Great General
En-route to Three Hills
Lansius climbed atop a horse-drawn cart to make himself more visible. Despite wearing only a simple white doublet and a wicker hat on his head, the lord had a commanding presence. "Gentlemen, let me tell you a little secret: defeat or losing a battle is not the end."
His words of simple truth echoed, meeting with various reactions.
He pressed on, explaining, "I have studied how great nations in the past have prevailed despite losing major battles again and again. You might not know this name, but to me, it's as close as home. In Trebia, 20,000 lost their lives; in Trasimene, another 20,000; and in Cannae, 70,000. They were disasters, yet the nation not only survived but prevailed!"
The claim put everyone in either shock or disbelief; they had never imagined a kingdom could survive such disasters without collapsing.
"The Imperium is no different," Lansius pointed out. "The Western part and the Centuria province have faced defeat after defeat for more than twenty years against the Western Nomads, yet the Imperium is still standing."
The men nodded in unison, finding similarities between the two and feeling rather proud of it.
Raising his voice, Lansius called, "Fellow Lowlandians and Nicopolans. Let their resilience be our lesson. Do not fear defeat, for true defeat lies only when you cower in fear and give up."
Even with doubt painted on their faces, the men voiced no rejection.
Lansius followed with an analysis, "Defeat in battle is but a condition when multiple unexpected happens all at once. Failure to learn about the enemy's superior force is one of the usual factors, followed by failure to acknowledge our own troops' situation and morale. Bear in mind, courage is a fickle thing. One moment you feel brave, the next, you feel tired and would prefer running over fighting."
Like a good mentor, Lansius calmly surveyed his students. "Other factors might relate to the physical situation. While terrain can be scouted, rain or snow remains beyond our ability to predict. Then there's the role of equipment—whether we've carried the right tools for the job, thick woolen blankets and socks for winter, waxed leather for rainy days, or long pikes to counter cavalry."
Everyone nodded in agreement with the Lord's assessment.
"And lastly, provisions: flour for bread, grains for gruel, cheese, fat, blood sausages—everything. Without food, defeat is almost guaranteed. However, one defeat does not equate to losing everything. Remember the Imperium and its resilience."
Audrey intrigued, raised her hand. "My Lord, then how should we react when defeated?"
"Good troops should act like fighters. Even when beaten down, you should never give up and must stand up again."
Audrey nodded; the analogy to a fighter was easy to understand.
Lansius looked at the rest of his men and decided to gamble on a lesson. "I do not fear defeat. And as such, I do not fear Umberland."
The unexpected bold words made the men's faces brighten with smiles and grins.
However, Lansius raised his hand to recapture their attention. "Yet, it's what comes after Umberland that I fear."
Seeing puzzled looks from the men and staff, Lansius elaborated, "If you do as I've instructed, and if the fair weather holds, conquering Umberland will not be too difficult. However, taking Umberland means facing refugees, armed or not. How should we answer them? With open arms or with unsheathed swords?"
Grim expressions appeared on everyone's faces. It wasn't new or groundbreaking; the Nicopolans had suspected such a situation would arise, pitting them against another group of Nicopolans, but they had never given it real thought until now.
"For certain, Lowlandia has no more grains to spare. And you know I'm not lying about it. You farmed it yourself in South Hill."
A heavy silence fell until Servius raised his hand to interrupt.
"Speak." Lansius motioned.
"My Lord, may we learn what your plan for Umberland is?" Servius asked.
Lansius gazed warmly at the older gentleman who prided himself as a condottiere leader. "Unfortunately, that answer I do not possess," Lansius admitted without hesitation. "I can only promise that I'll do my utmost to make a decision that we won't regret."
The words of reassurance helped to pacify the Nicopolans' worries.
Just then, Sterling stepped forward, offering a cup of water to the Lord. After a brief pause to drink, Lansius turned back to his men. "All this talk about war, defeat, and strategy might sound confusing."
He garnered smirks and chuckles from the men around him.
"A long time ago, a wise man wrote that war isn't hard. He also said that victory is easy, but defeat is never easy. And I wholeheartedly agree with him."
Everyone watched with raw anticipation. For the poorest of Nicopolans who had made it this far, just to be in the presence and witness this exchange was already the highlight of their lives. They would cherish this memory like a heirloom.
"Reflecting on it, in strategy, we understand that a good lord or general knows how to win, but a great one knows how to retreat."
The words puzzled his men and murmurs erupted. Some quickly agreed and nodded, while others looked skeptical and shook their heads.
Fully expecting such a reaction, Lansius waited patiently until they calmed down. "Tell me, who is the better general, one who retreated twice and lost half his troops, or one who retreated ten times and lost only a quarter of his troops?"
The question sparked realization among his staff members and their men.
"Everyone can lead an attack. Any one of you can take a group of brave youngsters and attack a bandit hideout. Ensuring you have more men than the bandits isn't complex planning. However, what about organizing a retreat in order? What about retreating without causing a rout? Is any one of you capable of doing that?"
Understanding dawned on the men's faces. Even Audrey, Sir Harold, and Servius nodded openly.
"A proper retreat is the hardest maneuver to learn. The best general is not one who could win wars, but one who could retreat without damaging his troops. He then could regroup and attack at a better time and place."
Witnessing the nodding heads, Lansius continued, "If one can achieve this, then even after facing a dozen defeats, he would eventually emerge victorious. This is what I wanted to achieve."
Despite its audacity, the statement held an undeniable truth and the men were swayed further.
"Gentlemen, I don't mind losing battles, and I want you to maintain the same mindset," Lansius declared, trying to instill seeds of fearlessness in his men. "Everyone under my banner should not fear losing, defeat, or retreat. Our only goal is to win the war! So, cast aside your fears. Trust that even in defeat, we will prevail."
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Servius turned around to face his comrades, feeling their resolve in the air, and shouted, "You heard what the Lord said. No matter what, we will prevail!"
A thunderous chorus of responses erupted from the men. Spears and shields banged in a cacophony of agreement.
"Ever victorious!" one roared, followed by another's cry of "Unstoppable!" Others chimed in with their own battle cries, a wave of fervor washing over the ranks.
Lansius watched the reactions with a wide smile, adjusting his wicker hat due to the heat while waiting for the commotion to subside. "Fellow comrades-in-arms, now you've heard of my troubles and learned more secrets of warfare."
His men happily nodded in agreement.
"The burden of planning and governing is mine to shoulder; let my staff and I take care of it. Meanwhile, all I ask of you is to shoulder a different kind of burden."
Most knew what the Lord was hinting at, and smirks and chuckles formed on their lips.
Lansius took another bag from the cart and held it up. "This will help us achieve victories. Learn to use it, train with it, depend on it, and soon we will show the world what rapid marches are."
***
Just as parents reveal their burdens and busyness to their children to foster understanding, Lansius employed a similar psychological method to influence his troops. He openly shared the grim challenges and responsibilities he faced, compelling them to recognize the gravity of their situation. This, in turn, made them more cooperative and less inclined to resist demands and changes than usual.
Achieving their compliance was precisely Lansius' goal. He aimed for his troops to quickly adapt to marching with backpacks.
There was no doubt that it could be done. The real challenge lay in convincing them.
Historically, although Roman legionaries marched with their bags, the Medieval army, due to its tradition and training, was generally unwilling to carry the burdens on their backs. Instead, they depended on donkeys, mules, or solely on the Lord's baggage train for sustenance.
Lansius considered this approach too far from ideal, as it placed significant burden on his limited logistical capabilities. Furthermore, it compromised his troops' mobility, since medieval horse-drawn carts and unpaved roads were inadequate. While they could navigate the Lowlandia steppes, Umberland would be a different game.
He understood that he must either transform his troops or face continuous difficulties in the future. Thus, while marching in peace to Three Hills, Lansius had decided to take action.
Although it seemed like a straightforward task, he was aware of the historical resistance from the military. Even the Romans, who initiated this practice, faced strong resistance. The reforms enacted by Gaius Marius led people to openly mock the new army as Marius' mules, because the legionaries were now carrying their supplies instead of relying on mules.
However, this change allowed the new army to move rapidly without depending on roads or favorable terrain. It enabled them to march further, venture beyond the Roman road network, and set up ambushes in unforeseen locations. After securing a great victory, no Roman ever questioned the benefits of soldiers carrying their own rations.
Fortunately, Lansius' situation was much better. He had demonstrated just how effective a leader he was: capable and also compassionate, thus making his troops more agreeable.
"If the Lord wishes us to become his mules, so be it," many complied with minimal complaint.
Others felt content carrying their own supplies, thinking that, even if they were defeated or in retreat, they could still survive with the food on their backs.
As they prepared to resume their march, further instructions came from the chain of command. The first focused on how to properly load and manage the straps across their shoulders and torsos. Secondly, the Lord required each person to carry at least a week's worth of food. Additionally, depending on their group, each member was also responsible for sharing the burden of the group's essentials, including the canvas tent, bedrolls, ropes, cauldron, and even a wooden pole.
Carrying this load, especially in gambeson or ringmail, was a heavy burden, but they trusted their lord's judgment that it was achievable. Moreover, they were eager to meet the Lord's expectations, especially since he was leading by example, marching also on foot.
True to his word, Lord Lansius, flanked by his most trusted men and following a signal from a buccina, led the march. With his bags loaded, a shield in his left hand, a spear in the other, and his helmet strapped to his chest, the Lord marched steadfastly.
Watching him, all remaining doubts dissipated, and soon, three thousand men and camp followers, arranged in multiple columns, followed. They were trying hard not to disappoint the Lord, who in their minds was a better leader than any nobles they ever knew.
***
Lansius
This is more tiresome than I expected, but no matter, better a little pain here than paying the blood price.
It had been a good one-hour march, and his feet, hips, and shoulders were feeling it. However, he found solace in the distance they covered. Compared to before, they were progressing faster.
As he marched one step at a time, Lansius kept a watchful eye on his surroundings. He was aware that his cavalry were on either side of his flanks and front.
Under Sir Harold, the Dragoons were to keep a perimeter in case something went undetected by the layers of forward scouts.
The sound of a horse trotting from the side alerted him. The horse and rider approached until exactly at his right side, providing Lansius with good shade from the sun. He gazed at the rider and, unsurprisingly, found his wife on the saddle.
"It's been an hour," Audrey commented.
"I can still go for another three," Lansius quipped, much to the chuckle of his men around him.
"My Lord, you can leave this training and bag demonstration to us," Sterling chimed in.
"I'm sure everyone wouldn't mind. You've shown us more than enough that it's doable," Servius added.
"Shall I fetch the horse, My Lord?" Farkas, the hunter turned minstrel, offered.
"No, it's good exercise. Otherwise, I'll be getting weak," Lansius responded lightly.
His men chuckled. Meanwhile, Audrey gazed at Sterling. "Squire," she called.
"Yes, My Lady," Sterling approached her.
Audrey didn't say anything but gave him two waterskins, obviously for Lansius' needs. Then back at Lansius, "Since you won't let me march on foot for some reason, at least allow me to provide you with some shade."
He let out a wide grin, followed by the chuckles of his men.
"The Lord marches under the auspices of his great wife," Farkas quipped, garnering laughter from them.
"No shame in it for my wife is indeed great," Lansius praised. "And it's always good to march under shade, be it from the clouds or from a benevolent wife."
His men chuckled again. The joy gave them respite from the monotonous marching.
Audrey let out a sigh, but a smile formed on her lips. "You're not born Arvenians or Lowlandians, yet the stubbornness is the same."
Lansius had no response but to chuckle.
Watching the Lord said nothing, Farkas quipped, "But My Lady, you're also not born Midlandians, yet you're prettier than most of the ladies in Lubina castle."
Audrey raised her brow and retorted, "I heard you're of Korelia born and never left the city. Then how can you tell that I'm prettier than the ladies in the Midlandia court? Who taught you all these, Sigmund?"
"Indeed, My Lady, Captain Sigmund has convinced me as he had confirmed it with his own eyes. Your face, your waist, your form-"
Lansius deliberately cleared his throat, stopping Farkas from continuing a popular ballad.
Servius tapped the minstrel's shoulder. "Perhaps, it isn't a bright idea to woo your Baron's wife."
"Does the new minstrel wish to lose an eye or have a shorter tongue?" Sterling teased to add more pressure.
"I assure you that I didn't mean-" Farkas tried to explain nervously, thinking he had overstepped, but Lansius raised his hand to stop him.
"Farkas, I think now it's the time," the Lord said rather ominously.
"The time? What time, My Lord?" Farkas asked nervously.
Next to him, Sigmund made a not-so-subtle throat-slitting gesture.
Lansius chuckled at his staff's antics. Their way of welcoming a new staff member was unprofessional, yet it fostered camaraderie. "Farkas, I'm sure Sigmund has taught you about my request."
"Ah, the marching song?" the minstrel turned bright.
"Indeed, I think the time is right. Let's see if we can march further with the help of a song."
Farkas raised his hand to gather his subordinates, the black bandits they called themselves unofficially, and the rhymes they made were also rebellious in nature.
Farkas sang the cadence, quickly garnering attention. "Citizens, watch your wives, we say,
Black-haired rogue's coming your way!
Lion's gold from White Lake's day,
Stashed away, oh stashed away!"
Then, his men in bright clothes joined in the chorus. "He's the Black Lord, strong and bold,
Vanquished foes on steppes so cold.
From Korimor to South Hill's hold,
Triumphs now in tales retold!"
Rejoiced by the joy on the men's faces, Farkas continued. "Western Lords, they felt his might,
All three armies lost the fight.
Omin, Sergio, Gunther's plight,
Faced our Lord and lost their right."
His fellow minstrels then sang the last part. "Into Umberland, we march with pride,
Lowlandians by the Black Lord's side.
Shepherd's tunics we've set aside,
For bright doublets, worn with pride!"
Hearing this for the first time, Lansius chuckled to mask his embarrassment. Everyone around them chuckled too, finding it vulgar but unapologetically refreshing.
"That's a lively song," Audrey commented with a grin.
"Sigmund is really one crazy bastard," Lansius muttered. Yet, he noticed the men naturally catching onto the catchy lyrics and beginning to ask for more.
Before long, his column marched to the lively song. Then the column next to it started to learn the song, followed by another column.
By daybreak, three songs had circulated and were well-loved by the men.
While Lansius felt slightly embarrassed by the lyrics, which aggrandized him, he couldn't deny the results.
"We've camped further than planned?" he inquired of his scout as his command tent was being erected.
"Yes, My Lord. We've not stopped at the planned site. This is the spot we intended to reach by midday tomorrow."
Lansius grinned and chugged from his waterskin. "Then in two days, we'll probably be dining in Three Hills City."
***