“Summon the Steward and be quick about it,” Marc ordered.

The ultimatum in the order was, and the subordinate broke rank.  He ran into the Keep as if his life depended on him. In his mind it does.

“You and I are going to have a chat…” Marc said.

The guard gulped, and Marc permitted himself to smile. Cherish the little victories in life.

Marc narrowed his gaze and edged the horse closer. It might have been only a few steps, but now felt the beast’s hot breath against their cheeks. He had to admit the cavalry had an edge for filling the hearts of men with fear. 

“You may want to reconsider that response…” Marc said. 

“I said the—” the guard said proof that this man had a backbone after all.

The guards were armed, but he had the advantage with a warshorse that could trample them without slowing down. To further escalate matters, he reached for the hilt of his sword, pulling the blade out a couple of inches so the steel gleamed in the light. His eyes focused  directly on the cautious guard.

“You—What business do you have with the Steward?” the guard asked as a precaution.

The guard’s subordinate was tempted to say something, but  the elbow to his ribs changed his mind. A lesson in running off your mouth at a soldier on a war horse.

“Other than as a soldier loyal to the King?” Marc said to toy with the man. “Would the son of the dearly departed give me reason to see the Steward?”

“The Compte had no son,” the guard said.

“I’m here to see the Steward,” Marc said.

There was authority in that voice, something learned through years of readying men for combat. His father had no such presence, as his authority came from his rank, and was enforced through belittling and threats. 

The guard cocked an eyebrow while looking straight at Marc. Based on that reaction, his request was unexpected. Although, a soldier showing up on their doorstep helps…

The one who challenged him was roughly his age, and doubted he recognised him at all. The Comtesse could not tolerate children in her presence…

Marc rode up the cobbled path towards the Keep. Convention demanded that riders dismount and lead their horses in, but wanted to push the boundaries. They don’t even seem to react.

Limos was a rather large animal, the spoils of war in a skirmish against Spanish heavy cavalry. Even in his saddle Marc towered over other horsemen. 

“State your business,” one guard said. 

Interested in testing their resolve further, Marc remained mounted. The horse remained perfectly still, but its muscles twitched, ready to go into a full gallop on a single command.

Other notable changes were amongst the people, notably how their smiles appeared to be forced. Everyone he crossed appeared to be exhausted, their eyes were weary, even in those younger than him. Whereas the Keep looks better than ever…

Marc tensed his jaw, which was about the only emotional cue he showed nowadays. It was an effective method of keeping the soldiers in line without making a sound. As his eyes narrowed on his father’s home, a list of priorities quickly formed in his mind.

“I won’t stand for this type of hypocrisy,” Marc said sternly.

They used the well-travelled path towards the keep. Unlike the last time, few shied away from his approach. Instead they chose to go about their own business, or acknowledged him with a pleasant greeting. 

He rather enjoyed the anonymity that came with being a soldier. They wore uniforms and trained to a single standard for a reason. It was not to encourage individuality, but to instil a sense of camaraderie between them. Units that failed to generate a cohesive force were sure to break. Marc had the talent for finding the weaknesses in the opposing force.

On the ground, amongst the ageless buildings and structures, Marc not so much changes as decay. For one, the town appeared to be older and worn. That was not the case with Uncle’s barony. They can’t afford to maintain their homes and pay what is owed to the tax collectors…

“Everything feels different,” Marc said from atop a ridge. 

Just beyond Limos was the Keep looming over the rest of the town. Although, he would have been hard pressed to define what had changed.

It was Marc who was different, forged by his choice of vocation, both physically and emotionally. It was discipline that taught him to keep his emotions in check, and that in war soldiers would not follow men who wore their hearts on their sleeve. 

“Viens.”

So Marc took a leave of absence that day, and with permission from his Capitaine secured the use of a horse named Limos for the journey home. 

His Uncle recommended that he secure a set of peasant’s clothing prior to leaving. Marc believed it would be safer to travel in uniform, and it was sure to loosen the tongues of the old hens back home.

“We shall see,” Marc said to no one in particular.

He tapped on the Limos’ side to get going. Looking back, Marc viewed this as a bittersweet moment for him. Alas, he had been too caught up in the details to pay attention to the significance of the event.

“Won’t we Limos?”

A year after being promoted to sergeant, Marc got word that his father passed away. His father had been in poor health. That was a point of pride for Marc considering he was the cause of his ailments.

Given that the man had no official heir, that left Marc with the option of soldering on, or claiming his birthright to have a positive effect within his territories. Not bad for someone who’s twenty years old.

Marc had no desire to lead from the cover of the Keep. However, he wanted to emulate what Uncle René had done. No one should live in fear of their leaders anymore.