shield, and left enough silver for both it and the hauberk before leaving. Most of the anger had left her by the time she reached the street where Blas’ shop was. There was a confectioner’s stall set up nearby, and bought a bag of assorted candies.

Galin would not tell her what he had wanted to buy, in spite of Luthene’s urging. Their new contract was left with Blas for safekeeping, and they carried the silver back to the camp. The boy, Colum, was waiting when the returned with their horses, ready to take care of the saddles. Luthene stumbled a bit getting off her horse. “I think I’m a little sore still,” she whispered to Galin. Then, crouching down so she was level with the boy, she opened the bag of candies. “Just one,” she said. “But there might be more once you’ve had your dinner.”

Leave Colum to see to the horses, Luthene took her things back to her hut. “I think I should go see the women before we eat,” she said. “I need to be available for those who wish to leave. I’ll see you at dinner.” She kissed him, then went looking for Maria and the other women.

“Come off it Ranulf, we can both see there are two there. However, you can’t even imagine how wonderful a pair they are, believe me.” He winked and laughed at the old smith and squeezed Luthene with an arm around her waist, letting her know that, joking aside, she was safe and protected, even if she was capable enough to handle herself. “And if you want it, darling, you can borrow my knife and teach the old goat some manners.” He kissed her forehead and smiled easily, then let her go to go through a rack of weapons at the side of Ranulf’s smithy. “This is too good a blade to be yours, Ranulf, so who made the thing?” Galin pulled a shorter, single-edged, curved blade from the rack, its blade shimmering with like a peacock’s blue feathers in the light of the forge’s fire. It was sharp along the curving edge, wickedly sharp, and came to a fine point, with a sharpened section along the top six inches of the blade’s spine.

“Dwarven steel, buggers call it sapphire steel from the color and to make ‘emselves seem properly fancier than us mere humans with our inferior steel… that we just call steel.” It was clear from his tone that Ranulf held the dwarves in contempt but there was no mistaking the craftsmanship of the piece. It would be a good weapon if he continued to serve in a skirmishing capacity, something for close-in work where his heavy war sword would be unwieldy to the point of endangering himself. “You don’t want it, do you? Oh Maker’s bollocks, you do. I wonder about you, man, with your taste in women and now swords. Are you sure you ain’t some southern dandy, more a fan of a soft boy’s arse?” Galin glared at him and stuck the blade back in its black leather scabbard.

“Tell Luthene the cost, I’m taking it. And my love, I’ve got to head into the market for a few other things, odds and ends for the company. I’ll meet you at Blas’ shop in a half hour?” He leaned down and kissed her, not caring that Ranulf smirked and snickered, and knowing full well the man would overcharge for the dwarven blade. It was not his normal style, but something that gave a bit more reach than his fighting knife but would not be as difficult in close quarters as his heavy sword was something worth having, even if he was gouged on the price. He tied the slings of the dwarven blade to his warbelt so it slung nearly horizontally behind him. It took a few yards of walking to get used to the new weight on his belt but Galin was confident that he had made a good choice, if only for the quality of the blade’s steel alone.

The market was more bustling that it had been the last time he had been in the City, a sign that it was starting to recover from the plague. At the height of the deaths and contagion, not a single stall was open and now it was a vibrant sea of colors, scents, and sounds, almost overwhelming at first sight. Ever unhappy to have to deal with a crowded city, Galin shouldered his way into the masses toward a book seller, a Pavporan man with a nut-brown complexion, hawking books in every language under the two moons, if his Adelunian was to be understood. Galin scanned the books in the stall, looking for a single word with an intense focus, trying to block out the noise of the bazaar so he could concentrate on reading. His face lit up when he found it, tracing his fingers over the letters incised in the binding. LOVE. Perfect, he thought, and counted three crescents into the man's hand, wondering what his leering smile was all about. Shrugging at the strangeness of foreigners, he pushed the book into his pack and headed back to the goldsmith's where Luthene had already got the chest out of the vault and secured to the back of her horse. As they rode back to the camp, he smiled at her, barely containing himself knowing he had a surprise for her, one she was sure to love. "So, how much did Ranulf end up demanding for the new gear? He always was a pikey bastard, fleecing his own like that. And next time, if he reaches out, break his fingers."

The camp was abuzz with activity when they returned. When he dismounted and heard her whisper, he grinned at her. "I know something that will get you feeling all to rights again soon, but it will have to wait," he whispered back and kissed the hollow of her neck as Colum lead the horses away, chewing on his sweet. "Now, I will be in the Armory, so send the men there, and the women as well," he said, hugging her a moment before leaving for the work of counting and accounting for the company's cash reserves. It was a task that stretched into the evening, as men came, asking to be released to find new work or settle with their wives, and Galin paid them the wages they were owed and, whenever he could, found a way to press a few more coins into their hands to ease the parting of comrades. These came out of his own hoard and soon he would be as poor as any man, but these men had suffered enough and he would do what he could to ease their transition into the world of civilians. By the time it was over, he had only a few crescents to his name and about a hundred odd men still under arms, but he had done right. Closing the ledger, he tucked it under his arm and wandered out into the camp to find Luthene and see if she still needed his cure for her soreness.

“Keep drinking that tea Maria gave you and you’ll be with child in no time!”

Luthene’s eyes widened and the women burst out laughing. “Did you see the look on her face!” another woman said, before trying to mimic Luthene’s expression.

“It’s not… it won’t actually…” Luthene said.

“No, it won’t,” Maria replied, still laughing, but kindly. “It’s the same stuff we all use, except perhaps Julia,” she added, indicating the first woman who has spoke, who was clearly pregnant.

“Aye. Should have made Eoin wear a sheepskin,” Julia said, placing her hand on her abdomen. “At least he wed me before he went off and died. I expect I’ll stay with my mother for a while until this little one is born, and I don’t think she’d be too kind if I got myself a bastard.”

“Come with us,” Luthene offered.

Julia shook her head. “No place for me now my Eoin’s gone. We’ll be fine.”

Luthene nodded. “I’ll see if we can get you anything more,” she promised.

The afternoon stretched into evening, and Luthene heard similar tales from women newly widowed who wanted to part ways with the Company. There were a few who asked to stay in spite of it, and Luthene asked them to see Maria about work, seeing as she knew better than Luthene did what sort of tasks needed to be done that might be suited to them.

When she could spare a moment, Luthene went to the kitchen, where there was a large pot of hot beef stew waiting. She took a bowl to Galin in the armoury, then returned to the kitchen to eat herself. Colum found her there and she gave him a bowl as well when he said he was hungry, and did she have more candies?

Luthene was in their hut when Galin returned, sharpening and oiling her sword. In spite of the somewhat somber task he had completed, he seemed a bit giddy. Then he revealled what he had purchased when he left her with Ranulf: a book. He read the word “love” on the spine, that was how he knew to get that it.

“Thank you!” Luthene exclaimed, kissing him. She opened the cover, and her eyes scanned the first few lines… and she flushed. “They’re love poems, but… with more emphasis on the physical act than you may have intended.” An idea struck her. Still holding the book, she took Galin’s hand and lead him to the bed. Sitting down beside him, she handed it to him, open to the first page. “I want you to read it.”

When he finally found Luthene, she was in their hut, her whetstone scraping long, slow strokes down the edge of her sword, a ritual he had seen her perform countless times before. But love was a strange thing, and he waited, the hanging half-open, and watched a while, looking at her face screwed up in concentration as she honed her blade. Finally stepping into the room, he bent down to kiss her and smiled. “You look a dangerous beauty, you and that sword. Makes me a lucky sort of man, even if Ranulf doesn’t agree.” Before he sat, he stripped off his war belt and armor, hanging them from the stand near their bed and, in his tunic and breeches, sat across from her with a giddy smile. “I got something for you in the market, you know. That’s why I left.” He fished the book out of his pack and pushed it across the table to her, binding first. “See, it’s got a word I know very well on there and it made me think of you. Love.”

She was instantly pleased and leaned over the table to kiss him before opening the book and starting to read it. Galin leaned back in his seat and grinned from ear to ear, happy to have been able to pull off a surprise of this magnitude and see the happiness on his lover’s face. And then, as ever, she flushed. Galin’s face fell and he worried if he had made a mistake, if he had misread the book’s subject and done something that would offend her. When she spoke, it took him a few moments to piece together what she meant, the truth of the book’s nature. So it was love poems, he had been right about that, but they were more the sort that his men might enjoy than a woman of Luthene’s temperament. He sighted and let his head fall to his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said, utterly dejected that his grand plan had failed so spectacularly. “I was an idiot, of course, rushing about without more than a handful of letters to my name and presuming to buy a book for you. Bloody stupid.” Then she took his hand and he looked at her with no small measure of confusion. Instead of berating him for the presumptuous ass he clearly was, she led him, book in hand, to their bed and sat with him on its edge. She held the book open for him and said that she wanted him to read it. “Aloud, you mean?” She nodded and held the book closer, smiling with encouragement as he flushed twice as red as she had, knowing that his skill with reading was limited to grain bills and troop dispositions. But, he thought, after the potentially unmitigated disaster of giving her a book of what amounted to barracks room doggerel poems, he had little choice.

He cleared his throat, buying time as he read the first lines over and over, sounding the letters out in his head and giving the sounds meaning together. At least it was in bloody Adelunian, he thought to himself, and not some other damned script. He could tell letters tolerably well enough and, if he spoke slowly, it would give him time to read ahead and assemble the disparate sounds into words. And so he began, softly, with very little confidence, his finger traveling along the parchment a line ahead of the line he read, cheating the next words into his head so he could prepare. The rhyme made things easier, allowing him to know how at least a word each verse was spoken and that gave him a measure of calm, taking at least a little of the uncertainty out of the task.

“I dreamed this mortal part of mine
Was metamorphosed to a vine,
Which crawling one and every way
Enthralled my dainty Lucia.
Methought her long small legs and thighs
I with my tendrils did surprise;
Her belly, buttocks, and her waist
By my soft nervelets were embraced.
About her head I writhing hung,
And with rich clusters (hid among
The leaves) her temples I behung,
So that my Lucia seemed to me
Young Bacchus ravished by his tree.”

Some words he recognized easily, though not because of his limited education, but because the topic of the poem was quite explicit and he had lived among soldiers long enough to know exactly what the poet had in mind, because truth be told, without the vines and grapes, he had shared the same sorts of thoughts nearly every day since he had first shaved. Still, the strangeness of the poem divorced him somewhat from the understanding of it, as he was a simple, grounded man to whom language was a tool to be used to an end, a hammer more than a painter’s palette.

“My curls about her neck did crawl,
And arms and hands they did enthrall,
So that she could not freely stir
(All parts there made one prisoner).
But when I crept with leaves to hide
Those parts which maids keep unespied,
Such fleeting pleasures there I took
That with the fancy I awoke;
And found (ah me!) this flesh of mine
More like a stock than like a vine.”

Some of the words, even as he read ahead, made him pause and mouth them to himself, breaking the rhythm of the line, and once or twice, Luthene would gently correct his pronunciation, over his mutterings that the letters on the page sounded nothing like that sounds she taught him they represented. It was a constant complaint of his but, as she explained, one that he would never find stasifaction for, so he had to grin and bear it as best he could. His pride, fragile enough as it was, was close to breaking and he was tempted to take the book and hurl it into the hearth and let the flames digest conjugations and declinations instead. But he was nothing if not dogged and, by the light of a rush lamp as the shadows fell throughout the camp, he forged on through the poem until he came to the final verse

“Upon the Nipples of Julia's Breast
Have you beheld (with much delight)
A red rose peeping through a white?
Or else a cherry (double graced)
Within a lily? Centre placed?
Or ever marked the pretty beam,
A strawberry shows, half drowned in cream?
Or seen rich rubies blushing through
A pure smooth pearl, and orient too?
So like to this, nay all the rest,
Is each neat niplet of her breast.”

He smiled at Luthene, a little shyly, wondering how she would react. The poem was far, far more explicit than she had ever been with him with her words and part of him worried that the reading of it only compounded his foolishness in purchasing the book at all. Putting the book aside, conveniently close enough to be kicked into the hearth’s embers, he took her hands and kissed her softly, then pulled back to look her in the eye. “So, how did I do?”

“The cover is a bit deceptive,” Luthene pointed out when Galin apologized. The design contained vines, leaves, and flowers, around just two words, Love Poems. “It’s not stupid at all. It’s thoughtful. No one has ever bought me a book of poetry before. And I’m actually quite pleased that you knew that one word well enough to select this volume.” When he flushed, she kissed his cheek, and waited for him to read the first line.

It was slow, even tedious at times, but Galin made his way through each line of the poem. She encouraged him, placing her hand on his shoulder, or kissing his cheek again if he paused. Every so often, she could correct him, gently so as not to damage his pride. When he finished and set the book aside, she was flushed, but beaming. “You did very, very well,” she replied, with sincerity. “Better than anything else I’ve had you try to read, actually. I think, if it’s alright with you,,” she continued, the colour in her cheeks deepening, “I’d like to hear you read more of these poems.” She wrapped her arms around Galin’s neck. “But later.”

Breakfast came a bit later the next morning, and Luthene was glad for the opportunity to stay in bed just a bit longer. She ran her fingers gently across Galin’s chest until she felt him stir, then kissed him. “Don’t get up right away,” she said curling up against him, content to lie there a while, and in no rush to start the day.

“Breakfast!” Maria announced before stepping into the hut, and Luthene couldn’t help but groan. Maria was grinning, and looked like she was about to say something more.

“Thank you Maria,” Luthene said, cutting her off. “We’ll be out shortly.”

Sighing, Luthene sat up, and pulled on her tunic, then her trousers. Galin’s clothes were lying near the bed, and she tossed them to him before sitting down at the table. The beef from the feat a few days earlier was gone, but there was fried pork on the plate, along with fresh bread and soft cheese, and of course a single cup of tea. Luthene looked at it with some displeasure before cutting off a bit of bread.

“I expect we’ll be preparing for the move over the next few days,” Luthene said. “Though if there’s time between that and everyone swearing new oaths, I would like to go back to training. Lately I’ve been more clerk than soldier, and I don’t feel like I’m exercising enough… no, Galin, that’s not the same at all,” she added, flushing. “We may have a fight on our hands from the moment we try to take that manor, what with the bandits and such. I’ve not really trained much with my section yet, and anyway, I expect we’ll be fighting differently now. The men will need to prepare for that, and I will as well, before we bring the women and our things. Actually, you never did tell me, how many are we, now? Fighting men, plus women and families. I know most of the widows left, but I don’t know how many men left as well. Not many, I hope?”

Sleep was far more restful these last days, Galin noticed, as he blinked sleepily, feeling Luthene’s fingers running over his chest, and he smiled contentedly. He put his arm around her and bent down to kiss her. “I am not going anywhere. The perks of command are few and far between, but being able to let Cooper handle rousting the men for morning duty is worth it in moments like these. It would take every sword in Adeluna to shift me right now, and even then I think the thought of staying here would give me the edge.” He stroked her side and half-closed his eyes, leaning back on their pillow, dozing in the warmth of the bed and ignoring the burdens of the day as long as he could. There was too much to worry about when he finally got out of bed so he put it off as long as he could, holding Luthene close. As he opened his mouth to say something about the poem the night before, he heard Maria’s overly cheery voice fill the hut and cringed as he sat up. “One word, Maria, just one word…”

Luthene succeeded in silencing her friend and sending her away while they dressed. He sniffed his tunic experimentally and did not grimace so he thought he could live with it for another day before he gave it to the camp laundry. Pulling it over his head, he padded over to the small table where Maria had laid their breakfast. This time the remains of the beef had given way to fried pork, a favorite of Galin’s, and he grinned. “Aye, with our contract so skillfully negotiated, we will have to get things moving soon for our departure. The cattle we have left need to be slaughtered and salted, save a few we can drive behind the company, same with the pigs. The flour we have needs to be baked, field rations, so marching biscuit, and the beans parceled out into sacking for the march. Wine, as well, we will need wine enough for two weeks ration.” He was fully of a mind to prepare now, leaving the problems of the shrinking company aside and preparing for a campaign again. This was where he flourished and it was a welcome relief from the annoyance of peace-time soldiering.

“Aye, true, you are out of practice,” he nodded, “though now you could finally live that lie about Alyson being skilled with a gentleman’s sword without being a liar,” he said with a wink and cut a large portion of the pork for himself. Chewing on a crispy piece of the skin, he considered her questions about the company, how it would have to fight. It could not stand in a line unless it only fought a handful of men, so it would have to adapt, and adapt in such a way that allowed the two sorts of soldiers to use their skills to their fullest rather than forcing men too far outside their skills. “We will need to reorganize again, but just a little. We’ve got about ninety men assured with a few that wanted another day to decide. So with three officers, we have three troops of three sections. I will need to get the best of the skirmishers spread between them. At least one proper marksman in each section, good with a bow out to three hundred yards at least. I’ll trust Cooper to spread them. The rest will be light troops. We won’t fight in the wall anymore, but in open order, closing under the cover of the skirmish line and hitting the enemy without hesitation. No lining up and marching forward, slow and steady. Hit ‘em hard and fast, then fall back under the skirmisher’s cover. Speed and ferocity, that’s the new watchwords. Open order battle, fluid…”

He trailed off, his mind forming a map of the fortress on the hill where the Crown had granted them tenuous lodgings. “Now, look here…” He tore the loaf of bread into chunks, placing them around the table in the heights and positions of the terrain around the fortress and palisade. “This here, that’s where we took the hall, the fortress, see? And this, that’s the dell where we snuck around the flank. And this here, that’s the hill an hour’s march away, clearing and all. That’s where the women and children will stay, with one section from every troop.” He pushed pieces of pork into place as the sections, and took larger pieces to be the rest of the troops. “So, it’s bandits now, not proper soldiers, so we have a better chance than before. What we’ll do…” He pushed a piece of pork toward where they attacked the first time, “we will have one troop make a clatter of noise of here, and the bandits’ll know that is how the place fell before, so they’ll be readying for a strike there.” He pushed the other two pieces in a long arc to the main gate.

“We move the other troops to the main gate, which should be nice and open, because the day before, a wandering Highland chapman and his niece will have arrived in the place, selling ribbons and baubles, singing songs, telling stories, and getting the men in there drunk as lords. So in the morning, while I’ve got Hugh rattling his spears and shields, kicking up dust, they are waking up, hung over and thinking the entire world is coming down around them. Then Mathuin and Lajaka get over to the gatehouse, push the bar, but leave the doors themselves shut. Once they’ve got that done, he’ll hang the company’s flag over the rampart, and we come out of the vill, open the gates, and settle things. The heavy troops go in first, and the skirmishers mass in the gateway in ranks, and advance, loosing like we did in the retreat.”

“It’s like…” He popped Hugh’s troop into his mouth and chewed, then smiled. “It’s like when a lord goes hunting. They release the hounds and the yeomen beat the brush and run the game to the lord who then spits it with arrows at his leisure. The heavy lads are the hounds and woodsmen and they’ll run the bandits toward the gate where the archers will take them apart.” He took the fortress in bread, tore it in half, and pushed half toward Luthene, using his half to sop up the juices and fat from the pork. “Simple as that, I figure. It ain’t fancy but it’ll keep the men safer than a proper assault like the lords would like and the bandits’ll expect. Fight them on our terms, you see, and come through it alive.” He chewed on the bread and then devoured Padraig and Cooper’s troops, washing them down with some watered wine. “So, what do you think of it? The plan, not the fact that I just ate most of the company like a bleeding dragon? And would you be able to let Maria know what we need with the bread and all? I’ll have to meet with Cooper and the other officers to make this thing come through, and then Mathuin and Lajaka.” He sighed and smiled at her, taking her hand. “And once we get settled in the fort there, I’ll have a new poem to read you,” he said softly, “and this time we’ll have a proper door.”