Setting Out

By this era's standard of coming of age at sixteen, the boy before him was better called a "young man."

Over the past two days, his "father" had gathered the territorial levies for training and war preparations. The cook who had originally been responsible for Roger had been sent to prepare food for the levies.

This young man was the cook's son, as well as an errand boy in the stables and the steward's assistant. He was the one who took care of Roger's every need.

Roger still found it deeply uncomfortable to have someone else handle even his shit and piss.

"Young Master Roger, it's time for you to urinate." The young man lifted a wide-mouthed clay jar from the chamber pot and raised a hand to pull back the woolen felt blanket covering Roger.

"Get out." Roger finally spoke, his voice low and stiff, but the effort sent a sharp pain shooting through his head.

The young man hurriedly withdrew his hand in fright and stepped back half a pace. He stood stupidly beside the bed, the hand holding the jar trembling slightly, holding his breath with his head lowered, not daring to approach again.

After a while, Roger collected himself and felt that he had overreacted. He closed his eyes, then asked in a somewhat gentler tone, "What's your name?"

This was the first time Young Master Roger had spoken to anyone since waking up. The young man was at a loss, and only after stammering for quite some time did he answer softly, "Y-yes, Young Master. My name is I-Igo. Everyone calls me Little Horseherd."

"All right, Igo. Can you do me a favor?" Roger tried to sit up again.

It was said that Young Master Roger had once beaten and cursed servants at the drop of a hat. The young man's face filled with alarm as he retreated half a step. "I..."

"Take that hunting knife down from the wall for me."

"Young Master Roger, you...?" Terror flickered in the young man's eyes.

"Don't worry. I'm just bored."

The young man turned to glance at the wall by the fireplace, then looked back at Roger. After struggling for a long while, he finally picked up the lame-legged chair beside the bed and walked toward the hunting knife...

Brodick, on the eastern coast of central Allen Island.

This was the governing heart of Allen Island, not only because the Baron of Allen Island's castle stood on the gentle hill north of the town, but also because it was one of the economic hubs of the entire island and even the western coast—at least, it had been many years ago.

On the open ground east of town by the sea stood a harbor. It was named Stackport after the wooden pier that stretched into the bay, and the islanders called the bay outside it Stackport Bay.

Today, the long-silent Stackport was lively once more.

Seven or eight Bella boats and small fishing vessels darted back and forth through the bay at the end of the pier. Among the colorful fishing boats were moored three larger wooden sailing ships, the most eye-catching of them being the Cog vessel Baron.

The Baron had rounded bow and stern, making it short and stout compared with the two old-fashioned sailing ships beside it.

A central rudder sat at the stern. Its single mast stood in the middle of the hull, perpendicular to the line between bow and stern, and carried a square sail.

Felt awnings had been erected over the spacious bow and central deck. Beneath them, bundles of packed wool were stacked in neat piles, while several sailors in coarse short garments carried oak barrels filled with liquor down into the low cabin beneath the deck.

At the entrance to the half-enclosed sterncastle, the captain stood shouting at lazy sailors. Captains of this era had not yet taken to wearing those flamboyant tricorne hats; his bare scalp was smooth enough to make fleas do the splits.

On the sterncastle above the captain stood a soldier clad in leather armor, a longsword hanging at his waist. One hand gripped his sword hilt as he scanned the ship, while the other raised a freshly filled wineskin of barley ale to his mouth and guzzled deeply.

Beside the Baron were two slightly smaller sailing ships, a Noel Ship and a Nef ship. Both had been acquired by Roger's grandfather in his youth and could be considered the "father and grandfather generation" of that Cog.

Though the Noel Ship was old, it already possessed several Cog characteristics—a single mast with a square sail, a broad hull, lapstrake planking, a starboard rudder, and no enclosed cabin. It was mainly used to transport people.

The Nef ship called White Sail was likewise a short, stout cargo vessel. Unlike the Noel Ship, however, White Sail had both a forecastle and a sterncastle.

This type of seagoing vessel had chiefly been improved to deal with the increasingly rampant pirates. The forecastle and sterncastle were like two watchtowers and arrow towers at sea: they could not only prevent enemies from boarding, but also let defenders shoot down onto hostile ships from above.

By now, the Baron's hold and deck were already piled high with goods of every kind.

Together with the cargo aboard the other two ships, these goods would be carried south after the troop transport mission was completed. Risking interception by England's naval fleet and plunder by pirates, they would be secretly sold on a small island off the coast of a private port called Skerries on Ireland's eastern shore. The manager of that private port was Roger's uncle by marriage, a sea merchant who had made his fortune through smuggling.

The Nef ship White Sail and the Cog Baron both belonged to Roger's uncle, Baron John.

The oldest Noel Ship belonged to Roger's father.

Allen Island was not small, but little of its land was suitable for cultivation. A major reason the Campbell Lineage dared to send troops year after year to fight the English despite the island's barren soil was that these three ships brought in considerable trading profits every year to keep them afloat.

At Allen Island's height twenty years ago, the Campbell Lineage alone owned three Cog ships, while the island had as many as ten seagoing vessels of Noel Ship class or above.

Later, the English king invaded Scotland, and Allen Island's ships were sunk one after another in naval battles against the English army.

In addition, England had relentlessly strangled Scotland's maritime trade in recent years. Sea trade on the island gradually withered, forcing the lords to sell their idle ships cheaply to Irish merchants.

Likewise, beyond the lofty ideal of driving out the English army and restoring freedom, the most fundamental reason Allen Island continued to wage war against England was to break the English blockade of Scotland's seas and restore Allen Island to its former prosperity.

This was the long-cherished wish for which Roger's father's generation and the islanders had fought for many years.

On the pier, several Northern Horses with thick coats and sturdy legs were being led aboard the Cog.

Soldiers in groups of two and three, dressed in padded armor and carrying spears with short swords at their waists, also boarded the Noel Ship assigned to carry troops.

For this expedition, the Baron of Allen Island had mobilized five territorial knights and twenty-three sergeants. Counting Baron John himself, there should have been six knights.

Sergeants were a military system that had emerged on Allen Island in recent years.

Most of them were lesser tenants or small landowners under the various knights. Their households had several tenant farmers or even serfs, and among them were islanders who had followed the Campbell Lineage in maritime trade.

These country gentry and small landowners had considerable assets and could afford somewhat better weapons and armor. They had usually received some training under the knights' command and could answer the call to battle at any time. They could be understood as quasi-standing troops under the knights, or retainers without the formal status of squires.

A very few of them were lightly armored cavalry, but most were medium infantry. These sergeants formed the backbone of the Baron of Allen Island's armed forces.

Below the sergeants were fifty levies.

Strictly speaking, these levies could not be considered soldiers. At best, they were able-bodied islanders holding simple weapons. Apart from fighting a battle with the wind at their backs, they could only do hard labor such as hauling provisions, tending livestock, building camps, digging ditches, and filling pits.

Knights, sergeants, levies, and sailors together numbered more than a hundred. For Allen Island, with a population of fewer than two thousand, this was absolutely an emptying of the nest.

On the other side of the pier, banners bearing all kinds of coats of arms snapped in the sea wind. A group of armored military nobles were bidding farewell to the family members who had come to see them off.

Roger's nominal father, clad in leather armor and mail, was among them, along with his nominal mother, whose face still bore tear streaks.

"All you know is cry, cry, cry. Can your tears drown the enemy?" His nominal father raised a hand and lightly patted the head of the twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy beside him, then quietly rebuked the sobbing woman across from him.

A burly giant wore an unhappy expression. He impatiently slapped the steel sword at his waist, making the riveted mail on his body tremble without end. "Mother, stop crying. We're going to fight the English and seize their cattle, sheep, cloth, gold, silver, and treasures."

"Besides, Uncle already said that if I distinguish myself in this campaign, he'll cut the swallowtail from my squire's banner."

Roger's nominal mother glanced at the swallowtail banner behind her eldest son, and her mood eased slightly.

At that moment, a middle-aged man in his thirties walked toward them.

He was short and stocky, his face weathered by hardship. A woolen cloak, worn by years of saltwater and sea spray, hung from his shoulders. Beneath it were brown outer garments and trousers that suited his brown eyes and brown hair. White strands were already thick among his coarse stubble. His maimed left hand wore a leather glove and rested on the sword hilt at his waist.

This man was Ma'en, the sergeant most trusted by Roger's father. His father and grandfather had followed the Campbell Lineage, and in recent years he had often gone to war alongside the Baron of Allen Island. Two years ago, while fighting the English, he had lost two fingers from his left hand.

"Sir, our soldiers and supplies are aboard." Ma'en was not one for idle words, and he said nothing more.

Seeing that the other relatives had all finished their farewells, the middle-aged man grew impatient as well.

He placed a hand on the shoulder of the half-grown boy beside him. "Louis, take good care of your mother. Wait at home for your brother Kaixuan and me to return in triumph."

With that, he lightly touched the boy's forehead, then turned and led Ma'en and the large squire toward the pier.

Watching the knights and officers board the ships, a plump, lavishly dressed noblewoman walked over. "Mary, I heard Roger that little fiend—woke up?"

The noblewoman had held her breath to stop herself from saying "little demon."

She was the Baroness of Allen Island, the sister-in-law of Roger's nominal mother.

The two women's relationship was far less harmonious than that of their husbands.

Roger's nominal mother forced a faint smile and bowed slightly to the noblewoman. "Thank you for your concern, Baroness. Roger is no longer in danger."

"What a pity, Aunt Mary." The delicate-skinned young man beside the noblewoman added in a strange, mocking tone, his words thick with powder and rouge.

"Young Master John, Roger is your cousin no matter what. How can you speak of him like that?" Roger's nominal mother did not dare vent her anger on the Baroness, but she could still raise her voice before a junior.

The rouged young man curled his lip, his face full of disdain. "I don't have a cousin like that."

"Aunt Mary, don't you know? That fellow's good deed is already known across the island. The village chief of Luo Ke Lanzha has been spreading the word everywhere and plans to bring a lawsuit before the Baron's court."

Roger's nominal mother's brows rose slightly, anger appearing on her face. "He nearly killed my son, and he still dares bring a lawsuit? Has the Campbell Lineage fallen so low?"

The rouged young man gently stroked the back of his slender, smooth hand. "My father has never acknowledged that bastard as a member of the Campbell Lineage."

With that, he led a handsome man away, turning toward Brodick Castle with an unhurried gait.

The Baroness gave the two young men walking away shoulder to shoulder a complicated look, then said bluntly to Roger's nominal mother, "Mary, keep your son in line. Don't let him come out and harm the islanders."

As she spoke, she too went after the two young men walking side by side with their heads pressed together.

Roger's nominal mother spat lightly. "Pah! Your own son is a sodomite, and you still have the nerve to talk about me. May your John line die without heirs."

Pulling the boy beside her along, she lifted her skirts and stormed away from the pier in a huff...