We rode late into the night, the stars slowly wheeling overhead and the moon’s gentle light rolling around. I slowed Munter to a walk, not wanting to tire him out, but we kept riding for some time after. The fields and open plains near Nachberg gave way to scattered trees, slowly thickening along the road to Kurnich, and I wanted to reach the cover of the woods before we stopped ‘til morning.

I hesitated as long as I could until the moon and cloud took the choice out of my hands, a deep true-dark night laying its blanket over the world so I could barely see Munter’s ears twitching ahead of me and the poor bay and I agreed it would be unwise to keep riding. I gently turned him aside and we left the beaten road, pushing a few metres into the sparse trees.

His Highness had long since fallen into a semi-sleeping stupor behind me, awake enough to cling on but little more, and I spoke quietly to rouse him.

“We’ll spell here until dawn, your Highness. No fire I’m afraid, sir, but we’ll have a bite of supper to tide us over.”

Once the exhausted prince was awake enough I didn’t fear he’d fall from the horse if I deprived him of his handholds, I dismounted and reached up to help him down.

“Easy now, your Highness. There we go. I’ll have a groundsheet down in a minute, sir, and then I must care for the horse. But have some water while I do that, sir, it’s been a long ride.” So saying I freed my canteen from its strap and passed it to him, before turning to the packs.

The prince took a long drink while I worked at the buckles strapping down the bedrolls, grateful once again to Wagner. He’d done a sterling job, one I’d be hard pressed to replicate -- and that while in a building under enemy fire! I might be troubled now by the firmly set fastenings, but I should have been far more troubled if we had lost anything in the escape.

My chilled fingers made matters more difficult, the spring still being young, but I finally pried the straps loose enough that they ran freely and I pulled the groundsheet out. In the black I was hard put to say where would make a good resting place, but I made my best guess by feel between the roots of a mighty tree, kicking away some fallen twigs and trying to spread the leaf mould evenly.

“Here, your Highness, take a seat. Set your back to the tree, here, sir. There we are. Just a minute and I’ll have the blanket out.” I said, touching the boy’s shoulder to guide him into place. “I fear I can’t offer anything for the saddle soreness, sir. It’s the cavalryman’s curse, sir.”

His Highness murmured something, still too dazed to muster up much energy. I couldn’t blame him. The Royal Family were far above the likes of myself, but no matter the title he bore it was hard to see the lad in front of me as anything more than an worn-down youth, too young yet for a beard. Although it’s just hard to see the lad in front of me, in this darkness, I thought to myself and chuckled mentally at my own joke.

The straps on the blanket came loose much more easily with the groundsheet free, and as I unrolled it I felt something hard set in the middle. I reached into the roll and pulled it free. It was a metal canteen, still warm to the touch -- the rolled blanket had preserved its heat -- and sloshing with liquid. I took a moment to unscrew the top and take a sniff, the contents still almost steaming, and my nostrils filled with the comforting scent of tea and mint. I smiled, the smell warming my heart as much as my body.

I knelt next to the prince and passed him the canteen. “Here, sir, warm your fingers on this and have some. With compliments from Gefreiter Markus Wagner, bless his soul, sir.” My hands already felt better for the few moments I’d had them on the canteen, and the boy wordless wrapped his hands around it likewise, before taking a sip.

I returned a moment later with the blanket, which I draped over his lap. “Try not to fall asleep, your Highness, a bite to eat will keep your spirits up, sir. Have it ready just as soon as Munter’s seen to, can’t have him unrested in the morning.”

I busied myself with the work of unsaddling and rubbing down the sturdy gelding, setting the tack and saddlebags aside. The familiar work had me fighting down the urge to yawn, tiredness catching up with me now that we’d slowed down. I couldn’t afford to stop, not yet, not here.

With Munter cared for and a tied loosely around the bole of the great tree we rested beneath, I retrieved the most perishable of our travel foods from the saddlebags: A loaf of crusty but still fresh bread and a small wedge of thick quark, thoroughly bundled in paper.

To someone used to palace fare it might be nothing, but compared to the rations a regular soldier on campaign might expect it was truly a meal fit for a king. When this ran out we would be eating the usual tooth-breaking hard tack and heavily cured foods, but for supper and breakfast His Highness and I could eat pleasantly.

I struggled a little in the dark, but managed to hack half the loaf into pieces and spread generous amounts of the quark on each. I pressed two of the thick slices into the prince’s hands. “Here, your Highness. Eat before you go to sleep.” I said.

“Thank you, gefreiter,” He mumbled.

“It is my pleasure, your Highness,” I answered, meaning it. I was glad he’d pulled enough energy together to speak.

I seated myself on one of the gnarled roots of the tree, wolfing down my portion of the bread and quark. I still had a long night ahead of me and part of me wanted to savour it, but a larger part was simply ravenous after the exertions of the day and it won out. I washed it down with a long drink of water and rose back to my feet.

“Sleep when you can, sir. I’ll be on watch.”

No response. I glanced down: as best I could tell in the dark, His Highness was already passed out. Well, he’s taken the advice, I suppose. I bent down to pull the blanket up to cover him properly, before going to the pile of tack to tidy it together for the morning. In the dark, though, the task felt futile and I soon gave up, settling back down on the root. I gently abducted the still half-full flask of tea from the prince’s grasp, taking a long drink. It was only warm, now, not hot, but it still warded off the chill a little.

I had with me the dragonet I hadn’t fired that evening, and taking the ramrod I checked that the ball was still loaded. The rammer met with a promisingly solid object when I pressed it down, which I hoped would be enough. I placed it across my lap, flipped my collar up and my cuffs out against the icy breeze, and tried to settle in for a long night on watch. I would dearly love to sleep, but dared not. Not out here in the unknown dark, with who knew what potentially on our tail, with the creatures of the forest and the night out and about.

Part of me wished for the warmth and comfort of a crackling fire, to ward off any curious critters, but a greater part of me thought it too much of a risk in the other direction, especially in the event the Torreans were in pursuit. Though I had told His Highness they lacked cavalry, in truth I feared what devilish alternatives they might have. Though perhaps the lack of a fire would not hide us from any terrors they sent, I would rather take my chances against a prowling pack of wolves that could probably be set to flight with a flintlock than draw anything off the road.

The night passed agonisingly slowly. At intervals I’d feel myself drifting off towards sleep, and I’d force myself to stand up and slowly walk around the tree a bit, trying to keep my blood flowing to stay awake. After a while I would tire of standing and walking, and sit for a bit. Then the cycle would repeat itself, another lazy hour moving its slow self past.

At some time in the early hours of the morning, still far before dawn, the perpetual spring rains reasserted themselves with a gentle drizzle. Little more than a falling mist, it was still enough to bead dew on everything and everyone. After the third time wiping water off my face I threw regimental regulations to the wind and removed the pins holding the brim of my hat up to the crown, bent into shape, stowing them away in my cartridge pouch.

The stiff felt of the hat still held most of its shape despite some careful bending, but with a slight outward cant on each side that managed to catch some of the falling rain before it could drip down my collar. I sighed and resigned myself to the return of the damp of spring, telling myself I should be grateful we had had a day’s respite from it.

Finally, the sky began to lighten, calling an end to my night vigil. I began quietly setting the tack in order in the pre-dawn dimness, not wanting to wake the prince before it was needed. My own eyes might feel like they had been packed with powder and my limbs with lead, but that didn’t mean we both had to feel that way. Misery loved company, but I was not after the spreading of misery.

By the time I had finished giving Muntel a rudimentary checking over and grooming and saddled him up, a full grey dawn had settled in. The sun hid behind flat grey clouds that showed only the hint of a pale disc, but the light at least diffused down to cast everything in a directionless glow that seemed to leave everything a little poorly lit but nothing in shadow. The tree under which we had stopped, I saw, was a rowan. Some people saw it as a lucky tree, and I decided I might as well take it as auspicious -- after all, the night had passed without event. Nevertheless I should much prefer to stay the next night in an inn somewhere, not least because I sorely doubted I could hold watch again.

I sliced the rest of the bread up, sticking the pieces together with thick layers of quark. Finally, I knelt down and gently shook the prince’s shoulder.

“Your Highness, it’s morning, sir. We must be off again, I’m afraid.”

The prince woke slowly, then startled upright when he opened his eyes. I saw his mouth work, and I passed him an open canteen. He drank gratefully and returned it.

“Good morning, gefreiter.” He got out, finally. “When I woke I had thought I had fallen out of bed.”

I chuckled. “Nothing so luxurious I’m afraid, your Highness. Although I have prepared breakfast, sir, such as it is.” I offered him some of the bread and quark.

“Surely you need it more, gefreiter? I have slept all night,” He politely declined. I was touched, but quite aside from my duty to care for him had more faith in my own ability to ignore my hunger than his.

“I am honoured by your concern, your Highness, but I shall be fine. We Mourners are a hardy breed, sir. Take it. At least let me wrap it for later, if you can’t eat now, sir.”

He sighed. “Very well, gefreiter. You’d best wrap it up, then.” He pushed back the blanket and rose slowly, stretching out after sleeping in what was doubtless the least comfortable bed of his life. I carefully packed the bread away in the wrapping from the quark, returning it to the saddlebag at the top where it could be easily retrieved for later.

When I turned away from Munter again, His Highness was folding the blanket. I blinked in surprise. “Ah, your Highness, sir, you don’t need to do that, sir,” I said, uncomfortable.

“I do not wish to be a burden, gefreiter,” He responded. “Let me do at least this much.”

I pressed down on my hat, pushing back some stray hairs while I thought. I didn’t want to offend His Highness, but I also didn’t want to have to refold the blanket to make it fit -- which would offend him too, surely?

“As you say, sir.” I decided to go with it for now. “Fold it once long-wise, sir, then once over the short side, then you’d best pass it to me to roll, your Highness. There’s an art to rolling it tight so it doesn’t work loose, sir.”

To my relief, the prince was content to do so, and I set to shaking out the groundsheet and rolling it while my unusual workmate struggled with the blanket. Its size and weight, being suited for the early spring, made it difficult to handle, and by the time he had folded it properly I had the groundsheet mostly fastened behind the saddle again.

“Thank you kindly, your Highness, sir,” I said, taking the blanket from him and beginning to roll it tightly. I eyed the distinctively uncomfortable-looking prince. “I fear there’s no privy out here, your Highness, begging your pardon. You’d best just go a little way further into the woods, but not far, sir.”

Flushing, the boy slipped away and I suppressed a chuckle. There were some things to which a soldier had to become accustomed, which certainly the esteemed Royal Family would not.

I fastened the groundsheet, the prince returned, and I took a last look around the area we’d spent the night, checking nothing was lost. The rain was trickling through the sparse spring leaves above us, the chirping of crickets usurped by the dripping of water and the trilling of birdsong, and in the grey light the forest seemed to go on forever. Knotty roots broke up bare ground, soon to be coated with a green fuzz of undergrowth but now too lately blanketed in snow for the soft plants to have taken root. The rich smell of damp earth permeated everything. I took a deep breath just as Munter snorted and shook his head, spraying droplets everywhere, and my breath turned into a laugh.

“Come on, your Highness, the horse says it’s time to go. I think we should both walk a spell, sir, to give him a bit of a warm up, and then I’ll lead him. A bit of exercise will do me good in this weather.”

I took up the reins and turned the horse back to the road. It’s a wonder he didn’t turn an ankle on this ground last night, I marvelled to myself, but it was too fresh a morning to be weighed down with worries from last night. I took another deep breath, enjoying the first morning in what felt like an eternity where I had no expectations of anyone shooting at me before lunch. It was almost enough to brush away the fatigue, as we once again began travelling the dirt road towards Kurnich.