An Angel Called Eternity

To Bet on Losing Dogs - Lykourgos VI: The Battle of the Sodden Field

Lykourgos VI: The Battle of the Sodden Field

The First Day of the Forth Moon, 873 AD.
The Woodsroad, Southern Teleytaios, Klironomea.

Eventually Romanos came to find him, the sound of fighting maybe making him move a little more briskly than he normally would of, which was a little amusing. When his friend saw that it was just a sparring match with Eros he cooled down immediately, directing a critical but not unkind look at the squire.

"Not bad. Not bad at all, Eros. You're still learning, but very fast."

"He rarely makes the same mistake twice, Romanos. He's a credit to your order."

"Actually, your Grace," Eros interjected looking more than a little embarrassed, "I've not been initiated yet."

Lykourgos looked between Eros and Romanos in confusion.
"What? Romanos, do you mean to tell me that-"

"I was only waiting until your coronation, your Grace." The knight held up his hands in a conciliatory manner. "I can assure you, and yourself as well Eros, the ceremony will take place as soon as you're crowned. Unless you order it sooner, of course."

Lykourgos nodded, and Romanos looked back at Eros.

"My apologies for interrupting you both, but I'd like to speak with you your Grace."

Lykourgos nodded.
"Of course; walk with me. Eros, I'll see you as we muster."

"Of course your Grace."

The young man dipped into a graceful bow and made to leave. Ilias, who had been watching the sparring with a rather amused expression whilst perched on a fence, looked over at the prince. Lykourgos nodded towards him with a small smile, signalling that yes, he could go and spend some time with his friend instead of looking after him for a bit. Walking with Romanos the prince snaked through the camp, no real location on his mind, and allowed his friend to make some easy conversation with him.

"You're fighting with us on horseback?"

He nodded at the Grandmaster.
"I am. You'll lead our heavy and light horse on the right flank, just past our flanking troops on foot, and I'll mirror you on the left."

Romanos gave him a mildly concerned look.
"When was the last time you partook in a cavalry charge, your Grace?"

Lykourgos stopped to think, a faraway look coming over his face.
"Nearly five years ago. The Battle of the Anarian Marches. I was right behind you, wasn't I?"

Romanos nodded.
"You were. I know you're fine for riding, so I won't press or try and get you to reconsider, just... please don't charge in too early. Wait for the right moment. I don't want your hatred of Isen to get the better of you in this battle."

"It won't, I promise. I'll wait for just the right moment and not move a second before. I don't want to cost us our victory with my own actions."

Romanos smiled lightly at him.
"I'm glad to hear it. You'll take half of our mounted knights in that case, and the mounted squire bands as well. That should give you a thousand men on horseback at your command. If it is not too presumptuous, your Grace, I'd like to keep the true Violet Knights under my direct command."

He looked at his friend, weighing his options. Whilst any knight in the Order of the Violet might take the name, the real Violet Knights were the inner circle of Romanos' order. They rode into war on mighty destriers and drafts in full barding, each man heavily armoured and wielding a greatpike of castle-forged steel to sunder any enemy lines, and were all round some of the best heavy cavalry in Klironomea. Well, the Kataphraktoi of the east might give them a run for their money, but there was certainly nothing in the west to rival them in terms of combat effectiveness.