AMBROSE TRIED to dissuade his brother from coming with him, but Tarquin was immovable.
“It’s only as far as the border. I want to see you safely out of the kingdom, little brother. Consider it my duty as a loyal subject of the king,” he added with a grin.
They left the house the way Ambrose had arrived. Tarquin took horses from the field, and brought food and money. Once they were riding, Tarquin questioned him about Fielding.
Tarquin listened carefully to Ambrose’s story, but he, like Ambrose, couldn’t make sense of it.
“The king’s army does recruit some boys.”
“Yes, but only as squires to the older knights. This was a whole unit of boys; no men at all. In fact, it was at least two units, more than three hundred boys, all in training. They seemed to think I was part of a test set by their commanding officer.”
“Good job they didn’t know who you really were.”
Ambrose winced. “I think they’ll work that out easily enough. I had to leave my horse. The saddle has my unit and initials on it.”
“Well, soon you’ll be over the border and it won’t matter. Did you find anything that might explain why Anne went there?”
“Nothing I could make sense of. But they did say something about an invasion.”
“Of Calidor? Another war!”
“That’s what the king has always wanted.”
“But to send boys into battle is desperate. They’re no match for trained men.”
“They managed to capture me. And I know this sounds strange, but one of them threw his sword fifty paces to hit me squarely on the head as I rode away. Another threw a spear twice the distance I can. They’re strong and fast.”
Ambrose tried to remember the other things the boys had said, something about the blue unit having lost and not having something that they’d get after the invasion. He went over it all with Tarquin, but it still made no sense.
The narrow road was quiet, apart from a few ramshackle carts coming back from Pitoria, having traded goods over the border, but the grass to each side was worn and there were signs that many horses had passed that way, traveling north. The brothers slept by the road the first night and next morning were surprised to see the road ahead blocked by a slow-moving stream of soldiers, perhaps five hundred of them, some on horseback and some on foot.
“What are they doing here?” Ambrose asked.
“Could be training,” Tarquin said. “But those things are organized months in advance, and I’ve not heard of anything. Perhaps a jousting tournament at Tallerford?”
“No, this is no tourney. The numbers are too large.”
Ambrose could see the pennants of the king’s men and the southern lords—Wender, Thornlee. However none of the royal pennants were visible, indicating that the king and prince were not themselves there.
“Wherever they’re going, we can’t pass them. We’re too recognizable,” Ambrose concluded.
There was no option but to travel behind at a distance. That night the troops stopped and camped by the road but didn’t break camp the next morning.
“What are they waiting for?” muttered Tarquin after they had been hanging around most of the morning, waiting for the men to move off.
Ambrose looked back the way they had come and cursed. On the horizon, more banners fluttered. “They’re waiting for them.”
“Into the woods, quick!” Tarquin said, urging his horse off the road. They barely had time to take cover before the first of the soldiers from the south marched into view.
“That’s Lord Gunnar’s color . . . and behind them the Earl of Karrane.”
Tarquin frowned. “Your boy soldiers talked about an invasion. But did they actually mention Calidor? Because this looks a lot like an army, and it’s heading toward Pitoria.”
“But we can’t be invading Pitoria. Catherine’s on her way there now to marry the prince.” Ambrose looked at Tarquin, hoping for reassurance but getting none. And everything he knew seemed to be pointing to this impossible idea. “The boy soldiers knew of an invasion. Do you think Anne knew too? Is this all linked to what she found out?”
“You’re making assumptions again, Ambrose. We don’t know what she knew. We don’t know if this is an invasion.”
“I know Father should have heard of any tournament or army maneuvers. He’s not been told, so I can’t think why else this army is here.” Ambrose’s voice was rising.
“They can’t be invading Pitoria. That would be madness. And, anyway, I know little about war stratagems, but invading a remote, poor northern part of a country, leagues from the seat of power, doesn’t seem the right way to go about it, even to me.”
“Nor me.” Ambrose continued: “But something important is happening. I’ve got to find out what . . . If we could see what orders the commanders have been given, then we’d know for certain.”
“Ambrose, no . . . that’s impossible.”
“Difficult, but not impossible. I can go into their camp tonight and see what I can find.”
“What? That’s the craziest idea I’ve ever heard. You’re a wanted man, and that is a military camp. You won’t make it past the first perimeter defense.”
“I have to find out, Tarquin. There’s something strange going on, and I’m sure it’s related to Anne’s death somehow.”
Tarquin let out a long breath. “Then I’ll go in and ask the commanding officers what they are doing.”
“Ask them? That’s a worse idea than mine! They won’t tell you a thing.”
“We’re still on Father’s land. I have a right to know,” said Tarquin hotly.
“Do you really think they’ll tell you? No. You mustn’t be involved. I’m already a condemned traitor. I’ve nothing to lose. The plans will be with the most senior of the lords, Lord Thornlee. I’ll get into the camp wearing my Royal Guard uniform without trouble, then I just need to get into Thornlee’s tent.”
Tarquin shook his head and sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’ll need a diversion.”
Ambrose smiled. “And you can provide one?”
“Will a fire by the horses be good enough?”
“If the panicked horses get loose in the camp, I think that would be reasonably disruptive.”
“I’ll need to be in the uniform of the Thornlee men,” said Tarquin.
“For that we need to borrow a man’s clothes. Is it too much to hope that some of them are washing in the river?”
Tarquin grinned. “Let’s see.”
It almost felt like a child’s game stealing the clothes. The day was already hot and there were about twenty men in the river, washing and swimming. Ambrose stripped off, entered the water downstream from the men, then swam up to the nearest pile of clothes in the Thornlee colors of red and green. He picked them up and walked to the bushes where Tarquin was waiting with Ambrose’s own clothes.
Tarquin put on the Thornlee trews and tunic. The trews were a little short in the leg but good enough with boots on. He pulled his hair up and into the hat while Ambrose smudged some mud on his face.
“Not bad,” Ambrose said. “I don’t think I’d recognize you.”
Ambrose put on his Royal Guard uniform. That ought to be enough to get him access to the camp. He just had to hope that no one recognized him as a wanted man.
Ambrose watched as Tarquin skirted the Thornlee camp to the horses. The king’s men, Wender’s, and Thornlee’s were all in distinct sections. Ambrose hung well back in the trees. Soon he saw smoke rising from the far side of the camp, and then there were shouts and the sound of the first horse running. Ambrose grinned. The panicked horses were stampeding into the camp of the king’s men—a double embarrassment for Thornlee. As the noise spread, Lord Thornlee himself emerged from his pavilion and stalked off to investigate.
As confidently as he could, Ambrose marched forward, past the rows of tents and men hurrying to fight the fire Tarquin had started. Ambrose got a few stares, but no one challenged him. He strode on toward Lord Thornlee’s tent, guarded by a single soldier.
Ambrose went up to him and said, “I need to see Lord Thornlee.”
“He’s just left, sir.”
Ambrose sighed. “I’ll wait.” And he walked past the guard into the tent.