Chapter 9: The Muster of Merit

Brant held the Muster of Merit at dawn, in a dewy field behind the farmhouse.

The three wagons were drawn up in a row for a backdrop.

Thirty-two soldiers stood in two lines.

Gerta, Sella and Naho stood off to one side, because nobody had told them where else to stand.

Alric stood a little apart from everyone, wearing the plain grey mail the farmwife's boy had helped him hammer back together, and he said nothing.

The Muster was simple, Brant explained.

Each person stated their contribution, and the Captain marked it in chalk on the nearest plank.

He had already marked his own, and he waved a hand down the side of the first wagon to show the board.

There were fourteen white strokes in five bundles, and beside each bundle was a word in Brant's block capitals.

PRESENCE had four.

WEATHER had one.

OXEN had three.

CROSSING had two.

MEDALS had four, and Naho counted that twice, in case she had misread.

"Medals," she said.

"Awarded to me by the Crown for conduct," said Brant. "Four marks."

"For which conduct?"

"Command," said Brant.

"Which part of it was you?" said Naho.

A soldier in the front line made a very small noise, and Brant turned his whole head to look for him.

He found nobody, and turned back.

"I am the Captain," he said.

"Yes, but what did the medals say?"

Brant lifted the largest one, a brass circle pinned over his heart, and read the back of it, which took some time.

"For distinguished organization of a supply convoy in the northern wars."

"Who loaded the supply convoy?"

He was quiet for a moment.

Gerta, at the end of the line, said without hurry, "Me, mostly. The Captain signed."

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