D1C11 - Nerves

A moment or two after the midday sun had passed overhead, the caravan stopped for lunch as a enormous cloud passed overhead, providing ample shade for comfort. My mother took me out of the carriage for some much needed fresh air. She carried me as she looked for and found my dad, who was near the supply carts handling and sometimes overseeing ration distribution along with the servants we had brought along. To do such menial work even though he was the big boss, I could see why our men liked him. Of course, the wages they were being paid also probably had something to do with that. I refused to believe that guards of this caliber were not being paid high wages.

Sometimes, he would send men with food to the second carriage that often followed closely behind us. Briefly, I wonder who the occupants of the riders were. Not once had I seen them since the journey began. I put the thought out of my mind, there was no point in wondering about it. Eventually, one way or another, they would have to come out.

Our guards didn’t dismount but rather they hooked one leg over their mounts facing to the sides. The bird would then lay down and the men gave the impression of sitting on their mounts like a chair. This was so that in case of ambush , they could quickly throw a leg over the saddle and be good to go. The footmen on the other hand, had to sit on the dirt road. Although we were having lunch, nobody let their guards down, I could see the men designated as sentries patrolling around the perimeter of the caravan.

It was interesting to see what they were having for lunch. It would appear that when the meal was taken at camp, such as breakfast or dinner, all the men would eat the same food rations and anything they caught themselves. However if the meal was taken on the go, such as right now, there would be a pecking order as the rations were passed out from the supply cart. The leaders or commanders, those who had some form of identification such as an armband, received more rations than their men. They would get two pieces of bread and 3 pieces of meat, their direct subordinates, whom I assumed were their lieutenants received one piece of bread with two pieces of meat.

The soldiers on the other hand would get only one of each. Sometimes I could see a few soldiers supplementing their meal with game that they had hunted the previous night. For example, I recognised the team of hunters, they brought out haunches and legs of the boar creatures meat and shared it with their fellow men. Other would occasionally bring out a some unidentified meat from some creature or another. With the food rations, skins were handed out. I could hear the sloshing of liquids within them so it was probably water or some kind of wayfarers drink. There was no way the men would be allowed to drink during a march.

Mentally, I nodded approvingly as I saw the smarter leaders and lieutenants pool together their rations with those under their command, splitting it so that everyone in their unit got an equal share. I could easily discern that these leaders were favoured and smiles and compliments came their way. I mentally make a note to give both officers and men the same treatment if I were ever in command of troops. Not that that was very likely, however I did spot the faces of several women within the knights and the footmen, including an all female squad of knights, so you never know.

As my stomach growled in protest, I turned my attention to my own meal. A few minutes later, I sighed elegantly in satisfaction. Nah, what actually happened was that I gave a long and loud burp as my mother patted my back while smirking. I was tempted to go back to sleep immediately however, seeing the slightly worried faces of my two parents, I decided to stay awake a bit longer to see if I could figure out what was going on.

My mom, with me on her back; she had in me in a baby wrap, and my dad walked over to where the commander of the guards was. At first I didn’t realise who he was, since his armor and kit was similar to most of the knights. However his armband had a complicated design on it, something which I have not seen on anyone else. My observations indicated that the armbands were used to define rank, the more complicated the design was, the higher the rank. Which led me to believe that the man in front of me was the commander since his armband had the most complicated design so far. Looking at it felt like some kind of optical illusion. Ugh.

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In the beginning, part of me had wondered why they did not use a easy to spot identifier, like coloured horsetails on helmets instead of the plain grey horsetails everyone had. Then, I realised that it would be disadvantageous since the enemy too, would be able to single out the officers rather quickly. So instead they used armbands, which were slightly easier to conceal. The whole concept was similar to my previous world, where troops did not salute their commanders to prevent them from being identified by enemy snipers. A fact my combat vet grandfather, who served as a battlefield medic in World War 2, told me.

At any rate, my mother, my father and the commander along with his two subordinates or advisors, squabbled over a piece of map. I didn’t know what was going on, but my best guess had something to do with deciding what route to travel on. The places they were so excitedly pointing out on the map were probably spots that were ideal for ambush, since they kept pointing at them and making hand gestures to avoid the pointed spots.

While I was busying sucking on my thumb and enjoying the soft breeze, they had somehow come to a conclusion. My father pointed to somewhere on the map where a statuette of a bird knight thing was located and muttered a few words. The commander gave a short nod and my mother whispered several words with a worried look on her face. Once she was done however, my father stylishly donned his cloak with a twirl, turning his back to us and leaving the tent, like he was some sort of hero about to face a dragon or something.

Damn, I hope he didn’t just raise a death flag…

Speaking of death flags, I wondered how my brothers were doing. I was pretty sure they were well and alive. They weren’t caught in the attack because they probably weren’t in the manor-like house or castle thing anyhow. A month and a half before the attack that happened a few days ago, my brothers had stopped visiting so often. Instead of visits twice a week. it had dropped to once a fortnight. This made me assume that they were coming here from a far off place. The travel time probably limited the amount of times they could visit.

Of course this was just a basic assumption, however if I was correct, it also meant that my family had a location where we would definitely be safe, a safehouse of sorts, if you will. That was probably where we were going to and most likely my brothers were already there. Assuming it was correct, it also meant that it would take around 5-7 days to arrive, based on the fact that my brothers visited once a fortnight. A week of travel time to and a week from. Furthermore, if my brothers had indeed been harmed, my parents would not be so calm and unfazed. Perhaps they were the type to have iron hearts but that didn’t seem too likely.

As the lunch ended, I saw everyone mount up on their birds and footmen resume their positions as we made our way back to the carriage. What was out of the ordinary was that my dad had begun riding away from the caravan at full speed, leading a contingent of ten or so riders. Recalling the statuette of a bird and the knight on its back, I bet all of my remaining 2 meals that my dad was probably riding ahead to rendezvous with reinforcements to lead them to the caravan. Knowing that there were reinforcements should have relieved me, but instead I felt a gnawing fear.

Why? Why did we need reinforcements in the first place?

All of a sudden, I felt as if the probability of attack had just been raised by a factor of ten. I cursed myself as I thought this, jinxing myself was a dumb thing to do. I endured the rest of the bone-shaking day in the carriage with a bit of slight apprehension. Having knowledge that an attack was coming bit off my patience piece by piece.

I grew more and more impatient, feeling unsettled. My mom had long since noticed and gave me hugs but even that did not calm my fraying nerves. I had no ability to protect myself or anyone else. Not for the first time, I curse the fact that I was still a baby.

The sun sets and we set up for camp.

I fall into an uneasy sleep.