Edwin silently filled the wooden cup with his flagon. When the red wine reached the rim to his satisfaction, he returned to his position at the eastern wall of the scriptorium.
Rows of shelves contained Hundreds of irreparable parchments, scrolls, and books valuable beyond measure. Back towards the left corner of the room, the shelves gave way to a cramped working area of eight desks. Paper filled each desk alongside a vast number of inkpots and writing quills. Normally, the dozen or so scribes employed by the duke would be furiously copying ancient texts from the scrolls into books. However, after the events of earlier that day, John had ordered them all away. Despite their absence, the aroma of ink that followed members of their order, like Julian, still filled the air.
In the center of the room, but slightly off to the right, where the sleeves are smaller and allow for more room, a large Ornate table filled a massive amount of space. Edwin remembered the table well; no more than two weeks ago, he had come to this very room with the duke and played an intense mock wargame.
Now was different; now it was a real war to be planned, with real men and real consequences.
Four others occupied the room besides Edwin. John had led the group here after the men-at-arms, Stephen, was sent away with Elanor, with the command not to speak a word of Dunvarrian advance to anyone. The duke stood in front of Edwin, his hands held up, his body as he leaned over the board. He was on the side where Blychester was carved into the board. Finchley stood opposed to John. From his spot on the west side of the board, he had a better view of Bannock Castle and Manstons Crossing, which is where the Dunvarrians had forded the Merrow River. Lewin, the fat merchant, refused a position at the board; instead, he had opted for a comfortable chair next to a table a few feet off from the foot of the Board, on the side where Anlett was. He was not a man of war, but Edwin believed John had allowed him in the hope that he might offer a unique point of view.
What the merchant had offered so far was a constant loud chewing sound as he plucked grapes from a bowl and tossed them in his mouth.
Branden Rees made up the fourth and final member of the gathering. Branden, from what Edwin had gathered, was a wealthy man. A decade ago, he had been elevated to the mayorship of the town of Stamford, located a day's ride to the south. Branden had arrived a week earlier to attend to personal business in the city, John had summoned him immediately upon learning of the Dunvarrians' march. The mayor had earned a reputation as an effective commander against the constant Cattle raids of the Dunvarrians.
Branden stood off to the left of John, his eyes exploring the board intently.
In this age, a proper map was an invaluable asset, and this board was more accurate than even the ones used by the royal dynasty. As a downside to the accuracy, the board could not be moved from its spot in the scriptorium as it was anchored to the floor.
"Bannock will fall," Branden stated with an air of Finality, "The question is how much time can Lord Mowbray buy us?"
Finchley shook his head, "We don't know that" he disagreed.
"I have to agree with my Castellan," John joined in the conversation, "Lord Mowbray is a stubborn man behind thick stone walls."
Lewin, who up until now had taken no part in the conversation, looked up from his bowl of grapes, "Why do you believe Bannock Castle will fall so quickly?" he asked Branden.
"I visited Bannock a mere month ago," Branden started, "Thick walls it does have, I would even take your side on the matter if Lord Oscar Mowbray were in charge of the castle." he paused to let his later words settle, "But he is not in charge, Lord Mowbray fell badly sick during the winter, his son Perceval is currently the acting lord."
Perceval had been with the group that had gone to Sonder keep with the duke, Edwin remembered the young man. Edwin had been left unimpressed with the young man, who cared more for women and wine than for ruling or war.
Branden continued, "Perceval won't last behind the castle walls, but that isn't the real problem. When I visited, I noticed the dire state of their stores. Winter had taken a toll on their preserved food; a poor harvest made it even worse. I pressed the matter to Perceval, and he mentioned some bands of Dunvarrians had crossed the river and made off with a non-negligible number of livestock."
John grunted in frustration. Edwin could clearly tell that these new pieces of news were unknown to him.
"How long do we have?" John asked reluctantly; he feared his bad mood was about to get much worse with the answer.
Branden looked to Finchley for his input, as Castellan, he was bound to know more about the matter.
Finchley stroked his non-existent beard in thought, "Well," he began, "I can know for sure, but let's say they did have a bad harvest and winter. Even in that case, Mowbray would be bound to have emergency stockpiles hidden away. I'd say we have two weeks, potentially over a month, until we know the actual size of the Dunvarrian army we won't know."
John considered this, "Finchley, organize a scouting party, keep them light and fast. Tell them to learn everything; the number of banners, what the symbols of the banners are, the size of the army, if they are fortifying a camp or building siege engines."
Finchley gave a curt bow to John; the specifics were not needed; he would have given the orders of what to look for regardless.
Quietly, he strode out of the room to complete his assignment.
Edwin quietly crossed the room in the lull of the conversation to refill Lewin's wooden cup. The Flagon of wine was almost empty now; the Fat merchant had been the only one drinking. On his return walk to the wall, he glanced at the board, red figures surrounded Bannock Castle.
"How many men could Alexander hope to field?" Branden asked, "He's been king for two years; I highly doubt he could have forced his nobility into submission so fast."
Often, upon a ruler's death, a power struggle began. Powerful Nobility would use their wealth and status to pressure a new unsecured king to grant more autonomy or lower taxes. Strong, capable kings could overcome this, especially those who inherited a strong position from their fathers. Weak rulers would lose their power and potentially even be usurped.
Edwin did not know if Alexander was a new strong king or a new weak one. What he did know was that he would likely find out very soon.
"Ten thousand maybe," John guessed
Branden was unimpressed. "Ten thousand," he snorted. "He could take the castle, sure, but when the king arrives, he will smash the Dunvarrian force."
John was not amused, "Ten thousand is still formidable; it will take time for the king to levy an army."
"What if he has more?" Lewin asked
John and Branden both looked at the merchant appalled, as if the question was a joke.
Lewin raised his hands in defense, "All I'm saying is that we do not know his numbers; he can raise a force of ten thousand without the support of his higher nobility. Perhaps he has their support, with the armies of his lords, it would certainly explain why he is so bold as to attack without even a declaration of war."
Alexander, backed by his nobles, was a scary prospect even to inexperienced Edwin. He was smart enough to understand how much a united Dunvarrian army would change things.
Lewin looked back at his bowl of grapes; his question had made the gears begin to turn in the brains of his two companions.
Branden grabbed a handful of red figures that had been lying off to the side of the board, carefully, with a deliberate slowness, and added more and more figures around Bannock Castle. "Twenty thousand is a fair assessment if that were the case."
"Twenty thousand," John breathed, "If he does have that many, he may very well storm the castle."
Storming a castle was no easy feat; even a few dozen armed men could repulse an army many times its size. With twenty thousand men, Alexander could absorb those casualties easily if he were desperate.
"Branden, make way to Stamford fast. Raise your levy with as many supplies as possible, I will require every man possible to defend Blychester." John ordered.
Branden nodded, "It will take some time to reach Stamford, more still to raise my levy. Give me three days, my lord."
The mayor of Stamford strode out of the room with his shoulders held high; he thrived with the sense of purpose only a war could bring.