A Charge of Valor

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Godfrey, dressed in the enemy’s ill-fitting armor, walked awkwardly, feeling conspicuous, trying to look natural. He realized, too late, that the corpse he had stripped was his same height, but thinner than he; he cursed himself for drinking one too many cups of ale in his life as he felt his belly and shoulders bulge against the armor. He only hoped it did not give him away.

Other than that, Godfrey looked at himself and at the others, and was amazed at how much he resembled an Empire soldier. Especially with his face plate pulled down, he couldn’t even tell the difference between himself and one of Andronicus’s men. The weapons on his belt were of fine quality, too, a long and short sword, a dagger, a short spear and a flail, all a glossy black and yellow, bearing the markings of the Empire. As he marched, at first he’d braced himself to be discovered; but the farther they went, the more he realized that no one looked twice—and the more he began to relax. He was sweating inside, despite the cold, and he had no idea where he was going, but at least he was still alive and succeeding in his ruse.

If anything, soldiers looked at Godfrey with a sign of respect, several stiffening to attention as he passed and they saw his officer’s stripes. As he went, he could not help but feel more and more inflated, and he actually started to relish the idea of being paid respected. He actually began to get swept up in it and to feel like an officer himself. It was a fun role to play, and it never took much for Godfrey to get into character. He wasn’t a good warrior, but he had always been a great actor; one too many tavern plays had taught him well. In fact, he had always wished he had been born the son of actor instead the son of a King.

“Sir,” said a soldier, hurrying up to him, “now that the siege has been won, all the officers are being shipped out. The carts are being loaded as we speak, and I’ve been ordered to round up the remaining officers. Right this way, sir.”

Godfrey gulped behind his faceplate, realizing he had no choice but to go along or else blow his cover. He turned and marched with the soldier, weaving his way in and out of the busy camp, thousands of soldiers milling about in every direction, wondering with each step what to do.

Godfrey found himself led to the back of a long troop cart, open in the back, drawn by several horses. In the back there sat dozens of officers, all jostling and bantering with each other, in high spirits. Godfrey hesitated at the base of it, as the soldier gestured for him to board. As he stood there, slowly the banter subsided and all eyes fell on him. He knew that if he did not make a move soon he would be discovered.

He turned to the soldier.

“And where is this cart going exactly?” he asked the soldier.

“To take us home, finally,” one of the officers said. “Back to the ships, and back to the Empire. We’re finally done with this horse dump.”

Godfrey gulped. He couldn’t get on that cart, couldn’t allow himself to be taken across the sea, to the Empire. The thought of it left a pit in his stomach. He had to think quick.

As he stood there, immobilized in panic, an officer leaned down from the cart with an open palm, grabbed Godfrey’s forearm and yanked him hard, hoisting him up three steps and onto the back of the cart. The officer smiled back and patted him on the back.

The rear door of the carriage was slammed behind him, there came the sound of a horse whipped, and soon they were off, their cart moving and bumping along the dirt road.

As Godfrey was swept away, he began to panic; it had all happened so quickly, he hardly knew what was happening. He sat there at the edge of the cart, sweating, looking about at the other soldiers, who all seemed to be ignoring him, passing around a sack of wine, drinking long and hard and laughing with each other. All around him, the Empire camp was flying by.

Godfrey had to think quick. He had to get off this cart. It was taking him farther and farther away from Silesia, with every bump.

They passed two Empire soldiers dragging a Silesian captive, and Godfrey was struck with a plan. It was risky, but he had no other choice. It was now or never.

Godfrey suddenly stood, leapt off the moving cart, landed in the mud beside it, rolling, then jumping to his feet. The cart stopped, all the officers staring, and Godfrey made a show of hurrying over to the two soldiers and, in his most authoritative voice, he screamed at them, loud enough for the others to hear:

“And just where do you think you’re bringing this slave!?” he screamed.

Behind him he could feel all the officer’s eyes digging into his back. He knew he had better play this well; if not, it would be his head.

The two Empire soldiers turned and looked back at him, confused.

“We have orders to bring him to the slave mill, sir,” they said.

“Nonsense!” Godfrey screamed. “That is no ordinary slave. I captured this one myself! He’s a Silesian officer. Can’t you tell by his markings?”

The two soldiers looked at the captive, confused.

“What markings?”

Godfrey stepped forward, grabbed the captive roughly, spun him and pointed at a small spot on his back.

Then, before the soldiers could examine it too closely, Godfrey reached back and smacked the soldiers across the face.

“Didn’t they teach you anything in training?” he yelled. “This slave was supposed to be brought inside Silesia, for interrogation. Must I do everything myself?”

Godfrey felt the stares of the officers behind him, on the cart, and prayed this worked. He turned to them, peremptorily, and he waved his hand, and in an annoyed voice, he said:

“Move on without me. I’ll take the next one. I must return my captive to his proper place and rectify the errors of these ignorant soldiers, or else it will be on my head.”

Godfrey didn’t wait for a response: instead he turned, grabbed the two soldiers by the arms, along with the slave, and led them all, marching firmly back towards the gates of Silesia.

Godfrey’s heart pounded in his chest as he took the first several steps, hoping and praying he had played it off well, that he didn’t hear the soldiers chase after him. He also hoped that the two soldiers didn’t fight him, that they were stupid and intimidated enough to go along with it.

Please God, he prayed. Let this work.

This was the ultimate test of his acting skills, the ultimate role he had ever played.

After what felt like forever, to Godfrey’s immense relief, finally, he heard the sound of the cart taking off behind him. The officers resumed their laughter, and the wheels began to disappear.

And the two soldiers before him did not even look back.

“I’m sorry, sir,” one soldier said. “I had no idea.”

Godfrey smiled inwardly to himself, doubling his pace, and then shoving them even more roughly.

“Of course you didn’t,” he said. “That is why you are a soldier—and I am an officer.”

Godfrey marched with the two Empire soldiers and their captive back through the gates of Silesia, past thousands of Empire soldiers, some of whom looked their way but most of whom were preoccupied. The city was mostly rubble, and as Godfrey re-entered it, getting a good glimpse of it for the first time, his heart sank. All around him, for the first time, he saw the devastation, the oppression of his people. The extent of their defeat hit home. Everywhere were smoldering flames, the city in ruin, slaves bound together and being whipped as they sorted through the rubble.

Godfrey saw the crosses, high up, and he was aghast to spot Kendrick, up there on a cross, beside Atme, Brom, Kolk, Srog and several others. It made him sick. He wanted to run to them, to free them all at once. But now was not the time.

Most pressing on Godfrey’s mind was getting rid of these two soldiers he was accompanying, especially before they figured out that something was not right. He had to finish playing his role, and as he went, a plan came to him.

“Where to now, sir?” one of the soldiers asked.

“Don’t ask questions!” Godfrey snapped. “You answer your superior only when talked to!”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Just follow me and shut your mouth,” Godfrey added. “We are going to deliver this slave exactly where he belongs.”

As they passed, Silesian slaves looked over at Godfrey in fear, and Godfrey realized that he was playing the role too well, especially as Empire soldiers all around them continued to stiffen in salute. He found himself standing taller, walking straighter, really immersing himself in the role. He blinked and for a moment he almost forgot that he was not an Empire officer.

Godfrey realize that this was all he’d needed his entire life: a good suit of armor and an officer’s role. Maybe if his father had given it to him, he would have avoided the taverns altogether.

Which, ironically, was where he was going right now. Godfrey weaved in and out of the back alleys of Silesia, which he had memorized in but a few days’ time, and led the group towards the tavern he had frequented with Akorth and Fulton. If he knew those two—and he knew them like brothers—they had found a way to avoid the conflict, and to survive. They had probably snuck around corners, hidden in trash cans, done whatever they had to do to make it, and if he knew them, they would have somehow found their way right back here, to the pub, drowning themselves in ale and shrugging it all off as if war had never happened. In Godfrey’s experience, even in completely sacked cities, pubs were left untouched by soldiers. After all, conquering soldiers wanted a drink, too. It was usually the first thing they wanted, and it only hurt their cause to destroy the taverns.

Playing his role well, Godfrey stepped forward, before the soldiers, and kicked the door open to the pub hastily, his face plate down, and feeling a rush of authority. He was getting lost in the role, and he really felt as if he were an Empire officer, storming down an illegal pub in the conquered city.

Godfrey stepped inside, and just as he suspected, he found the place jam-packed with Silesian survivors, slackers who had found a way to survive. The slovenly fringe sat hunched over the bar, which, as Godfrey suspected, had been left untouched by the conquerors. This place was a bit less crowded than it had been before the war—but not much. Godfrey’s storming out of there and joining the army clearly had not been an example for any of them. These people who where they were. Godfrey did not blame them: he felt his knees grow weak at the smell of the strong ale and wanted a pint more than he’d ever had in his life.

As Godfrey and his group stormed into the room, it grew dead silent, everyone turning and looking at him in fear, cowering. They hurried out of his way as Godfrey marched forward with the others, right to the bar. Godfrey’s heart soared with relief as he spotted who he was looking for. He saw from here the figures of Akorth, way too fat, and Fulton, tall and skinny, both hunched over the bar with their backs to them.

At the commotion they turned, and their eyes opened wide with fright as Godfrey approached.

Godfrey smiled to himself. Clearly they had no idea it was their old friend.

“Stop here!” Godfrey commanded the Empire soldiers, as loud and authoritative as he could be, and they both stopped and stiffened at attention, holding the slave.

“These two men are wardens to the slave,” Godfrey said to the Empire soldiers, gesturing at Akorth and Fulton.

Akorth and Fulton stared back, confused.

“Wardens?” Akorth asked. “Us?”

“Sir?” one of the soldiers asked. “I don’t understand.”

“It is not for you to understand!” Godfrey screamed back at the soldier. “Unshackle the slave, and you will understand.”

The two Empire soldiers exchanged a confused look, and they hesitated. Godfrey’s heart pounded as he hoped they did not realize that something was awry.

But finally they each followed orders; they reached into their pockets, extracted their keys, and began to unshackle the slave.

As they did, Godfrey suddenly turned to Akorth and Fulton, who stared back at him in wonder, and he quickly lifted his visor. As he did, their eyes opened wide in shock.

Godfrey silently motioned with his eyes, telling them what to do. Thankfully, they were quick to understand.

Akorth and Fulton each immediately reached over, grabbed their mugs from the bar, and stepped forward and smashed them over the heads of the Empire soldiers. The soldiers collapsed to the ground, and as they did, all the other Silesian patrons joined in, kicking them until they finally stopped squirming.

Godfrey removed his helmet, and all the other patrons recognized who he was. They let out a cheer.

“Son of a bitch!” Akorth said.

“You are even craftier than I thought,” Fulton added.

“There are many ways to win a war,” Godfrey smiled.

“But I don’t understand,” Akorth said, looking down at the soldiers. “Why did you bring them here?”

“I figured these two were about your size,” Godfrey said.

They looked back at him, baffled.

“Don their armor,” Godfrey said. “I need your help. And you two are coming with me.”