Rally Cry (8 page)

"My lord, their boyar, Cane, has already expressed that desire, but said he wishes to bring the guards that his honor demands."

"Oh, all right then, damn him," Ivor replied.

"As a token of their friendship their healer sent this present," and approaching Ivor, Kal reached into his tunic and pulled out the pair of glasses.

Ivor took the spectacles and gazed at them with open curiosity.

"What devilry is this?" Ivor whispered.

"Their leader, Cane, and the healer both wear them. It confirms power on the user, and gives strength to one's eyes."

Ivor looked darkly at Kal. It was Rasnar who had placed upon him the name Weak Eyes, and though bad eyesight afflicted many, Ivor was highly sensitive about the matter, feeling it was a sign that he was not as noble and manly as others.

"May I?" Kal asked, taking the spectacles from Ivor's hands and extending the ear pieces. Nervously he held the glasses and slipped them onto Ivor's face.

The boyar stepped back with a startled cry. He looked about the room, peering first at Kal and then to the tapestries on the wall.

A grin of delight crossed his usually grumpy features, and he rushed to the window to look out over the square.

Gasping, he looked back at Mikhail.

"It is magic!" Ivor shouted. "Rasnar with all bis healing prayers could never do this. I can see everything!"

Excitedly, Ivor looked back at Kal.

"Such things are dangerous," Mikhail growled darkly.

Ivor turned to his half brother and gave a snort of disdain.

"And you have the weak eyes too, as did our father," Ivor chortled sarcastically. "But I no longer do."

"May I gaze through them?" Mikhail asked, his curiosity gaining the upper hand.

"No! Such things are only for
a
boyar," Ivor replied triumphantly.

Mikhail said nothing, but Kal could see that his boyar had made a mistake. Ivor could show a fair degree of cunning when need be, Kal thought, but when it came to Mikhail he did not fully realize just how much his bastard half brother held him in secret contempt. The peasant remained silent, not wishing to draw notice by even daring a glance in Mikhail's direction.

Ivor's display of joy lasted for some minutes, until finally the rotund boyar settled back into his audience chair.

"Extend my thanks to this Cane when you go back to his camp," Ivor said. "And look about you sharply to see what other such gifts they might give unto me."

"Of course I am already doing what you command,"
Kal
replied. "But to learn all such things and to serve you best, may I offer a humble suggestion?"

"Go on—what is it?"

"It would be best for you if this humble servant, in the service of the lord, be allowed to live permanently among the bluecoats. Then I could watch them for you throughout the day and night. It was I who first suggested the gift of the glass objects wishing to help my lord. My presence there will mean you will have a loyal spy, who might be able to bring other such things as well, and perhaps learn the secret of their powder.

"I am nothing but a stupid ignorant peasant, so they will trust me more readily. Far better
I
perhaps than one of your nobles or household who would perhaps arouse their suspicion."

He heard a sharp intake of breath from Mikhail, who stepped forward to speak.

"It is I who should do this instead," Mikhail said rapidly. "This stench-dripping fool is too ignorant for such a task. Better a noble of breeding and intelligence, my brother."

Ivor looked from one to the other and smiled softly.

"The idiot is right," Ivor said evenly. "One who looks as stupid as he will not arouse their
mistrust.
I therefore decree that only he alone shall be allowed to learn then-speech for now."

And besides, Ivor thought, he is my man, and would
not
dare to use such knowledge against me.

Kal breathed an inner sigh of relief.

"Their language—is it difficult?" Andrei asked curiously.

"Most difficult indeed," Kalencka replied, rolling his eyes. "A speech not fit for the tongue of any noble Rus."

"Then learn it yourself, damn you," Ivor retorted,
"
and
learn it well."

"Only to serve my lord," Kalencka replied, bowing low.

"You answer only to me," Ivor replied. "If I hear that you are within a hundred paces of Rasnar at any time
I will
have you flayed alive, and your daughter and wife held for the coming of the Tugars."

Kal could not hide his trembling at the threat, and Ivor chuckled darkly.

What frightened him even more, though, was the look of open hatred Mikhail gave to him. He had guessed right
on
that one, sensing the noble's plan when he had insisted personally on riding with him back to the city, pumping him for information all the way.

"A good plan, yes, a good plan," Ivor mumbled, looking curiously at his brother and then back to the trembling peasant.

"And mark this well," Ivor said darkly. "Say but
one
word of the Tugars to them and I'll not kill you on the spot but will save you and your family instead for their festival of the moon passing."

"Never would I do such a thing," Kal whispered.

"Let it be known to all others as well," Ivor said sharply, looking to his speaker of decrees who stood in the corner. "Let it be known by all that whoever attempts to tell the bluecoats of the Tugars will be saved for the festival as well."

Ivor leaned back in his chair. Perhaps Rasnar was right about how the Tugars would feel regarding these bluecoats. He could use them for more miracles like the glasses he held in his hands, but in the end they would go to the pits, thus granting exemptions to others that would beg him for such things when the time came.

"Bring their Cane before me tomorrow morning," Ivor growled. "Now leave me."

And standing up he put the glasses back on and strode from the room, peering about and gasping with amazement.

As Kal withdrew, still bowing, he spared a quick glance to Mikhail, who was looking straight at him.

Do not growl at the wolf so loud that he might hear, Kal thought nervously, for he will never forget the challenge.

"All right then, boys,
look
sharp now, the colonel's expecting you to act like the soldiers you are. You men of Companies A and B have been selected for this honor—now live up to it."

Vincent tried to push his narrow chest out even farther as Sergeant Schuder stopped in front of him, gazed for a moment, and then with a snort of disgust continued down the line.

Vincent breathed a sigh of relief.
For.
some reason the colonel no longer terrified him—in many ways he looked on his one-armed commander as a father—but Schuder was more like the old schoolmaster at Oak Grove, ready to explode with Old Testament wrath at the slightest provocation.

From the corner of his eye Vincent saw Keane approaching, with Dr. Weiss riding alongside and Major O'Donald and Kal walking in front of them.

Keane reined his mount up in front of the company and looked the ranks over.

"All right then, lads," Keane said softly, as if addressing a group of friends about to embark on an afternoon stroll.

"Kal
here,"
and he pointed to the peasant standing beside him, "indicates we can make a peaceful arrangement with these people.
I'm trusting
all of you to do your duty. I want those people out there to see the type of soldiers we are. But one mistake and it could go badly for the lot of us. I expect this to go smoothly, and it's important we don't show the slightest trace of fear. So look and act like soldiers, no matter what you see. If things should turn ugly, you are to fire only on my command, or Sergeant Schuder's.
Any questions?"

"Colonel, just where in hell
are
we?" Vincent could tell by the defiant tone that it was Hinsen.

Keane reined his mount around and came up to stand directly in front of Hinsen. With a cold look, the colonel stared down at the private.

"That is what we are going to find out, private," he said sharply. "Let me worry about that. You're new to this regiment, private, so I'll let it pass this time. But the veterans among you know that the 35th has always seen its way through, no matter what was put in front of us.

"Now, are there any other questions?"

The men were silent.

"All right, then. Major O'Donald is senior in command until I return." As he spoke he looked over to where Captain Cromwell and his crew stood. Vincent instantly sensed that there was some conflict brewing there, the way the two men looked at each other.

"Sergeant Major Schuder, get the men moving."

Hans stalked down the length of the line, sparing a cold glance for Hinsen, to the head of the column.

"Uncase the colors," Schuder roared, in his best parade-ground voice.

The staffs were lowered for a moment and then raised up again, revealing the shot-torn national standard, and alongside it the dark-blue flag of Maine, snapping in the morning breeze, the blue turned almost lavender by the reddish light of the sun.

"Company, right face!
Forward, march!"

As one the hundred soldiers turned and started for the sally port. Andrew galloped down the length of the line, to fall in the lead, while a single caisson and field piece clattered into position at the end of the column.

"Sergeant Dunlevy, if there's trouble," O'Donald roared, "
give
'em a whiff of double canister," and the artillerymen shouted lustily as they passed before their commander.

The tiny column passed through the sally port, and over a wooden bridge spanning the moat.

Vincent looked around nervously at the open field ahead. Thousands of peasants stood upon the far hills, while ranging out to either side came several hundred horsemen. Schuder had already told them that if there was trouble, they'd simply form a square and fight their way back. But they were only a hundred strong, with a single field piece, while whatever it was they were facing numbered in the thousands. He knew that somehow the colonel was putting on a show of bravado, but it didn't do anything to make him feel any less nervous.

"Musicians, give us a song
. 'Marching Through
Georgia.'
"

The single drummer rolled a flourish, and the fifer started the tune.

"All right, you men, sing, damn you," Hans shouted.
"At the top of your lungs now."

"Ring the old bugle, boys, we'll sing another song."

Vincent fell into the step of the tune, a new favorite with the troops, even though it was about Billy Sherman's boys, and the column's step fell into a rhythmic swing.

"Hurrah, hurrah, we bring the jubilee—hurrah, hurrah, the flag that makes men free."

The tiny column crossed the open field of waist-high grass, and cresting the top of the hill, they stepped out onto a rutted road that wove along the side of the ridge.

For Vincent the view beyond was breathtaking, and filled him with a deep longing for home and the woods of
Maine
. The valley before him was covered with towering stands of birch, mingled with what looked like spruce, stately white pines, and an occasional maple. From the vantage point of the crest, Vincent looked back out toward the sea, and to the west he could see distant hills beyond. The middle of the valley before him was cut by a broad meandering river that curved and wove through the valley, emptying into the freshwater sea a dozen or so miles farther up the shore.

The column pushed on, "Marching
Through
Georgia" being replaced by "The Girl I Left Behind Me," and then for good measure "The Battle Hymn of the Republic."

The men sang with a will, as much to brace up their own courage as to impress the horsemen around them.

As the minutes passed and the trail turned down toward the river, the open fields gave way to stands of towering timber.

The march was soon into its second hour without a break, and the sweat coursed down Vincent's back. But the colonel would not call a halt, as if to show the watching columns weaving along on either side the toughness of his men.

A lush open field opened up on the left, spreading down from the road to the broad muddy river swirling by. To their right a tumbling stream cascaded down from the hills, and at a rickety wooden bridge over the narrow waterway Keane finally called a ten-minute halt in ranks.

Taking off his hat, Vincent looked around, admiring the view. It was a lovely peaceful spot, with cattle grazing in the field, herded by wide-eyed peasants who stood motionless, staring at the strange procession.

The stream passed by with a merry, soothing sound of dancing lightness, its waters reflecting the curious reddish light of the sun, twinkling and sparkling like liquid rubies.

The brief rest passed all too quickly, and the column pushed on, leaving the tranquil spot behind. The road continued northward, past yet more open fields and stands of heavy timber. A village appeared on the road ahead, and marching through, Vincent was appalled by the disgusting squalor of the place, so unlike the neat, whitewashed villages of
Maine
. Filthy barefoot children stood in the doorways of the log huts; women who he felt might be only twenty-five or thirty, but looking as if they were fifty, stood silent at their passage.