Ash: A Secret History by Mary Gentle

wasn’t serious.” Ash shifted her heels, bringing the roan from immobility to amble. The rain began to ease.
    “Ash – are you going through with this?”
    “I most certainly am. Constanza was wearing more money than I’ve seen in the last two campaigns.”
    “And if the company objects?”
    “They’ll bitch because I didn’t let them take prisoners for ransom on the skirmish, that’s for sure. I’ll bet I’m not flavour of the month. But they’ll cheer up when they hear it’s a rich marriage. We’ll own land now. You’re the one who objects, Godfrey, and you won’t tell me why.”
    They confronted each other from the saddle: the surprising authority of the young woman, and the reserved concern of the priest. He repeated, “If it becomes necessary.”
    “Godfrey, sometimes you’re a real Godly pain in the ass.” Ash pushed her wet wool hood back. “Now, let’s see if we can get all the command lance in one place at the same time, shall we?”
    They were in sight of the south-east side of the Imperial wagon-fort now. The small foreign contingent of great-wheeled wagons here, chained together for defence, streamed with the last of the rain. Water ran down the forged iron plates that faced the sides of the war-carts, metal already streaking with orange rust. 14
    Over the sides of the iron war-wagons, inside the immense laager, Ash saw a rainbow of heraldic banners and standards dripping. The canvas cones of the striped tents hung limp from their centre poles, ropes stretched and wet. A spatter of rain dashed into Ash’s face as they approached the gate. It was a good five minutes before a hail went up from the huddled guards.
    Euen Huw, sidling into the gateway past them, with a chicken under his arm, stopped and looked extremely startled. “Boss? Hey, boss – nice dress!”
    Ash looked resignedly straight ahead as their horses trudged in down the long wagon- and tent-lined lanes. Antonio Angelotti ran up seconds later, his pale and beautiful hands yellow with sulphur.
    “Never saw you in a dress before, boss. Looks good. You missed all the excitement!” His perfect face beamed, like a down-market angel. “Heralds coming up from the Burgundian camp. Imperial heralds going down to the Burgundian camp. Terms put forward.”
    “Terms?”
    “Sure. His Majesty Frederick says to Duke Charles, pull back twenty miles. Lift the siege. Then in three days, we’ll pull back twenty miles.”
    “And Duke Charles is still laughing, right?”
    Angelotti’s yellow curls flew as he shook his head. “The word is, he’ll agree. j That it’s peace between the Emperor and Burgundy.”
    “Oh, shit, ” Ash remarked, in the tone of one who – two minutes before – had known exactly what eight hundred-odd men, women and dependent children were doing for the next three months. And now doesn’t, and will have to work something out. “Sweet Christ. Peace. There goes our cushy summer siege.”
    Angelotti fell in to walk beside her gelding. “What’s happening about this marriage of yours, madonna? The Emperor can’t be serious?”
    “Yes he fucking can!”
    Ten minutes riding across camp brought them to the A-frame shelters and horse lines at the north-west corner. The voluminous folds of the velvet gown clung wetly to her legs, rain darkening the cloth to royal blue. She still wore Godfrey’s cloak. It was pulled back by its own weight of soaked wool, disclosing her kirtle and the wet linen of her chemise.
    The company had separated off a corner of the Imperial camp with wattle fencing and a makeshift gate, something which had not pleased the Imperial quartermaster until Ash truthfully told him it was because her troops would steal anything not nailed down. A Lion Azure standard now drooped there in the wet.
    A redheaded man from Ned Aston’s lance, guarding the gate, looked up and executed a perfect double-take.
    “Hey – nice dress, boss!”
    “ Bollocks! ”
    A few minutes saw her in the command tent,