Dark Crusade - Chapter 3 (Lucas)

Lucas

         “No, you can’t put that many men on a ship. There is simply no room, Your Grace!”
         “I can count, my prince,” The Grand Priest said frostily. “There is clearly enough room on these ships for three hundred men and their horses.”
         Lucas scrubbed his hands over his face, hoping that the pain in his head would subside. “Yes, Your Grace, you could fit them all, but then what will they eat? There will be no room for food or water with that many men and horses. And what of the crew? You haven’t included them in your calculations.”
         The older man frowned, looking down at the scribbles he’d made. “Wouldn’t they have the food in their packs?”
         “Yes, they can carry a few days worth of food in their packs, but the ships may be blown off course, get becalmed, or lose their way. If that happens, the men and their horses starve. And horses are notoriously poor about packing their own food.”
         Lucas sank down in his chair at the end of the table they were working on. “Reduce it to two hundred men and horses, and they can carry enough food and water to keep them all alive for two weeks.”
         “But it’s a five day journey!” The little priest wailed.
         “Your Grace, I’m your military advisor. This is what I’m advising you to do. If you choose to ignore me, it’s at your peril.”
         “My peril? Surely you jest, Lucas! I won’t be going to Venmar.”
         “You won’t be able to run your war from here, Your Grace. The commanders won’t be able to wait ten days when they need clarification from you on something.”
         “But I might be killed! Who will speak for Yanus while I’m over in that barren wilderness?”
         “That’s your problem, Your Grace. I’m to assist you with military matters, not religious ones,” Lucas leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You need not go with the first wave of ships, but you’ll have to be in Venmar within a week of the first landing.”
         “Perhaps you should be my voice in Venmar,” the Grand Priest mused. “You are far more knowledgeable about these things than I am.”
         Lucas smiled a bit wolfishly. “Indeed I am, Your Grace, but the final responsibility for this war rests with the church. You would be responsible for anything I might order the men to do.”
         That soured the old man. Lucas’s reputation for brutal tactics was well known, and clearly the old fart didn’t care to assume the responsibility for whatever insane thing the crown prince might do.
         “Very well, I’ll go to Venmar, your highness. I should also tell you that you will not be one of my field commanders. You will remain with me and command my personal guard.”
         Lucas snorted. “Your personal guard? Surely Yanus himself protects you. Who would want to kill an old stick like you anyway?”
         Lucas watched the ancient cleric’s face darken.
         “I warn you, Lucas, your soul is in peril from such remarks.” He rose to his feet and glowered down at Lucas. “I understood that it was customary for generals to have a personal guard.”
         Lucas waved the old man down. “A poor jest, Your Grace. Forgive me.” He put just enough contrition into his voice that he might have actually meant it. “Indeed, it is customary for generals to have a guard. I assumed that yours would be drawn from the church knights, and would have their own commander.”
         “Assumptions will get us all killed, Lucas,” the grand priest said haughtily.
         Lucas restrained himself from rising to his feet and bashing the man’s head into the nearest wall, but only just barely. Instead he sat and ground his teeth in silence.
         “The church knights are a formidable force, true, but they lack seasoning. There are few wars in this kingdom that they serve in, after all. They will need an experienced commander, Lucas. I trust that you will keep me safe.”
         “Indeed I shall, Your Grace. I can only imagine what my father might do to me if I allowed you to become injured or killed.” Declare a holiday, throw me a feast, and dance with joy, most like, he thought. “Now if you will excuse me, Your Grace, I have several other matters to attend to before I retire. Might I suggest we meet again tomorrow?”
         The old man nodded at him. “Yes, I am weary myself. We will continue our preparations when we are fresh.” He nodded at Lucas and left the room.
         Lucas sat for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Idiot.” He muttered to the empty room. He rose to his feet and made his way out into the hallways of the castle.
         There was no one else awake at this hour, and the walk to his chambers was uneventful. Inside, however, there was something to keep him busy. More like someone. Lucas thought to himself. He quickened his stride, eager to see what awaited him behind the thick doors of his rooms.
         Inside, lying nude on the bed, was a beautiful blonde girl, certainly no older than sixteen. She had fallen asleep and curled into a ball, her back towards the door. When the heavy oaken door banged shut she started, and rolled over, her arms covering her small breasts.
         “Ah, Maree, I hoped I’d find you here,” Lucas said, removing the heavy cloak slung over his shoulders.
         The girl looked back at him, her eyes a peculiar combination of scared and blisteringly angry. “You said I’d never have to come here again. You promised that it was the last time.” She said, her voice descending into tears.
         Lucas seated himself on the bed and took her thin arms in his hands, and pulled her hands away from her breasts. “So I did, my sweet, but you know I can’t live without you.”
         “But you always hurt me,” she sniffled.
         Lucas didn’t reply, he removed his clothing and pushed her down into the featherbed, unmoved by the tears running down her cheeks.
         The following morning found him arguing with the Grand Priest yet again. They had resumed their preparations before breaking their fast, and as the servants brought in plates of smoked bacon and eggs with fire-peppers, he slammed his hands down on the table and rose to his feet in a single fluid movement.
         “Look at the map you senile fool!” He shouted, jabbing it with his finger. “Venmar is at least as big as our own kingdom, and you think that a mere fifteen thousand soldiers will conquer it?”
         The Grand Priest’s face blackened, his grey beard bristling like wire. “Have a care how you speak to me, your highness. I am the Voice of Yanus, not some empty headed serving girl!”
         “You would be the ugliest serving girl I’ve ever seen,” Lucas muttered. “Fifteen thousand men will not conquer Venmar, Your Grace.” He stated, resuming his seat as Maree placed his plate before it. She very carefully did not meet his eyes, then spun and returned to the kitchen.
         “Our own lords could each field close to that number of men. Surely you realize that theirs will be as powerful as our own.”
         “My missionaries have been sending me reports for months, now, your highness, and they assure me that fifteen thousand men will easily subdue the continental army.”
         Lucas buried his face in his hands. His voice emerged from them, somewhat muffled. “They’re missionaries you fool! What do they know about armies, battles, or counting, for that matter? You’re invading their home!! Every soul who thinks they can hurt us will try to!
         “That’s not just their standing army, but the farmers, the shopkeeps, their wives, sons, and daughters, not to mention their dogs, horses, and chickens! You have to be prepared to face every living soul in that kingdom in battle, you twit!”
         “Prince, Lucas, you will accord me the respect that I am due. You are my advisor, not the commander of this campaign!”
         “Fine, Your Grace. Take your fifteen thousand men and die, Your Grace. You won’t even get through the desert nomads with that paltry number, Your Grace.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes like chips of blue ice, and his words dripped contempt.
         “They will be drawn to your marching army like flies to horse shit, and will kill you all, if the lack of water doesn’t do it first. I’ve been in that desert before, Your Grace, and I know a bit about it.”
         “You have been to Venmar?” The old man looked surprised. “When was this?”
         “Some years ago. We had reason to believe that they were landing troops beyond Breton’s wall, so I took a troop of marshals and investigated. That took me to Venmar.”
         “Then what do you suggest we do your highness?” The Grand Priest looked uncomfortable. “Clearly you believe that my planning is inadequate.”
         Lucas sat up straight in his chair. Finally, the pompous fool was willing to listen. “We’ll take every man willing to go, Your Grace, and if that isn’t sufficient, we’ll have the lords raise fresh levies.” He rose to his feet and gazed down at the map of Venmar, as if it held the answers he was giving.
         “Every lord who wishes to go will pay his own way, and that of his knights and retainers. Say five gold a man, and seven for a horse. We’ll include armor for both in that price, and feed them for a week after they reach land.” He risked a glance over at the priest, but he nodded and motioned for Lucas to continue.
         “We’ll use that gold to pay the commoners, and to buy the food for them all, and hopefully make a bit of a profit. However, you will need to be prepared to offer them some type of forgiveness or indulgence, or something like that as payment for going to war.”
         “I believe I can stretch the doctrine a bit to allow that, your highness. Though I find it somewhat repugnant. Yanus did not intend for his church to orchestrate the invasion of kingdoms.”
         Lucas gave him a falsely understanding smile. “No, but you’re bringing his light to these poor benighted heathens, Your Grace.” Get over it, you fool, we’re committed to this. Your self flagellation gains us nothing.
         The older man nodded. “That’s the only thing that makes it bearable for me, your highness.” He looked back at the map. “You mentioned water was scarce there. What do you advise we do about that?”
         “We’ll bring plenty with us. It’s all we can do until we take a water source in Venmar. I doubt either of the oases will support so large an army, so we’ll have to move into the interior to find one. We’ll detail several ships to carry nothing but fresh water, and keep them doing it until we can supply ourselves.” He nodded to himself. It was all coming together, now that the old coot had realized just how little he knew.

         Late that evening, Lucas joined his father for a late meal, to keep him informed of the crusade’s progress. “…and so using only our ships as water carriers, we will be exposing less of them to risk from the watchtowers. They’re armed with long range catapults, at the very least,” Lucas said.
         Voran grunted. “Good, let the merchant captains take the losses. It saves us money if we don’t have to pay them.”
         Lucas smirked a bit. “My thoughts exactly, father.”
         “I’m curious, however, why you intend to even come near the watchtowers. They watch the Unclaimed Sea.” He pointed to spot further south on the map. “You could land here, at Hell’s Gate, and would have a water source almost immediately, with only Whitelaw’s troops to deny it to you.”
         “And that is, in fact my plan, father,” Lucas answered. “However, several days later, I plan to launch a second wave that will sail around to the north coast here,” he tapped another area of the map, “and will move quickly inland and take the Vanmar oasis as well. That will deny those sand eating desert bastards any water at all, and should take the fight right out of them.” He sat back, a self-satisfied smile on his face.
         Voran tore a leg off of his capon and nodded. “Of course there must be other, smaller water sources,” he said.
         “Oh, I don’t doubt that there are. But those are the major ones, and many of them will be caught in the middle of the desert with no way of getting any more when they run dry. If it doesn’t completely destroy their opposition, it will at the least severely reduce it.”
         “Have you spoken with Sir Adam about these plans at all?” Voran asked, tossing the greasy bone back onto the plate and wiping his fingers.
         Lucas’s eyes narrowed a bit. “No, why would I speak with the watch commander? I’m the military advisor to the Grand Priest,” he said sarcastically.
         “And Sir Adam is another military advisor to him. I appointed him yesterday. He knows more about pacifying a city than you do, and that will be helpful if you plan to take any of those. Or did you just think I would let you raze them to the ground?”
         “Father, I don’t require an old man to hold my hand! The whole kingdom knows that he’s lost his stomach for battle. That’s why he took over the watch.”
         Voran looked at his son from under heavy brows. “I don’t care what you think of him, Lucas. He will be helping you and that pompous old fart of a priest conquer Venmar. He was a knight before you were born. His experience will be helpful, and I expect you to listen to him and take advantage of it.”
         Lucas crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his father.
         Voran snorted and took another drink of wine from his goblet. “Glare and sulk all you like, Lucas. I’m still alive, so your wishes aren’t law yet.”
         Lucas pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “Pray excuse me, father. I’ve just thought of something that needs my attention,” he said through gritted teeth.
         Voran waved a hand at the door. “Go. Just don’t forget what I told you. You’re to listen to Sir Adam and heed his experience.”
         “Yes, father.” Lucas banged through the door and strode down the torch lit hallway, angry bile rising in his throat, and a red haze dropping over his eyes.  He slammed the heavy oaken door to his own chambers and pounded it with his fists.
         This was intolerable! He’d finally gotten that senile ass to listen to him, and now he was being shoved aside. Subordinated to the cowardly commander of the city watch! His teeth ground in his mouth until he thought they would crack under the pressure of his jaws, and his eyes burned with fury.
         Turning from the door, he took note of the pale blonde girl hiding under the blankets on the far side of the bed. She looked at his eyes and her face went whiter than the salt beds in the north.
         “P-p-please don’t hurt me!” she whimpered.
         Lucas smiled, but it never touched his eyes. Crossing to the bed, he ripped the blankets away, leaving her naked before his eyes. “Oh, I have better plans for you, sweet one. Much, much, better.”