Excerpt: The Byzantine Wars

“It really burns you, doesn’t it?” asked Alarick, all of a sudden.

Sjervac was a little taken aback at this. “To what are you referring?”

“When they bash the Hungarians.”

“Oh.” If Sjervac had believed in the superstitions of his rural countrymen, he would have cursed himself for tempting fate: this was NOT what he had envisioned when he’d thought tentatively about seeking out some conversation. “Yes. I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”

“They’re doing it to get a rise out of you, you know,” Alarick continued, “it’s got nothing to do with Hungarians. Well, not much. If you were English it would be quodhopper jokes – if you were Spanish, something of the kind. But mostly they like you, I think.” Sjervac felt a touch of resentment at the Captain's attempt to spare his feelings. “In fact, they’re kind of in awe of you.”

“Yes,” snorted Sjervac, “especially when they have to caution me never to touch the flying-pins ever again.”

Alarick threw his head back and laughed, and Sjervac was caught by the realization that he’d articulated the thing that had been bothering him for weeks, to the one person he least wanted to know about it.

"That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking of,” said Alarick. “You know it’s true – they think you’re clever and educated, and they like that about you. True servile souls.” He paused, and then said in a slightly quieter voice, “I did come down on you kind of hard about that, didn’t I?”

Yes, Sjervac considered, being bawled out in front of all the lieutenants hadn’t exactly been the most thrilling experience of his life. He’d felt very small afterwards, a feeling that had only been exacerbated by the lieutenants’ solicitous attentions to him, and their entirely good-natured, entirely false whispers of, “Don’t mind the Captain – he’s like that sometimes,” and “Oh, don’t worry, sir – happens to the best of us.”

To Alarick, he had no immediate reply, and wondered just how the man would go on. When it was apparent that the man was pushing for a reaction, he complied.

“Well,” he said, fighting for lightness, “I certainly won’t touch the flying-pins again.”

“Oh, don’t be a dissembler, Mr Falkas,” said Alarick, casting a glance back at him with a smile that was pretty winning by any standards. “I just apologized to you. Is dissembler a word? I’m pretty sure it’s a word, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Don’t look so surprised – I’m almost literate. You are surprised, aren’t you?” asks Alarick, leaning back again in the saddle to grin at him. Sjervac realized this was the captain's way of attempting to change the mood into something more comfortable.

“A little, and no, you did not,” said Sjervac, years of lessons in rhetoric coming to his aid just when he needed them most, for the Captain’s statement had taken him a little off balance, “you did not apologize. You recognized an insult, which is not the same thing.”

“No notice taken of tonal variances or body language, I suppose?”

“Maybe in your circles, but gentlemen say what they mean.”

“In that case, I am sorry that you are so miserably back-handed with flying-pins, and I hope you will improve in the future.”

“I do not think I shall – some novice of a Captain forbid me to touch them, and I think I shall follow his advice on military matters in the future.”

“The novice thanks you, sir,” but Sjervac realized from his tone and his posture that he’d ruined it. Perhaps this was something he’s not allowed to mock, even if the Captain pretends to be light about it.

“You don’t like that word,” he hastened to observe.

“No, Mr Falkas, I really don’t. Probably because it’s true.”

“Well, I don’t see how it matters,” Sjervac continued blithely. “You’ve been made Captain. That much is secure. The Generals have given you their sanction – that should be enough for any gentleman.” Sjervac winced at his own words, aware that it certainly hadn’t been enough for *him*, but Alarick let it slide without comment.

“That’s kind of you to say, Mr Falkas, but in case it’s slipped your attention, you’re the only gentleman between us and Krakow. I’m not concerned about what the gentlemen in Dresden think – that’s not what’s important. You’ve seen my men.”

“Yes. I was under the impression that their behavior thus far has reflected creditably on you.”

Captain von Zelig rolled his eyes in a way that told Sjervac that his comment betrayed some deep ignorance of military matters, and he waited patiently to be disabused. “My division, as I’m pretty sure I’ve told you before, consists of 30% new recruits and 50% men who were in Genoa with me. That means 30% men who are untested in their skills, mettle, courage and loyalty, and 50% of men who’ve been tested beyond endurance and would give their right hand for a break and some sunshine. Not a happy mix.”

“But the men respect you – I’ve seen it!”

“Thank-you for saying so, but it’s just was well that I don’t let you fool yourself. You’ve seen the men when they’re happy and well-fed.”

“I’ve seen the men after 10-mile hike through miserable, wolf-infested forest,” he offered.

“My dear Mr Falkas, we are just at the beginning of a very long, very agonizing, very difficult mission. The journey to Krakow is the easy stuff. You’ve helped me there, I have to admit,” he said as an aside, with a little nod of his head. “But time’s running short and we’re going to be truly tested hard before I can guarantee their conduct. I don’t know their faces and I don’t know their names. My lieutenants are good – they’re closer to the men than I can be – but. Well, there was a time when I’d have known them all, and I don’t now, and I don’t like it.”