Free The Alliance by David Andrews Page A

He’d been told the same thing years ago, when he first joined. She’d replaced his clothes with a silk nightshirt, washed and combed him, even shaved him by the feel of his cheeks. It seemed Helene had been busy. His leg felt a mass of bruises but functional, and his head had cleared. He heard her returning by her voice giving orders to one of the women and he lay back in the bed, his eyes closed.
    The waft of the curtain opening and closing warned him she was there, but he didn’t move.
    “Don’t lie there, pretending to be asleep. Yell at me and get it over with.”
    He opened his eyes. “Why should I yell at you?”
    “I’ve let you sleep twenty hours and wasted a day of your precious time.” She glared pugnaciously. “The fools you command wanted to wake you.”
    “How did you stop them?”
    “Threatened to stab the first one who tried.”
    “They must have agreed with you, or you’d have been overpowered in seconds.” He nodded. “Never interfere again. Where are my clothes?”
    “There.” She pointed.
    “Thank you.” He rose stiffly, taking the weight on his leg gingerly, and crossed to the neatly folded pile of clothing.
    Everything was clean or new, his chain mail burnished clean, by sand from the few grains caught in its meshes and his sword gleamed with care. He drew enough of it from the scabbard to see the nicks in its edges honed smooth.
    “I’ll help you dress.”
    “Thank you.” He could have done it alone, but she needed some sign of his approval.
    It took time and he was aware of a growing stillness outside the silk curtain, so it was no surprise when he stepped through it to find the companies assembled in parade order, sergeants standing in front, waiting for him.
    “Companies,” the senior sergeant roared. “Ho!”
    The men came to something resembling attention with some degree of alacrity. His sergeants couldn’t understand there was no time to make these men parade ground soldiers. It was enough to teach them to fight and win.
    He strode forward to where all could see him, including the wounded. “That was disgraceful,” he said, his parade ground voice carrying clearly. “Were it not for the fact you acquitted yourselves adequately the other night, I’d be tempted to punish you.” He paused, as if considering the matter. “As it is, you’ve got tonight to consider how to improve, and I’ll inspect you before we march in the morning.” He grinned at them. “Well done, lads. Dismiss the companies, sergeant. Parade in marching order at first light.”
    There was a ripple of laughter in the ranks as he turned and made his way to the wounded. He didn’t look back, just allowed the sergeants to deal with it as they chose.
    Helene had done a good job with the wounded. All would recover, and only six wouldn’t march in the morning. He might have to slow the pace, but they’d be with him at day’s end.
    The six who couldn’t march were part of his Rubicon. How he dealt with them would commit him beyond turning back. He made a joke with the last man and turned away.
    It could wait till morning.
    * * * *
    He frustrated her, left her floundering, wondering how he would react, what he would do. Something no other man had ever achieved. Helene didn’t like the constant challenge, or the uncertainty, but he evaded every attempt she made to change it.
    She watched him with the Westlander. He’d sent for the man as soon as he left the wounded, and then listened to his explanation as to how he’d set his piquets and kept them alert, prompting him occasionally with a question. Now, without confirming a single point with witnesses, he praised and advised.
    “You did well. Avoided the common traps. Report to your company as a corporal.”
    The Westlander saluted and left.
    “How did you know he was telling the truth?” She couldn’t resist the question.
    He turned and regarded her, as if deciding whether to answer. “Because I know when he lied.” His eyes challenged her