Tenber looked over the guards at practice on the firing range. Most of the newest trainees there had never even held a gun before they had joined, much less practiced with one. His predecessors had ignored this, simply handing out the weapons and trusting that they would find someone among the older Guards who would instruct them in how to fire the weapons.

Not for Tenber. He had lined up his troops (the men grumbling and muttering) and had them each fire off ten rounds. He took the best twenty scores from that, and had them compete against each other for ten more rounds, this left him with five men who seemed to have learned how to hold the weapon properly and how to fire with some accuracy; these men he promoted to the rank of sergeant and instructors. The next day, he examined all the men’s weapons, and the five who had the best maintained rifles, he also promoted; these men were to teach gun maintenance and care. He penalized anyone whose rifle wasn’t cleaned after the use of the day before, when the men thus penalized came to him after the examination and protested that they had planned to see to their rifles this same day, he responded, “You had the latter part of the afternoon and evening yesterday to care for your weapon. Why didn’t you do it then, at once, rather than put it off until later?”

To the muttering, he said, “A rifle that is not kept clean and polished is no better than a club. None of my men will die on the battlefield because their own rifles were clogged and so blew up in their owner’s hands.”

And he had carried out this over all of the men’s activities and lives. Prior to his assuming command, the men had been quartered about the town in private homes, he had brought them all out of Heslov to this field of the King’s and had set up the camp, modeled upon the German one he had attended. Men with families were allowed to bring their families, but even these must spend four of every five days at the camp, and visit their wives and children only upon the fifth, a day of rest he staggered among the squads so that his camp bustled with activity at all times.

Now that spring had arrived (never mind the calendar called it autumn’s left hand), he had brought in the new troops and begun a rigid training regimen, designed to teach the men how to move in unison, march together, coordinate movements.

There was grumbling aplenty, and the men mostly hated him, but they were coming together. That indefinable thing, an esprit de corps, was developing, something which had been sadly lacking since the day of the sword had passed; for with the long hours of training with the sword had also come a chance to build friendships and discipline, with the advent of the musket, and Carlovain’s own variant on it, the “petican” with its interior flintlock, they had lost that. A few weeks of practice with the petican would make its owner reliable enough. Perhaps he should institute something to replace the long rigors of sword training. Perhaps even bring back the sword as a true weapon of war, the short thing the men wore now was good for little more than scaling fish....

A noise behind him caught his attention and he turned around, saw that one of his officers was beating a young trainee with his staff. The youth was hunched over and wailing as the officer, red-faced and furious, pounded him with the stick. His fellow soldiers watched unhappily, for an officer could beat whomever he wished whenever he wished...

“No more!” he said, to the officer and to himself about the practice. “Stop that at once!”

“What?” the officer looked up. “Captain. Sir, this man was insolent.”

“In what way?”

“He splattered me with mud as I walked near him.” the officer said.

“Is this true?” Tenber asked the young trainee.

“Yes, sir.” the man admitted miserably. “It was an accident.”

“Well, it’s up to you to see that accidents don’t happen!” the officer said and struck the recruit again.

“I said enough of that.” Tenber said. “Now, how did this accident happen? No, one of you who saw, tell me.”

The men looked at him and each other, and Tenber saw the fear in their eyes. He forced a smile. “How can I have the chance to be understanding if I cannot even find out what happened?” he asked them.

“It’s this little hole here, sir.” one of the men blurted out.

“Little hole?”

“Right here.” the man stepped a couple of steps and pointed out. “A footprint in soft ground made this morning when the rains had just stopped, it’s rather deep now and filled with water. If you step in it just right, like Ammero here did,” the man stepped in the puddle and the water and mud flew out, “it flies out like a shot from a cannon around this place here.” He did it again and this time the discrete shot of mud was more pronounced. “Like that.” He said, shook his head. “Ammero didn’t mean to splash anybody, he just stepped back at the same time the lieutenant was coming around and,” the soldier shrugged, “splash!”

“I see.” Tenber said. “Lieutenant Rusin, I think you owe young Ammero an apology.”

“An apology?” the officer was understandably surprised and shocked. “He admits doing it and I’m supposed to apologize to him?”

“Your apology is due to him for treating a moment of carelessness as if it were intentional.” Tenber clarified. “As for his apology, you forfeited it when you began beating him.”

“But...but I am an officer.” the man stuttered.

Tenber saw how most of those were silent, listening to him. The shots had stopped entirely, the entire field was hushed. He’d never get a better chance than now to show the warm hand inside his heretofore iron fist. “Then behave as an officer.” Tenber said. “Lead your men by your example, love them for their efforts, admonish them for their faults, but never treat them as anything less than what they are, your comrades and fellow soldiers.” Tenber looked around. “You have all been complaining about the marches and the drills and the systems I have put in place. I tell all of you, here and now, that the intention in all of it is to teach you to be not just guards of the King, but the core of the Army of Carlovain. From you and through you, I shall forge a fist to replace the dulled Claws of Dulicen. Our enemies will not dare to invade us, not for fear of the rocks in our harbors, but the knowledge that should they once touch their feet upon our shores, they shall not have peace until they have either departed once again or have bled out their lives on our soil.”

Tenber’s eyes had been sweeping the men spread out on the firing range; his eyes hit upon the young trainee who had been beaten and was now standing once more, and the trainee’s eyes met him and the man smiled.

For the first time, Tenber saw him as more than one man in a group. Damn, this youth was handsome! Deep black hair and the smoothly even features that marked the pure Nestry line. There wasn’t much of that left in southern Carlovain anymore, Tenber himself could claim less than half Nestry blood, his very hair wasn’t black but the light brown that marked descent from among the French Burgundian lords who had arrived with King Phillippe I centuries before.

This man, however, had no such doubts about his lineage, his hair was smooth black, his eyes were a liquid near-black, his skin was creamy white, his jaw square and rugged. This was the face that had met Julius Caesar’s men and did them one better, this the face that had made the Viking raiders turn away, this the face that had ended such victories by sharing his bed with his fellow warriors.

The youth flushed at Tenber’s steady gaze and Tenber realized he had let his words drop. Maybe he had been stalling deliberately, for his planned speech when the opportunity arose (and this was it!) were words that could one day mean his death. Yet if not now...when would such a chance come again?

Tenber took a deep breath and said them now. “And when you new recruits take the oath, you will find the words have been changed, you will no longer swear loyalty solely to the King, you will swear loyalty to Carlovain...first, and then the King as the ruler of Carlovain second.” Tenber paused, grinning inside himself. He hadn’t been able to leave it as he had planned, he had added the King after all, in second place, when he had intended to leave him out entirely. Maybe in some later year, the oath could be to country alone. For now, let it be; the men would need a moment of peace to think on his words; he needed an excuse to let them do so.

“And now, let there be an end to the practice. Clean your peticans and report to the parade ground after the noonday meal.” There was a general groan. “You will spend the rest of today in close-order drill. I want you to practice until every step can be done without thinking, and until you can do a fire-in-three without a single mistake.”

Tenber turned back to the officer, Lieutenant Rusin and the recruit Ammero, who had necessitated his intervention. “You two, come with me to my quarters, I wish to speak with both of you.”

He turned and left without watching to see if they’d follow. Behind him, the murmurs of the men were like the ocean’s waves, but it sounded friendly. He’d given them something to think about, soldier and officer alike.

Inside his office, he took his desk and wrote a quick message upon it while the two men stood at uncomfortable attention. Tenber insisted on the posture in his presence, for he felt it inculcated respect and self-worth, not to mention it looked smart.

When he was done, he sprinkled the wet ink, blew the excess drying powder off, and when he was sure the writing wouldn’t smudge, he rolled the paper into a tube and inserted it in a messenger’s cylinder, closed it and affixed the wax. This wax, once it cooled, could not be heated again without turning a dark brown color, but his signet ring, when pressed into it, was into a medium green color. He let the seal set in the wax, then summoned the officer forward. “This message is for my officer at Winseran Point, and it is urgent. I cannot entrust it to a lesser rank, and it must not travel by sea. Ride to Winseran Point and deliver the message. The officer there will give you your further orders.”

What could the officer say to this, but salute and take the message?

“You may depart as soon as you can saddle your horse and ride. Make haste as you can through the mountains.”

When the officer left, Tenber smiled. It rained two days out of three this time of year, and he could count on the arrogant man arriving drenched and filthy and far more muddy than he’d gotten from that brief spritz of water he’d gotten from this hapless trainee.

When the officer, left, Tenber smiled at the young soldier and said, “At ease.” The soldier slid into the more relaxed “at ease” position, arms bent slightly at the elbow and one foot slid forward to let his body rest. Tenber studied the posture, frowned and reached out to pull one arm out further, even “at ease” a soldier should look soldierly!

“Do you know what is in that urgent message, Ammero?” he asked.

“No, Captain.” young Ammero responded.

“It says to keep Lieutenant Rusin for a single day, then send him out with a similar message to the post at Bouillon.” he said. “The message for there is to send him to Merlemagne, and from there to Fediresta, and then back here, always by horse and with urgency.” Tenber said. “I think by the time he finishes his tour of Carlovain on horseback, he’ll be less inclined to worry about a spot of mud on his breeches.” Tenber winked. “Don’t you think?”

Ammero broke into a wide grin. “Yes, sir!” he said.

“Now for why I brought you here.” Tenber said and that smile nearly did him in again. So clean and white, the teeth even and the face, so young in its manhood, so virile in its stance. Damnation, the virility came from the parade ground stance!

“Tell me, Ammero, what say the men about me?” Tenber said. Ammero hesitated, the smile vanished and Tenber replaced it with his own. “You need not worry about offending me. A dislike of one’s commanding officer comes with the rank, after all.”

And the face grew more troubled.

“There is more, then?” Tenber asked him.

“Sir...Captain....I....”

“Speak, man, and I pledge by my honor that I shall never repeat what you say or punish you for saying it.” Tenber said. He drew his sword, held it before his face. “I pledge by my sword that this is so.”

Still Ammero hesitated. “Sir, I...I don’t think I share what they think, sir, not anymore, not after you saved me from that beating.”

“Very well, you don’t share it.” Tenber said. “What do they say about me?”

“That...that you are not fit to lead them.” Ammero blurted out. “That you have your rank only because you share the King’s bed...sir.”

Tenber scowled, but he couldn’t say the thought hadn’t occurred to him. How could any man feel secure in the competency of a man who had been called in from another country and promptly introduced to the King’s bed! True, it had been nearly two weeks since he had last had to dally with the King (the last few times had been thankfully discreet couplings in the bedroom at night), and now he had moved to the Royal Guard camp a good four hours’ ride from the castle, even that wasn’t required. Tenber had deliberately kept his lovemaking with the King as uninspired and lackluster as he dared (one can’t displease a monarch too much!), and hoped that the King had tired of him. He had striven to make the King tired of him. If he ended up being banished, Bremen still awaited him....

“And, sir, the men have been singing a song about you. About you and the King, that is. It’s about playing with his sceptre....”

“Yes, I know of the song.” Tenber interrupted.

Ammero lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be.” Tenber said. “You say you no longer agree with them, then?”

“No, sir.” Ammero said. “I was upset about the drills and the practice, but what you said today, well, it makes sense, sir. I hope you can do it, sir.”

“So do I.” Tenber said. His mind wandered briefly again as Ammero smiled. It had been too long since he’d last joined with a man in joy. “I hope it works. I need something to take the place of the joys I have lost with my fellow officers.”

Ammero was Nestry and knew full well what Tenber meant. “What about the King, sir?” He asked.

Tenber smiled. “Playing with the sceptre can be a tedious pastime.” he said. “One wishes for something less regal and more delightful when one dallies.”

He looked at Ammero and the gaze from the youth was now steady and...was that ardent as well? The tongue snaked out to briefly kiss the lips and wet them.

The voice that came out of Ammero surprised him, it was low and sultry and unlike the eager trainee voice he used normally, “Then perhaps my Captain would be wise to set his sights lower down than the throne.”

Tenber smiled on one side of his face. “It is not my sights that were lowered, but His Majesty’s. Any I choose will have to accept that I belong not by choice but by compulsion to another, forced to comply upon command.”

“I can think of one who would accept the part which remains.”

“It is the greater part.” Tenber agreed. And he reached for the young recruit and pulled him to himself. The body was firm and supple, the muscles well-formed, for life was rough in the northern parts of Carlovain where the land was rugged and poorer than here in the gentler south.

Tenber’s lips met Ammero’s, and the fierceness of that kiss surprised him, not only that the young recruit was passionate, but that his own body flared up so abruptly and strong. It had indeed been too long. Weeks, months...years, even, since he had loved when and as he would. Brief trysts cannot quench the soul, and compulsion cannot do anything but make the spirit cry out for release, even if for a time. All of that rose up in Tenber, and perhaps some of it was the fact that this was a soldier under his command, one who would obey him as he chose to command. This reversal of the roles he and the King played carried with it a certain euphoria, this time was his!

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