guess we’re at one-third complement. Another third may arrive by the first of the month, or it may not. I doubt whether we’ll be able to reach our overall target of fifteen to twenty thousand soldiers by then.”
He wet his lips with a sip of water.
“The core of the army,” he said, “about eight thousand men, consists of the battle-hardened remnants of the forces that fought the northerners over the last two decades. These soldiers are both well-trained and -disciplined, and should provide us with very few problems. We have a similar corps of highly experienced line officers. The remainder of the troops, perhaps half, consists of raw recruits who have never fought an engagement, and who only have a barest idea of which end of the sword to grasp. We’re in the process of providing some semblance of instruction to these men, but it’s minimal at best.”
The prince looked up from his notes.
“I have personally examined all of the major units over the last month, and I worked closely with Lord Feognóst in assessing their effectiveness. His recommendation to you today—I know this for a fact—would have been either to postpone the enterprise, for lack of readiness, or to cancel it altogether. I must concur with his evaluation.”
There was a gasp from around the table as the councilors realized what the prince was saying.
“No!” the king roared, rising in his seat. “Never! I won’t hear of it. We haven’t come this far just to retreat. Whatever problems we face are nothing to what the Walküri must be experiencing. This is our best chance in a hundred years. I’m determined to go forward with the expedition as quickly as possible, proceeding with our grand exit from Paltyrrha, as planned, on the first day of May.”
Arkády lowered his head and looked at the pattern of the growth rings on the oaken table. He traced one of the whorls with his finger tip, as he pondered his next move.
“Father,” he said, looking up again, “I beg you to reconsider. The Walküri may indeed be having similar problems in readying their forces; in fact, I’m sure they are, because I’ve been receiving assessment reports from our scouts and spies in Pommerelia. But there’s a difference.
“When the barbarians invaded Kórynthia,” he continued, “our nation was rightfully outraged at the burning of Sevyerovínsk and the murder of thousands of innocent merchants and farmers there and in Arrhénë. They responded with an outpouring of men and materiel that was unprecedented in our history, because they realized that the very existence of the land was at stake. We waged war for an entire generation, finally destroying the barbarians at Åvargorod.”
The prince sipped again from the cup of water in front of him.
“But this is our enterprise, our doing, and we can expect the people of Pommerelia to react in the same way as we did years ago. Every farmer will be our enemy, every merchant a spy, every boy who can lift a pitchfork will dream of becoming a hero. Every hand will be turned against us, and they will nibble at our heels like a pack of mad dogs. And when we turn to kick them back, they’ll scamper away just out of our reach. Sire, I have no doubts about the bravery of our men. I have no doubts about the courage of our leadership. But I do doubt the justice of our cause. The signs are not good. The morale of our men has been lowered by the bizarre suicide of their commander. Cancel this expedition, or at least postpone it until we can get our forces together.”
The king’s face turned a furious red, and he had to gasp for breath several times, before he could finally force himself to speak.
“I never thought to hear my first-born son utter such nonsense,” he said. “If any one of my sons wishes to remove himself from the succession”—he looked in Arkády’s direction—“speak now, so another may be appointed in his place. If any one of my officers wishes to run away home before he soils his pretty dress uniform in battle, let him step forward now, and be retired by the scorn of all the brave men assembled at Katonaí. And if there are any cowards present in this room, let them remove themselves without penalty, save one thing only, that I shall not speak to them ever again upon this earth. The enterprise shall be launched on schedule.”
The prince gazed back at his father with great sadness.
“Sire,” he said softly, “I have always been loyal to you, and I will follow you unto the ends of the earth, as your ever-faithful hound. Should you doubt this my word, which is spoken with all of the honor of a member of the House of Tighris, then tell me now, and I shall renounce my rights in favor of my eldest son, Prince Arión.”
Again, there was a gasp of disbelief from the assembled lords. No one there had ever heard such acrimony between the royals aired so publicly.
The king began to say something, then paused a moment, obviously in confusion.
“Damn the Dark-Haired Man!” he suddenly bellowed, “damn him, damn him, damn him, damn him,” pounding the table in counterpoint with his hands till it shook.
The councilors looked back and forth to each other in consternation.
“This meeting is adjourned!” Kipriyán finally said, beating both of his hands upon the hard oak surface, “adjourned, adjourned, adjourned!”
And so it was.
CHAPTER FOUR
“PRAY FOR US ALL”
Later that afternoon the Holy Synod of the Church of Kórynthia met in formal assembly in the annex of Saint Konstantín’s Cathedral in Paltyrrha, presided over by the octogenarian Avraäm iv Kôrbinos, Patriarch of Paltyrrha and All Kórynthia.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” the old man said, bowing his head. “Let us pray.”
After some small time spent in contemplation and self-examination, the secretary of the synod, the Protopresbyter Varlaám Njégosh, introduced the matter which had prompted this meeting. Varlaám was a man of about forty years, distinguished by the prominent hawk nose and widow’s peak of his ancient noble family, which hailed from Érskeburg east of Arrhénë.
“My lords spiritual,” he said, wheezing, “metropolitans and archbishops, Thrice Holy Patriarch”—he bowed unctuously in the direction of their leader—“a matter has been brought before us that requires your most urgent attention. Permission has been sought by the king to bury the late Lord Feognóst, a suicide, in hallowed ground, something that is clearly forbidden under canon law. Because this is a matter of great import, involving one of the leaders of state, the Archbishop of Paltyrrha”—he again nodded in the direction of Avraäm—“has asked for your advice in synod before rendering a reply to King Kyprianos. What say you?”
Ismaêl Metropolitan of Myláßgorod, whose beard reached down almost to his broad waist, spoke first, being the senior serving member of the group.
“The law is clear on this matter. If Lord Feognóst died by his own hand, then he must not be interred in hallowed soil.”
Metropolitan Timotheos lifted his brows in response.
“According to Fra Jánisar,” he said, “the man acted under a compulsion. If another forced him to fall upon his sword, this was murder, and the blame falls on the perpetrator, not on Feognóst. I believe we should give him the benefit of the doubt, and honor him for his service to the king. Let him be buried with his family.”
Philoxenos
