The Company’s first morning in the Mercenary Camp of Siegesstand dawned bright and held the first crisp chill of winter. A light frost covered the muddy ground as Edward rose to see to the morning routines of camp. He chose a pair of black hose, with a simple linen shirt, pulling on his polished black boots with his plain iron spurs and a black gown to ward off the chill as he stoked their private fire.

Embers rose high into the sky as Tall Boy joined the squire, his mud spattered clothing giving mute evidence to his long morning on picket. Edward nodded to the pock-marked archer and offered him a fresh slice of ham from the grill. He nodded his thanks and scooped the steaming meat into his mouth, Edward noted he chewed with his mouth open with some distaste. “How’s our friend from last night?” Edward asked in an attempt to break the silence. Tall Boy moved the ham to the side of his mouth and spoke around the chewed mess.

“Captain’s Archer had him moved,” The older man answered, “which is he has him chained to a post in front of Sir Jean’s tent for questionin’.” The archer, normally immune, to the horrors of such things seemed to go pale. Edward nodded in understanding, it was unlikely the footpad would survive even an hour of Sir Jean’s tender mercies.

With a quick thank you to Tall Boy, Edward returned to the pavilion to wake his master, carrying a warm horn cup of hippocras. Sir Clement roused slowly, but eventually rose to sit on his bed and listen as Edward told him of the previous night’s encounter. John the Page boy arrived as if on cue, and began dressing his master, while Knight and Squire continued their conversation.

“So this attacker is with Ser Jean now?” The older man asked, his tone betraying no hint of anger or surprise. “Well better him than me, I never had much stomach for such things, I’ll make time to see Jean later today, for now we have to go and inspect the twenty new lances, grab my purse, and bring your sword.” He added as an afterthought as he buckled on his own war sword. Edward said nothing as he rushed to grab his own long sword, the elegant weapon resting easily on his left hip, joined by an equally well-made rondel dagger on his right.

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Seeing Siegesstand in the light of day was a truly impressive sight. It’s walls rose to nearly fifty feet in height and while it was still referred to as an earth-work fortress, the outer wall was now made entirely of large flat slabs of grey stone. It encircled three inner walls that were all slowly being remade in the same. Towers rose at intervals every hundred feet, and according to Sir Clement, each housed an Imperial Knight and two dozen Legionnaires. It was said that the Emperor had six Legions in residence, although, Edward thought, if that were true he wouldn’t need the five thousand mercenary lances that also called the Foulberg home.

Their destination was not inside the fortress however, as they continued through the Mercenary camp, which now looked incredibly vulnerable beside the great fortress. The parade ground was a simple square of churned mud, it was marked off by a few stakes and flags and was entirely undeserving of such a grandiose title. At one end a table had been erected and Sir Clement made for it directly, ignoring the crowd of men that were milling about. Edward followed his knight and stood behind him as he seated himself at the table. John laid out several sheets of precious parchment before Sir Clement, along with a stylus and wax tablet. “Pay attention Edward, anything I write you’ll be copying later.” Edward nodded in assent and looked as a second group joined them at the field. This group was led by a large man in a burn spotted leather apron, and a severe looking woman in a simple but elegant gown of Imperial green.

Sir Clement rose from his seat and raised his voice, “Now that we’re all here we can make a start, please form into Lance groups and approach in order of previous rank.” The effect was instantaneous, the first group formed immediately and marched purposefully towards Sir Clement’s table, it was a group of five men, their leader was tall and broad, his face scarred in several spots, his dark hair was well groomed and his arming clothes well made. “State your name, and introduce your Lance if you would.” Sir Clement seated himself once more and took up his stylus, the picture of calm.

“Sir Richard Chandos, from Stowe-on-Tyne my lord.” The tall man began, smiling as he saw recognition in Sir Clement’s eyes, “I have my two Squires, Roland and Hector, my Archer John and my Page Nicholas.” Sir Clement nodded, pleased at such a strong first Lance.

“Good to have you Sir Richard, I believe I saw you knighted on the field at Seageld, did I not?” Sir Clement spoke again.

“You did indeed sir, you won the melee as I recall.” Edward noted with some amusement the far away look that seemed to overtake both men, old knights, he thought condescendingly.

“Are your men armed in a suitable fashion Sir Richard?” Sir Clement continued.

“Aye sir, Squires and I can present ourselves cap-a-pied, my Page has a fine breast and back, and John carries a warbow as thick in the belly as a lady’s wrist.”

“Make your mark sir and head on over to my good friends the Master Smith Aegon and the Seamstress Brunhilde, they will see to your outfitting in company colours.” Sir Clement made a motion with his hand and the first lance of the day marched towards the second group on the field. Next came Sir Aethelred, another Arturian knight, he likewise was well armoured and brought a pair of squires and an archer. Sir Clement’s enthusiasm died with the next Man-at-Arms, a dangerous brigand from Bordeaux by the name of Hugh le Grisse. He was scarred and wore his worldly possessions on him, a tattered coat of plates, a bascinet with no visor and no leg harness. He only brought a valet and an archer of equal disrepute.

The morning passed in a haze of names for Edward, as he eventually sat with his knight and copied down the names and ranks of all those who were joining the company. All told they had ninety men, and several women with their hair cut short, some lances had more and some had less, but by the end Sir Clement was despairing at the amount it would cost them to outfit men who seemed little better than bandits. Edward nudged his mentor with an elbow, “Look on the bright side, we’ll see action soon and then you’ll only have to pay half of them.” The boy grinned so that his knight knew the dark joke was meant light-heartedly, Sir Clement gave a slight smile at the gallows humour.

“Be careful Edward, you might get what you wish for.”

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The afternoon saw Sir Clement returning to camp to find an agitated Sir Felix and a dark Sir Jean waiting for him. The two officers raised their heads as the new Corporal and his Squire strolled back in. “It’s bad business Clem, come inside, we need to talk.” Jean answered Clement’s unspoken question as he rose from his seat. “Edward, would you mind guarding the door and not letting anyone in.” Sir Jean said, despite the careful phrasing the air of command was obvious. Edward nodded and drew his sword, resting the naked blade on his shoulder as he took up station in front of the pavilion.

Sir Felix paced the tent as Jean and Clem took seats.

“What’s this all about?” Clement asked as the Captain continued to pace without any sign of stopping. Jean looked to his friend and then to his Captain, when he judged that there would be no response forthcoming he instead answered in Sir Felix’s place.

“Sir Walter’s death has thrown the plan out the window. Siegesstand’s commander; Grand Duke Rabsburg, has decreed a tournament for the winter months, to allow all employed Captain’s to convene a council and decide on Sir Walter’s successor.” Sir Jean’s voice betrayed no emotion, but a subtle flaring of the nostrils and tightening of the eyes showed his stress. “All of which would be fine except we don’t qualify as an employed Company until we’ve fought for the Emperor.” Sir Felix rounded on them both his eyes wild as plan after plan ticked over in his brain.

“I have to lead you all out into this frozen hell hole and fight at least one action that demonstrates our capabilities, but I also need to convince the other captains as well as my Grandfather that I am the right choice for Obercaptain, I don’t have time to do both.” The Captain went back to pacing as Clem took in the information.

“Split us.” Clement said suddenly, his eyes snapping back to the captain.

“What?” Felix asked.

“Split us, name my Lances as a separate Company and grant some to Jean, then all three of us lead out on a quick campaign, take a town or something, then we return and you already have a voting block in your pocket. There’s still a few lances around camp that haven’t signed on with anyone, it may stretch our funds but it’s our best option for now.” Sir Clement spoke rapidly as he reached for his ever present wax tablet, scratching a few quick marks with his stylus. “If I commit some of my own funds I can probably take on another six lances without much trouble, though equipment standards won’t be quite what you’d like.” Sir Felix’s answering smile was like the sun breaking through a dark cloud bank.

“Clem I could kiss you, this could work.” He turned to Jean, “Will you take up the mantle of a Captain? I can spare you ten lances.” The First Lance nodded with a grin of his own. “Excellent, pick ten and send your Squire to me with a list to approve, Clem see about recruiting your extra lances and have the seamstress run you each up a banner, we have two days gentlemen, I’ll find us a target and we will march.”

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Two days passed in a blur for Edward, he learned the outlay of the camp quickly, as he ran from tent to tent. He sought out unemployed lances and saw to ordering dozens of surcoats in his Master’s emerald green, as well as a new banner in the same green bearing a winged sword in purest argent. Every night the young squire would collapse into his blankets and sleep as soon as his head touched the ground, only to rise and see to everything again.

On the third day he rose to Sir Clement already awake, the Knight waved away his Squire’s apologies and told him to arm. “We march today, you will carry our banner.” The smile on Sir Clement’s face left no doubt that he knew what such an honour was like for the young Squire. Edward’s heart hammered in his chest and he flushed, feeling his cheeks burn.

“Thank you sir, I won’t let you down.” He stammered.

“I know you won’t, now quickly get into your harness, John will help me with mine, full harness not your brigandine, we need to put on a show.” Edward nodded and ran to the arming rack, begining with his leg harness, before long he was almost completely encased in shining white steel. As squires in the company went, Edward was wealthy, and it showed as he exited the pavilion with his visored bascinet under one arm. John approached with a pair of destriers, their reins in his fists. The first he handed to Sir Clement was a tall strawberry roan, it snorted a soft greeting to its master as Clement climbed into his high-backed saddle. The second was sixteen hands of silver stallion, the pride of de Marche’s stables. Edward settled his helm and aventail over his head before vaulting into the saddle, slapping a gauntleted fist to his breastplate in salute to his Lord. Clement shook his head with an exasperated grin, “When you’re done showing off, raise the colours.” Edward grinned in response and reached down for the banner that was fixed to the haft of a long spear.

The newly hired lances presented themselves in a neat column outside the gates, Sir Clement rode at their head with Edward slightly behind and to his right with the banner, and Sir Richard as the newly promoted Company Marshal rode on the left. Sir Aethelred was named First Lance and rode behind, followed by the rest of the Men-at-Arms in two ordered rows, then came the Company Squires followed by the pages. Archers spread in loose formation on either side of the column, ready to become scouts and sweepers as they moved into hostile territory.

Sir Felix and Sir Jean greeted them as the three companies merged on the outskirts to the east of Siegesstand. “Looking very fine Clem.” The Captain said as the bright green of the column came within hailing distance. Clement nodded with a rueful grin.

“Just don’t look too closely past the surcoats my lord.” He answered, to a chorus of chuckles. The companies merged into marching order, with Sir Jean taking the vanguard with half of the available archers. The column raced ahead to the east, Sir Felix had spent hours within the walls of Siegesstand in talks with his Grandfather, and together they had found a suitable target. The target was Castillo Farneze, it was the home of a wealthy Merchant Prince of the Merchant’s League, and so far had resisted all attempts at siege. Lord Farneze was too well supplied in his stone redoubt and too on guard since the Emperor had crossed the Pass.

“We don’t have the supplies for a long siege, but we do have everything to take it by escalade if we’re careful.” Sir Felix said to his officers as they huddled around a roughly drawn dirt map during the lunch break. Each man nodded his understanding, the method of assault known as escalade was not well known on this side of the mountains yet, and Felix suspected it was why the castle still stood. “We’re not far now, archers will comb the woods now as we prepare to ensure we are undiscovered, tonight we will attack, I’m afraid we’re in for a cold evening gentlemen, but stick with me and we will return to Siegesstand as champions of the Emperor.” The Captain’s impassioned words fell on his officers with the desired effect, as everyone moved about their tasks.

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The cold seemed to eat at Edward’s very bones as he stood within the eaves of the woods and looked at the walls of Castillo Farneze in the distance, once more he wrapped his dark cloak further about his shoulders, though it did little to warm the steel clad figure. Off to either side of the Squire, archers readied portable siege ladders that they had spent the afternoon bolting together. Now the sun had long since left over the western horizon and the moons had nearly completed their circle as well with a dull smudge of grey showing in the east. The false dawn it was called, when men spoke in whispers and tragedy hid behind every shadow. Edward shuffled back to his assigned position beside Sir Clement.

“The guard will change again in half an hour.” he reported, “I’d bet the man is half asleep already.” Sir Clement nodded and gave a signal to the waiting archers, a whistle that sounded like an owl. The ladder was handed over to the waiting knight and several Men-at-Arms, Edward gripping the base. The Archers strung their bows and began pulling bodkins from quivers to lay on waiting waxed bowstrings. The attack had begun.

Edward swore they were seen when an archer tripped on an unseen rock, his buckler giving a dull clank as he hit the ground. No response came from the castle wall, and after six heartbeats the men relaxed, continuing their mad dash for the wall. The ladder made a loud thunk as it connected to the stone, Edward and a Man-at-Arms braced the ladder as Sir Clement began the race to the top, followed closely by Sir Richard.

The Knights were almost at the top before the alarm finally sounded, a bleary-eyed sergeant had come to investigate the sound, his cry of alarm was cut short and turned into a strangled gargle as Tall Boy’s first arrow feathered him through the throat. The damage was done however and the sound of the castle awakening rang through the still pre-dawn air. Men-at-Arms ran up the ladders faster than before, arms burning under the weight of their harness.

Sir Clement made the top just as the first defenders ran to meet them, armed only in padded aketons but with good steel kettlehats on their heads. Sir Clement made ready with his poleaxe and swung before they realised they outnumbered him. The axehead cleaved through the jaw of the lead defender, the man staring dully at the blade that had ended him, the side cut was turned into a spin as the spike at the base of the haft came up to spear the next man in the chest, six inches of razor-pointed steel sliding through padding like a hot knife through butter. Sir Clement pressed further, taking the axe across his torso and meeting a man chest to chest, using his weapon as a lever he hurled his opponent off the wall.

All this took place in the space of several heartbeats. Seeing their comrades so easily dispatched the remaining sergeants fell back to the tower door to form a defensive line. Clem swore as he realised he needed the doorway, but now Sir Richard had joined him, the other Knight drew a longsword and stood by his Captain’s side. Without any verbal acknowledgment the pair charged, lowering their heads they charged through the meagre defenders to take the tower door, blows rained on their armoured shoulders and heads to little effect, the short arming swords would never make their way through good hardened steel.

Clement’s head rocked back as if struck by a mule. The dazed knight fell to his knees as he struggled to find out what had struck him. The arrow shaft fell at his feet, and registered dully as the cause. The archer stood in the centre of the tower’s main room, calmly reaching for a second arrow, the second shot never came however as Sir Richard cleared the door and threw his sword. It wasn’t a perfect throw by any means but the blade found purchase and sliced the bow string with a deafening crack. The archer screamed as the blade pierced his stomach, only a few inches but the ensuing drop of the blade increased the agony, and the snapped bowstring flayed one cheek.

Sir Richard continued to drive into the archer and finished him with a swift blow to the face, his armoured gauntlet striking through flesh and bone to crush the soft brain tissue within. He retrieved his sword and moved to Sir Clement’s side, hauling the Knight to his feet. “Don’t worry, it didn’t go through.” He said by way of assurance. Clement thanked him and removed the helm to clear the ringing in his ears as more of his Men-at-Arms poured into the tower. Several began descending the stairs to clear out the small bastion they had claimed within the castle walls.

“Thank you Richard, that was well done.” He finally managed. Edward was through in an instant, his eyes wild as the realities and adrenaline of combat surged through his body. He passed a water skin to his Knight before drawing his blade and racing to the stairs. He was gone before Clement could yell his name or tell him to close his visor.