The Crown of blood

III

The gruesome episodes did not stop. Despite every precaution that Ullsaard and his officers could take, there were sporadic outbursts of death and disease. Sometimes the bloody vomiting returned; other times, men were struck blind and deaf, or their bones became brittle so that they snapped with the slightest pressure.

The winter closed in fiercely, colder than anything any man in the legions could remember, even the Enairians. Though the snow came thick and fast for days on end, Ullsaard began to welcome the blizzards; when the snow was thick, he could not hear the voices on the wind, there were no strange episodes and men were unwilling to risk their lives in the wilds by deserting.

The general began to have nightmares. Nothing distinct, nothing he could place when he woke, but every morning he would have a lingering feeling of dread and oppression. He could tell others were affected the same; a surly mood born of fatigue and worry enveloped the camp.

The snowstorm was almost permanent. It became a constant job for the legionnaires to shovel ice and snow into wagons and take it out of the camp. Tents were flattened and the walls needed continual repairs to guard against the weight of the cold deluge.

By Midwinter's day, as close as Ullsaard could reckon it, it had snowed for thirty-eight days without surcease. Sickness, death and desertion since the winter began had robbed him of more than two and a half thousand men. The bodies of a thousand had been buried in the forests a few miles from the camp: the army could not spare the wood to build pyres. Ullsaard had promised that proper ceremonies would be carried out in the spring, but he could feel the will of his legions being sapped day by day.

There was no open rebellion, but the grind of daily life that had once been the machinery of discipline had become a soulbreaking series of never-ending chores without end in sight. Not even in the blasting heat of Mekha had he known the morale of his soldiers to fall so low. There was no enemy to fight, no foe to blame for the misery they endured, and so the grumbling turned against the officers and, with an inevitability Ullsaard had feared, the camp talk began to whisper questions about Ullsaard's endeavour and the wisdom of his bid for the throne.

He discussed the matter with Anasind and the other First Captains, but there was not a lot they could do. Rumour and gossip was part of legion life and couldn't be stopped. The weather was beyond their control. All that could be done to keep the men warm and fed was being done. Ullsaard all but emptied the coin store giving the men advance pay, but it was nothing more than a gesture for there was nothing to spend it on. Parmia was only ten miles away, but in the blizzards it was a journey of several days and no man had neither the time nor the will for such an expedition just to drink wine, eat a fine meal or have sex with a prostitute.

Midwinter's night found Ullsaard walking the ramparts, trying to cheer up his men whilst showing them that he shared their predicament. They were respectful but quiet. He had always enjoyed a good relationship with the common soldiers, having been a legionnaire himself before ascending the ranks, but he sensed a divide. It didn't matter that he could have quit the camp and lived in Parmia in more comfort, but chose not to; it was no argument that he shovelled as much snow as the next man. Deep down, every soldier knew that they were here because of their general, and the old questions came to the fore: what were they getting out of it? Who were they fighting? What were they fighting for?

The questions were unasked; it was legion tradition not to openly defy superiors even in dire circumstances. That made it all the harder for Ullsaard to confront. He asked the men what was on their minds and got the same replies: the cold; the thin stew for dinner; the loss of a friend or officer. Nobody was saying what they were thinking.

Ullsaard returned to his tent feeling exhausted, knowing he had accomplished little if anything on his tour. He dismissed the servants after they had brought hot wine and sat in his campaign chair with both cloak and thick blanket wrapped around him. There he brooded until the early hours of the morning.