08 A Little Hatred: Book One (The Age of Madness)

‘You should’ve seen them run!’ Damn it, but Leo had been so sure of himself a few moments ago. He could charge a line of Carls and never falter, but a woman with a long neck and greying hair leached all the courage out of him. ‘They broke before we even got to them! We took a few dozen prisoners …’ He glanced towards Jurand, but he was giving Leo that doubtful look now, the one he used when he didn’t approve, the one he’d given him before the charge. ‘And the farm’s back in our hands … and …’

His mother let him stammer into silence before she glanced at his friends. ‘My thanks, Jurand. I’m sure you did your best to talk him out of it. And you, Whitewater. My son couldn’t ask for better friends or I for braver warriors.’

Jin slapped a heavy hand down on Leo’s shoulder. ‘It was Leo who led the—’

‘You can go.’

Jin scratched sheepishly at his beard, showing a lot less warrior’s mettle than he had down in the valley. Jurand gave Leo the slightest apologetic wince. ‘Of course, Lady Finree.’ And they slunk from the tent, leaving Leo to fiddle weakly with the fringe of his captured standard.

His mother let the withering silence stretch a moment longer before she passed judgement. ‘You bloody fool.’

He’d known it was coming, but it still stung. ‘Because I actually fought?’

‘Because of when you chose to fight, and how.’

‘Great leaders go where the fight’s hottest!’ But he knew he sounded like the heroes in the badly written storybooks he used to love.

‘You know who else you find where the fight’s hottest?’ asked his mother. ‘Dead men. We both know you’re not a fool, Leo. For whose benefit are you pretending to be one?’ She shook her head wearily. ‘I should never have let your father send you to live with the Dogman. All you learned in Uffrith was rashness, bad songs and a childish admiration for murderers. I should have sent you to Adua instead. I doubt your singing would be any better but at least you might have learned some subtlety.’

‘There’s a time for subtlety and a time for action!’

‘There is never a time for recklessness, Leo. Or for vanity.’

‘We bloody won!’

‘Won what? A worthless farm in a worthless valley? That was little more than a scouting party, and now the enemy will guess our strength.’ She gave a bitter snort as she turned back to her maps. ‘Or the lack of it.’

‘I captured a standard.’ It seemed a pitiful thing now he really looked at it, though, clumsily stitched, the pole closer to a branch than a flagstaff. How could he have thought Stour Nightfall himself might ride beneath it?

‘We have plenty of flags,’ said his mother. ‘It’s men to follow them we’re short of. Perhaps you could bring back a few regiments of those next time?’

‘Damn it, Mother, I don’t know how to please you—’

‘Listen to what you’re told. Learn from those who know better. Be brave, by all means, but don’t be rash. Above all, don’t get yourself bloody killed! You’ve always known exactly how to please me, Leo, but you choose to please yourself.’

‘You can’t understand! You’re not …’ He waved an impatient hand, failing, as always, to quite find the right words. ‘A man,’ he finished lamely.

She raised one brow. ‘Had I been confused on that point, it was put beyond doubt when I pushed you out of my womb. Have you any notion how much you weighed as a baby? Spend two days shitting an anvil and we’ll talk again.’

‘Bloody hell, Mother! I mean that men will look up to a certain kind of man, and—’

‘Like your friend Ritter looked up to you?’

Leo was caught out by the memory of that riderless horse clattering past. He realised he hadn’t seen Ritter’s face among his friends when they celebrated. Realised he hadn’t even thought about that until now.

‘He knew the risks,’ he croaked, suddenly choked with worry. ‘He chose to fight. He was proud to fight!’

‘He was. Because you have that fire in you that inspires men to follow. Your father had it, too. But with that gift comes responsibility. Men put their lives in your hands.’

Leo swallowed, pride melting to leave ugly guilt behind as pristine snow melts to show the world rotten and bedraggled. ‘I should go and see him.’ He turned towards the tent flap, nearly tripping on the loose strap of one of his greaves. ‘Is he … with the wounded?’

His mother’s face had softened. That made him more worried than ever. ‘He’s with the dead, Leo.’ There was a long, strange silence, and outside the wind blew up and made the canvas of the tent flap and whisper. ‘I’m sorry.’

No corpses, no glory. He sank onto a folding field chair, captured standard clattering to the ground.

‘He said we should wait for you,’ he muttered, remembering Ritter’s worried face as he looked down into the valley. ‘So did Jurand. I told them they could stay with the ladies … while we handled the fighting.’

‘You did what you thought was right,’ murmured his mother. ‘In the heat of the moment.’