"Sir?" Dunwell asked carefully.
"I asked you what you could say of duty, you are a Knight after all. I would think duty would be a matter of great importance to you." The Prince pressed. "So tell me what you know of duty?"
Dunwell thought carefully before answering, there had been . . . Rumors . . . Of the growing instability of the Prince and his Father. It was said that their grief over the death of Lionel so soon after the Queen's death to sickness the year before drove them to rashness. How to answer properly? "Duty is Reciprocity my Prince, what is owed is repaid in turn."
"So you see it as an exchange. Yes, it is an exchange isn't it?" Edward said meditatively. "So you would agree that the Crown is owed allegiance in return for protecting the lives of the people?"
"Yes, my Prince." Dunwell replied patiently. He sensed that this conversation was being directed to a conclusion that he didn't dare second guess.
Prince Edward placed his hands on the railing and gripped until the leather of his gloves began to groan softly. "So then, if the people take back their obedience, the crown may take back its protection. We are no longer responsible for their lives?"
Dunwell felt his heart stop for a moment. The Prince couldn't be suggesting . . . "We cannot protect people who do not obey our authority." He admitted.
"Very good. Then we agree." The Prince decided. "I apologize for my . . . outburst, Sir Dunwell, you have done your duty admirably in these trying times. A Loyal Knight of Albion. I see why father entrusted you with tutoring my youngest brother in magecraft. I have already looked over the reports from your fellow officers. Father agrees with our conclusions, we cannot hold a city that is half filled with traitors and opportunists who will turn on us at the first chance. It has been decided that we will fight a holding action for Londinium and then withdraw in good order once we have bled the Rebel army against the defenses here. They can have Londinium if they want it so badly."
Dunwell nodded again, a sensible plan, it would buy time at least, and give the Royal Spymasters time to try and track down the ones responsible for this awful mess.
"Have you followed through with my request?" Prince Edward asked.
"Yes, my Prince. Preparations are being made as we speak to demolish the Royal Arsenal. The ship yards and docks will not fall into Rebel hands." Dunwell said. At the same time, all military stores that could not be loaded onto ships or issued to Royalist forces, would be destroyed in place to prevent their recovery by the Rebels. Such a waste, but necessary given the circumstances. Every musket, every spear, and every cannon that was not retrieved was another in the arsenal of Reconquista.
"Good." Prince Edward seemed relieved. "Then there's something else I would like you and your men to see to when the battle commences."
"Anything, my Prince." Dunwell said.
"There are a number of essential facilities and resources within Londinium that will need to be destroyed swiftly during the battle to deny them to the Rebels. I am entrusting these tasks to the most Loyal of the Dragon Knights and Ground Cavalry. Before we withdraw, I would like you and your men to burn the Portstreet district to the ground."
"Sir . . ." Dunwell felt himself growing cold. "With all due respect . . . The Portstreet District . . . Those are the granaries and food storehouses." The people of Londinium relied on that food to get them through winter, without it, the city would starve. Over a million people, more in the countryside beyond. War brought with it great privation, no doubt hundreds of thousands would die as the Rebels and Royalist forces stripped the countryside to feed themselves. But this . . . This was more than that.
"Exactly, Sir Dunwell. Those granaries store grain grown on land owned by the Royal Family and stewarded by its subjects. That grain was transported to Londinium aboard the King's ships and over the King's highway. It belongs to the King and is given to the people to safeguard them against starvation so long as they are loyal. I see no need for us to feed the people attempting to kill us, do you? Members of the 3rd Squadron have been assigned to destroy the Port Facilities and a troop of Earth Mages will poison the remaining wine, beer, and water stores. The Rebels will find nothing here to sustain them. And when winter rears its head, well, that problem will be dealt with, wouldn't you agree?"
"With all due respect my Prince." Dunwell wanted to protest on behalf of the people, not every man woman and child in Londinium was a Rebel sympathizer, in fact not even half, perhaps less than a tenth! Nut to do so would be the end of his own life. Instead he appealed to military reason. "The Rebel forces are receiving supply from the continent, and even if we stop them here, what of the other towns and cities that they have captured?" Half of the Isle was under Rebel siege, millions of men, women, and children, commoners and nobles.
"Isn't that obvious? We'll do the same thing, again and again in every city that fails to hold. We'll burn a firebreak all the way to our holdouts in the North and allow winter to do what our traitorous armies could not. Until Cromwell himself is not but skin on bones! We will send the message that Albion belongs to its Royal Family, and those who seek to seize it will find not but ashes!"
"You wish to burn half of Albion to the ground?" Dunwell fought to hide the disbelief in his voice. He must have done so better than he thought for the Prince seemed unconcerned by the question. Or perhaps Edward was simply too far gone to care.
"Father agrees with me. We will burn all of Albion to the ground if need be. This Kingdom belongs to the Tudors and will be denied to all others. From Brimir and the Crown flows Nobility, Sir Dunwell."
"There are soldiers who will refuse these orders." Dunwell cautioned, soldiers such as himself. "The 1st Dragon Knight Squadron, Sir Downing won't . . ."
"Sir Downing has been dealt with, as have the rest of his treacherous lot." Prince Edward smiled. "Only our most Loyal Forces have been entrusted with this task. As for the others, war is filled with misfortune, Civil War most of all. The Rebels are a rabble filled lot out to pillage and burn. No one will doubt that blame lies with them. You have proven yourselves many times Sir Dunwell, I ask humbly that you show us your loyalty once more."
Dunwell felt the color draining from his face, like a man that realized only now that he was being lead to the gallows. At that moment his mind recoiled at what he was being asked to do. His mind was in shock, but his body still knew how to react to survive. He bowed deeply and murmured that he would relay the order to his men, accepting a sealed envelope with the specifics of their mission. As he turned to depart, he heard Prince Edward mutter something darkly.
"Remember, Dunwell. You are a Knight, you were raised up from nothing to serve. Duty . . . Sir Dunwell."
"Duty in all things, My Prince." Dunwell replied weakly before returning to his cabin. That night, he read his orders many times in the company of a bottle of brandy.
"What do you intend to do?" Scirocco asked from where she sat cross-legged on his cot, dressed in little more than a plain cotton shirt. One day he was going to discover how she managed to slip in no matter where he might be lodged. It had raised questions over the years, but given his reputation, most were inclined to overlook what they saw as small . . . indiscretions.
"The same thing I have always done." Dunwell said as he poured himself a second shot. "Does that bother you?"
Scirocco shrugged. "Not in the least. I'd be disappointed if you decided to abandon your ideals now." Unfolding herself, she took two quick steps and snatched the shot glass from his hand and downing the contents quickly before frowning. "Romalian."
"You know what this will mean. Correct?" Dunwell asked.
Scirocco blinked, green eyes regarding him in a way that wasn't quite human. He could forget that sometimes, especially when she was acting petulant, but at the moment she was quite serious. "Do you? I may not be human, but I know enough to say that your men will follow you. Deep down, most of them share your ideals, that's why you chose them, isn't it? You wield a great deal of power at this moment, which way will you fall." She placed the shot glass back on the table. "Don't worry, I'll follow you one way or the other."
Staring at his right hand, Dunwell's eyes traced across an old scar. Not a battle scar, but something from his childhood, when he'd nearly crushed his hand working the presses in his father's shop. Slowly he fished out his diary and removed a thin letter hidden between two pages. There was no postage marking or address. It had been handed to him a week ago by a passing officer who he did not know and did not see again.
Slowly, he opened it and began to reread the contents.