It's All About Timing (Part 1)
The first part of a short story inspired by my Munster playthrough in "Crusader Kings III" (2020)
The small company of knights reached the pinnacle of the hill. The vast plain of Castlebar lay in front of them. The light was dull and the sky was grey. The grass was still wet.
Petty King Murchad of Munster halted the company by raising his hand. Then, he stared intensely at the plain. There was a small camp of tightly assembled tents at the foot of the hill. Right in front of the camp, a line of small dots stood. My army, thought Murchad. It seems so small, he also thought matter-of-factly.
He then directed his gaze to the other end of the plain. There was another line of dots in front of yet another camp. However, it was a much longer and thicker line than Murchad's. Lastly, he looked west, where the plain ended and a dense forest took its place. That was where his hope lay.
Everyone was silent. It was the king himself who broke the silence. Smiling nonchalantly, he pointed at a small clearing between two tall trees. "There, my friends," said Murchad. "We'll sit there. Make yourselves comfortable: it'll take hours before we can leave."
Then, he dismounted from his horse, closely followed by a young boy. The boy unfolded a large piece of cloth on the ground, where the king sat. Meanwhile, the company of knights had also dismounted and was starting to chat in small groups.
"Is there anything else I may do for you, my liege?" asked the boy.
"Just sit and relax, Thomas," said Murchad. "And please, take it easy, my boy. You'll make me blush in front of my fellas with all this 'my liege' here and 'my liege' there."
Thomas stammered an apology, but the king interrupted him. "I'm only coddin' ya, Thomas. I appreciate your grace, I really do. You can go chat with the others, I'm fine."
Thomas bowed, then joined the nearest group of knights. He was welcomed with a great shout. It wasn't only Murchad who sometimes made fun of the boy for his courtly manners. In fact, Thomas was something of a black sheep among Murchad's down-to-earth court. And yet, for all the mocking they could make of him, all the knights had taken a liking to the boy. Just like Murchad himself.
He wanted to be alone for some time, however. Their arrival had surely been noticed down at the camp, and Murchad needed to collect his best thoughts for the conversation to come. The most important conversation of the day, in fact.
He barely had any time to think, because after less than half an hour, Murchad saw three knights leaving the camp and galloping up the hill. Stomping the wet ground, a bald man clad in armor halted his horse right in front of the king. All the knightly chatter died.
"What the hell do you think you're doing here, Murchad, you stubborn goat?" said the bald man angrily, dismounting from his horse.
"And I'm glad to see you too, Earl Domnall, my faithful Marshal!" replied Murchad.
"Stop acting the maggot, Murchad. What are you doing here? The battle will start in moments." "I know. I'm so glad we made it in time."
Domnall didn't seem less angry. "You could get an arrow in the middle of your eyes by staying here, do you realize that?"
The king stood and put a hand on Domnall's shoulder. "Will you sit with me for a couple of minutes?"
The Marshal swore. Then, regaining his manners, he said, "Didn't you hear me? It will be moments before—"
"The ground is too wet to start anything. You know that. Ruaidri, that feckin' eejit, knows that as well. So please, sit with me for a while. I want to discuss with my Marshal. May I?"
Domnall sighed, then bowed his head like a beast with no escape, and followed Murchad. They sat together on the cloth. "Fellas, leave us some air to breathe!" yelled Murchad half-jokingly, and the knights left them alone between the two trees.
"What's the story with the men?" asked Murchad.
"More excited about the possibility of winning than fearful of dying. I have to admit that the minstrel you sent did a decent job last week."
"Good lad, that Allan."
"Yeah, gotta admit it as well. He gave the men a fun evening talking about reclaiming the island, building a kingdom, and so on and so forth."
"And what about you?"
"Me?"
"How's my Marshal doing?"
Domnall didn't speak for a while. "Not sure I can win this one."
"How's that?"
"Our men are strong. Our line is robust. But the damn Ruaidri has more men, and their weapons are better. Fierce better, Murch."
One of Murchad's knights finished a dirty joke, and the group around him burst into laughter. "You were right," continued Domnall. "Ruaidri is a poor idiot, but he's got coins. And he spent them. We should have looked for allies, like you said. I'm not sure we can defeat him now."
"I see. Want to leave the plain?"
Domnall clenched his fists. "Can't make this decision. It was me who forced you to make war. Such a stubborn idiot I was. Won't make another mistake. That's up to you." He then stood up. "The men will fight anyway," he continued. "I will let the king decide."
Murchad played with his beard for a while. It was a small tic he had when he was in deep thought. "Go ahead, Marshal. I have trust in your skill as leader of our army. Bring me a victory and the last piece of Ireland I need to bring the Kingdom back, or come back on a shield and atone for your past mistake."
Domnall remained serious, but his eyes were soon engulfed in tears. He bowed and was going to leave. But Murchad rose to his feet and hugged him. "I'm sorry, my friend," said Domnall. "Choose a less stubborn goat as your Marshal next time. Your son may be a good fit."
"You trained him well," said Murchad, smiling.
Domnall bowed and left without saying another word. He gathered his escort, mounted his horse, and rode back to the camp.