Varda, Daughter of Autumn (3)

The baron's party's first meeting with Varda was as striking as a scene from a fairy tale. It proved her lineage more surely than a hundred words or a gilt-edged certificate ever could.

But this alone was not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enough. The baron's status was not merely that of some mercenary captain, after all.

Since no mobilization order had been issued, the knights bound by vassal contract were waiting at their private manors. The same went for the kin tied by marriage.

To summon them and persuade them, proof more definitive than this was needed.

"I am already gladdened that you received me so hospitably."

To Varda, who accepted it graciously, the baron bowed his head with courtesy.

"I thank you for seeking out our House Foster. The honor of being the first to host the princess will be the envy of every noble in Britannia."

"You praise me too highly. I am well aware of how the world has changed, so such courtesies are unnecessary."

Varda was a sorceress who had wandered Roman and encountered many a noble society. She was not so naive as to simply delight at such words.

"It is no courtesy. Are you not the rightful sovereign who shall rule Britannia in days to come?"

Yet neither did Baron Foster seem to have spoken out of mere flattery.

"Those who have kept faith and opportunists clinging to power alike will envy us just the same. The only difference is that the latter take longer to find their nerve - for they only move once the tide has clearly turned."

The baron was an eloquent speaker, a trait that did not match his warrior's appearance. Presently, he shifted his gaze to Eugene.

Who was the master of this army, who practically held custody of Varda's person. Anyone not a fool could discern it at a glance.

"Forgive me. I am poorly informed in the ways of the world and know little of the viscount, sir."

To claim ignorance of the world was a lie born of humility. Truly ignorant, he could never have sent multiple letters of entreaty across the sea through his connections.

But to not know of Eugene was true enough. It was a world where the exchange of information was exceedingly limited, and with every step removed the rumors piled on like a snowball.

All the more with Gord and the sea standing as a barrier between them. Even if he set his mind to making inquiries, learning anything of Eugene would prove difficult.

"I doubt what you wish to know is what I do or what renown I have won. What concerns you is my relationship with Varda-nim, and how I have treated her, is it not?"

Baron Foster, his innermost thoughts seen through at once, stiffened for a moment. The boy looked so starkly young, barely a few years senior to his own son, yet his perception was anything but ordinary.

A hot-blooded knight would have been too busy boasting of his exploits in some tournament, of the battles he had won. A knight who coolly began with political considerations was rare.

"Be at ease. I have never once treated Varda-nim with discourtesy."

He had embarrassed her on quite a few occasions, but discourtesy there had been none, in any case.

"..."

As if the same thought had struck her, Varda's face turned sullen for an instant, but she straightened her expression at once before the eyes of a vassal.

"I am Varda-nim's knight. Her sole knight, past and ever future."

Shing.

Eugene drew Last Autumn and held it before them. In a grip that signified he had no intention of fighting.

"In the days when I had nothing to my name but a squire and a warhorse, she gave me this sword. I too knelt before her and offered this sword in return. Does this set your mind at ease?"

When the baron looked toward Varda with astonishment, she nodded meekly.

It meant the two shared a bond of honor. Should Eugene treat Varda with discourtesy, it would at once become Eugene's disgrace.

"I have committed a discourtesy. Allow me to escort you to our domain at once."

From Baron Foster, the suspicion that had seemed to regard him as a potential invader had cleanly vanished.

'I must prepare a tribute ahead of time.'

The look exchanged between Varda and Eugene alone was enough. It was easy to grasp that one more duty as a vassal had come into being.

* * *

Eugene's army established its base at a water source near the barony. For even a fairly well-to-do house could not play host to an army of this size.

Only a few high-ranking figures and their escort followed the baron. Given the state of the times and the sudden appearance of an unidentified army, the domain bore an air of the highest tension.

When they entered the lord's manor, four figures were there practicing with bows - one young man of an age with Eugene, two daughters who looked a year or two younger, and one little lad.

Ping!

The boy's arrow struck the very edge of the training target.

"So that is the Britannian longbow. It certainly looks serviceable in both power and durability."

Rex showed an interest in the bow. Which was the finer weapon, a longbow of solid yew or a Samur horn bow? It was a perennial topic of debate among hunters.

"They are my children. With the threat of war hanging in the air, all of them are in training."

"There is a child who looks barely past ten. And the other two are women, are they not?"

Varda was puzzled. Roman was peculiar in making knights of women; in most lands, combat was the domain of men.

"He has just turned nine and is my youngest. But it is too harsh a season for him to remain merely a child, so there is no helping it. I myself, and my eldest as well, may fall in battle at any moment."

With the prospect of having to suddenly succeed as head of the house, there was no leisure to make allowances for youth.

"Moreover, every member of our house, man and woman alike, practices the bow. Our family name is Poster (Gamekeeper), is it not?"

"I suspected as much, but was it truly so?"

Eugene was surprised by the etymology, which sounded like something commoners might bear. It was rare in the world of nobles for an ancestor's profession to become the family name as it stood.

"In ages long past, when the Elf King first set foot in Britannia, it was our ancestor who met and guided him. After serving as the king's scout and hunting-ground guide, he was granted land as a reward - that was the beginning of our house."

"In the southwest of Britannia, there are quite many noble houses like this. A wealthy farmer who furnished the king's army with provisions and was granted the name Baker, for instance."

Varda, who had been listening with pleasure, took up the thread of the conversation.

"Baron Baker, like myself, keeps his fealty still, Your Highness."

"The king of the former line was a man of discerning eye."

Eugene voiced his admiration. That he had selected and ennobled houses that could still keep their loyalty unforgotten after so long a span of years was a testament to remarkable caliber.

"Would he have won the honor of the first dynasty to unite the continent for nothing? More than half of it was his eye for people and his ability to employ them."

Varda spoke with pride.

"I shall serve with all loyalty, that Your Highness's ancestor may have no cause for regret."

"Enough with the titles. I have but a single knight. My name will suffice."

The children, having spotted the head of the house, ceased their archery and approached.

"We are glad of your safe return, my lord."

While the daughters lightly bent their knees ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in curtsey, the eldest son spoke.

He could see at a glance that the guests were not of ordinary standing. He showed more formality than he did in everyday dealings.

'He called her princess? Did I mishear?'

Unless he was mistaken, it seemed he had heard an absurd form of address. The sort of being his stubborn father would call by such a title was...

"Can you tell this noble personage's station?"

"Oh!"

Like father, like son, one might say. The moment the heir laid eyes on the elven woman his father indicated, he understood everything. For he too had been one of those captivated by the portrait hanging in the lord's manor.

-Aigo! Our young master has become a man, he has~.

Embarrassing though it was, the Elf King's consort in that painting had even appeared in his very first wet dream.

"Summon all the servants and throw open the storehouse! It is a day of glory, for our true master has come!"

Pleased by his son's quick perception, Baron Foster let out a booming laugh and gave the order.

* * *

"Change all the linens in the guest-of-honor chambers to fresh ones!"

"My lady, they were changed only two days past. No one has stayed there."

"Change them all the same! And prepare the perfumed oils."

"Yes, m-ma'am!"

Baron Foster's wife bustled through the manor, directing the manservants and maidservants with brisk command.

The situation around them alone, as precarious as a candle in the wind, had already set her hands and feet trembling. When she had heard the news that a great host of over two thousand had reached the eastern boundary, she had near lost her wits.

-Dearest. I beg you, do not go. It is surely a trap. How could an army of that size come from the east to help us?

It had been but a few hours since she had been in half-tears, desperately pleading with her husband. Now, however, she was waging a battle of an altogether different sort.

"And the candles?"

"All that show even the least use have been cleared away, and only the new ones sorted out."

"Well done."

The butler proved a pillar in times like these. He nimbly handled whatever the occasion demanded, according to the stature of the guests.

Yet even for the butler, there was a matter that posed a difficulty of arrangement. It was the matter of the cup distribution.

"For the knights of His Excellency the Viscount, I shall set out bronze goblets, and for the guards beneath them, wooden cups. But we are short of glass goblets."

In this age, glass was a substance near to semi-precious stone. Even a common glass goblet was a costly luxury.

The baron and his lady themselves only brought out the glass goblets when a neighboring noble paid a visit. At ordinary times they took their meals from horn cups or wooden vessels, for fear of breakage.

"We have four glass goblets of middling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠quality, but as for a crystal goblet..."

"Only one, you know. The second has a crack in it."

The baroness kept meticulous track of the dinnerware and even the furniture, down to every article of value.

A crystal goblet adorned all over with intricate transparent chasing was a rare sight even in the capital. It had been a treasure the baroness had brought as a pair in her marriage portion.

The maidservant who had cracked one while washing the dishes had received fifteen lashes of the whip for it.

"The cracked one cannot be set out."

"You speak wisely, my lady. In that case..."

It meant that one of the two - Eugene or Varda - must be served in an ordinary glass goblet.

It might appear a trifling worry, but in noble society it was a matter of considerable sensitivity. To handle it wisely in such a moment and so forestall trouble - that was the measure of a lady of the house.

"Bring the white wine and saffron. And dress the sardines."

As the baroness rolled up her sleeves and stepped forward, the butler dashed for the storehouse. It was a tradition in Britannia that when truly honored guests came, the lady of the house would personally serve a native dish.

"Once more I thank you, for coming to us in these difficult times. It is humble fare, but we have prepared it with all our heart. Pray, eat your fill."

Whatever the circumstances, even at an impromptu banquet, the baron's family did their utmost in hospitality.

White bread spread with butter, roasted suckling piglet, honeycomb cut into palm-sized pieces, soup laden with seafood, and other splendid dishes followed in succession.

Meanwhile, for Eugene, who had been given the seat of honor, the baroness's homemade cooking was served.

"..."

Eugene maintained his silence, savoring the savory aroma of the freshly baked pie.

"What is this dish called?"

"Stargazy Pie. It is a traditional dish offered only to great warriors worthy of ascending to the constellations."

As it was generously laden with unsparingly expensive ingredients like butter, white wine, pastry, and pepper, the aroma was excellent. Not to mention the meaning it carried or the sincerity of the baroness who had made it herself.

It would have been perfect, were it not for the fish heads embedded at regular intervals around the edge of the pie.

Eugene's fork, the same that had swung a great axe one-handed on the battlefield, trembled faintly.

Filth.

"...It's good?"

"Thank you!"

Contrary to its bizarre visuals, the pie itself was truly decent. Having absorbed the oil from the sardines, it was permeated with a moist, tender texture and a savory richness.

"Homi. You try some too."

He also gave some to his squire, who was wagging her tail with a face that was salivating.

"!!!"

Perhaps it suited her tastes, for the speed of her spoon and fork doubled.

'Typical feline, all right.'

The baroness also smiled with goodwill as she watched Homi heartily devour the dish that held her pride.

It was customary for only the recipient to eat the lady of the house's homemade dish, but an exception was specially made for a squire, who was a bonded fate-companion.

The baron's daughters watched Homi with something akin to envy. For a knight of count or viscount rank, even the position of squire would be fiercely contested. As fellow women, they could not help but find her admirable.

"Young ladies. It is time to offer your greetings."

At the head maid's whisper, the eldest and second daughters, who had been seated demurely, rose and made their way toward Varda.

"It is an honor to meet you."

"Everyone is going to check the portraits. They say they wonder if the maiden in the painting has leapt out into the world."

The baron's two daughters held the hems of their skirts and bowed politely.

Sssizzle.

Clang!

Beside them, servants busily carried sizzling beef dripping with oil and pried open the bung of a new beer barrel with a hatchet.

As the subordinates ate and drank like mad, with empty dishes and empty kegs piling up one after another, the banquet ripened to its peak.

"Shall we get some fresh air?"

Eugene went out to the terrace, taking Baron Foster with him. Having enjoyed himself this much, he had upheld the host's honor, and now it was time to slowly get to the main point.

"The baron will serve in my army. Can I take it that way?"

"That is what I hoped for."

"Thank you. I can see that the Cornwall region is loyal, but I doubt the entirety of it is. To what extent are the families passive?"

"About half."

"To stop at only that is impressive."

Baron Foster wore a shameful expression, but Eugene was sincerely impressed.

At this level, it meant that even the families watching their step were fundamentally well-disposed. If only a little certainty were instilled, they would likely firm up their resolve and join.

"This is all because of Count Kruger."

"What sort of bastard is he?"

"He is the great lord who rules central Britannia. He sent a proclamation declaring that if we join his command, he will show mercy, but if we resist, he will trample us utterly."

"That sounds like the routine threats made in any war."

Official correspondence between nobles was always seasoned generously, whether with praise, insults, or recommendations. That level of rhetoric was nothing particularly outstanding.

"The problem is that it was Count Kruger who sent it."

"He must be a brutal fellow?"

Baron Foster nodded his head.

"The Kruger family expanded its power greatly through strategic marriages with Viking great chieftains. Thanks to that, while their military might is formidable, they are also infamous for their cruelty. Your Excellency, do you know of the blood eagle?"

"I have heard of it. I understand it is a punishment reserved only for those who have committed the worst crimes, even among Vikings."

First, the prisoner was secured face-down to a frame, and then their back was split open while they were still alive. It was a horrific punishment where the spine and organs were extracted, spread out, and salted.

"Count Kruger inflicted that punishment on two nobles."

"Is he a madman?"

It was not uncommon to ignore ransom requests and execute prisoners. But to use such an insane, barbaric execution method, not on an enemy nation but on nobles of his own country.

Surely, an enormous political risk would follow. It might feel gratifying and crush the enemies' morale for now, but it was unsuitable for long-term rule.

"It seems he is not entirely mad. That is because he restrained himself, since they were nobles of his own country. But the mercenary captains and vice-captains who joined the civil war—more than ten have already had their backs carved open."

"If we fight, we must win at all costs. The moment we lose, I would end up in the same predicament."

Eugene let out a hollow laugh.

After the banquet ended, Eugene read Count Kruger's letter aloud before his subordinates. The content of the letter went beyond tough, to a level where any trace of culture had evaporated.

Perhaps because it matched their own code in a way, the tribal warriors listened attentively with expressions that said, "This count fellow's got some fire, eh?" or "So there was a useful one here too!"

However, as the mid-to-late portion of the letter arrived and the talk turned toward outside forces, everyone's mood shifted.

[Britannia decides its own fate. I warn you outside mongrels. If you will not stand at my side, then get lost.

There is no ransom in this war. Those who stood against me have all become corpses. I cut off their heads and use them in place of flags. Knight or noble, there are no exceptions.

Abandon any notion of trying to challenge me. My army will smash your army to pieces. My dagger will also smash your spine to pieces.

I like eagles made of bone and flesh. And when I carve, I use a dull dagger. Heed my warning well.]

It was a rare letter that so clearly revealed the writer's character. Perhaps due to a violent disposition or a lack of proper education, it was written as if spitting out curses, predominantly in short sentences.

"If we catch the bastard, I will flay him alive myself!"

"Leave him to me! I am confident I can fillet him into sixteen pieces!"

The tribal knights reacted vehemently.

Though they had been formally knighted by Eugene and become quasi-nobles, their nomadic roots had clearly not gone anywhere.

"Calm yourselves. It wasn't even written targeting me."

"But it is practically the same as if it were sent to you, Excellency. Because this is not a man who changes his tune depending on who he faces."

That was something Eugene could sympathize with as well.

"We'll find out in due course. For the sake of not getting captured, I hope you all fight hard. I would rather not become an eagle statue."

At their laughing lord's words, everyone offered a military salute with resolute faces.

The next morning, a scout belonging to the Foster family came running in a fluster.

"The army mustered at Salisbury has begun to march."

"The bastards, to the bitter end!"

Baron Foster was aghast, and the baroness and the vassals did not know what to do.

Salisbury was a strategic point adjacent to the barony on the Cornwall border. If the army had set out, it would arrive here in no time.

"The commander of the gathered army, you said it was Viscount Winchester?"

"Yes. After the Elf Kingdom fell, when the Ancient Kingdom invaded, he was the turncoat who offered himself as their puppet."

Baron Foster pointed to several places on the southern and southeastern parts of the Britannian map.

"During the invasion, the Ancient Kingdom built numerous outposts (Chester). Nobles who cooperated zealously were rewarded with titles. All those who have 'Chester' in their castle names are their descendants."

Even as he spoke, the baron watched for Varda's reaction. But she was serene. She was not foolish enough to be angered by something like this.

Strictly speaking, she still had no power herself. She was merely enjoying that prestige thanks to the great ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠knight bound to her by destiny.

"The central region is already fighting, so it seems he wants to annex the south before it's too late."

"That is because Viscount Winchester's power is weaker than Count Kruger's. It is said he also sent requests for aid to Gord and Barsia, offering them central territory."

"A move like that could easily get him branded a traitor to the nation."

"He must think he needs to survive first and see. If he loses this war, while others might survive, the viscount will most certainly become an eagle."

The moment he finished speaking, Baron Foster gave a startled jump.

"Th-The Viscount Winchester, I meant! Not Your Excellency!"

"I know. So, where roughly is their line of march? My army has many horse archers, so I'd like to intercept them on a plain if possible."

The baron's index finger immediately pointed to the expected march route.

"This road is certain."

The reason the Cornwall nobles had been able to maintain their integrity for so long was not only due to their fortitude but also largely thanks to geographical advantages.

There were not many roads to send an army from Salisbury to Cornwall, and when combined with the spies' information, the route could be easily pinpointed.

"Oh?"

"Heh."

Upon seeing the location, Eugene stroked his chin as if intrigued, and Varda covered her mouth with elegance.

"Rex. I should give a reward to the adventurer who drew up this map. The Montana Adventurer Party, was it?"

"They're pricey fellows. I told them to map mainly the strategic military points, but they did a proper job of it. As expected, you get what you pay for."

The march route between Salisbury and Baron Foster's barony. The spot where the Wandering Castle had descended was a short distance away from it. The position was uncanny, as if it were deliberately staging a shakedown.

"Excuse me, but what do you all mean by that...?"

Only the baron's family, unable to keep up with the situation, remained bewildered.

"Come to think of it, did we not explain how we arrived here?"

When Eugene, who chuckled, explained the circumstances, the listening baron's face underwent a bizarre transformation. It was an expression that said he did not know whether to believe this or not.

* * *

Of course, there were some who had to believe it by force, even if they did not want to.

"What in the world is that?!"

Viscount Winchester's mouth fell open, he who had hanged the babbling scout for undermining military discipline.

A colossal castle, loftily rising on the plain, looked down upon his army. Wreathed in mist because of Britannia's climate, it exuded an even more eerie atmosphere.

"Am I dreaming?"

"It's an ominous presence."

Even the most courageous knights were equally dumbfounded. Some pinched their cheeks; others lowered their gazes and instinctively donned their helmets.

End

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