Chapter 403 — Taking In the Surrendered
Blade of Dawn · Page 3 of 4
"I borrowed five thousand axes," Byron said, pointing at the wagons he had brought. "Afterward Viscount Andrew will send a batch of grain as a stopgap. That's all. The Leslie domain isn't rich in manpower either—they're still helping watch the several thousand we fished out of the Whitewater River."
Philip didn't react for a moment: "Axes? What did you bring five thousand axes here for?"
"Hand them out to the prisoners and have them cut down the woods on the eastern side of the Hossman domain, and build a prisoner camp on the spot. Also, in a bit, look through the prisoners—there should be survivors from Count Hossman's retinue. Take them to receive the nearby farms and granaries. If there aren't any, then bring a few more cannons along."
Philip was dumbfounded, quite unable to imagine how these wondrous maneuvers kept popping out of Byron's head: "You mean... have these prisoners build a camp and lock themselves up in it?"
"You can hand them ropes and let them tie themselves up—why can't you have them build a camp and lock themselves in?" Byron waved a hand. "These people have been thoroughly worn down; at least in the short term they won't recover. While they're still in this state, we should bring them fully under control in the shortest possible time, then ship them to Cecil in batches. That last part is the lord's instruction."
Philip had nothing to say and had to admit Byron made a great deal of sense.
And so, on the last day of this long pursuit, the last of the noble coalition on the Hossman plains ended their long and painful flight in a manner more dramatic than anything seen before.
Under the watch of several thousand Cecil soldiers, the coalition prisoners swung the axes lent to them, working in three shifts around the clock to cut down a stretch of forest at the edge of the Hossman domain, and then built themselves a prisoner camp and locked themselves inside.
And as this last batch of coalition prisoners was taken in by the Cecil men, Viscount Carroll and his last retainers and companions were trudging through the muddy wetlands of the northern Hossman region.
This young viscount, once so full of vigor and ambition, had lost all his glory. His splendid coat was filthy, his breeches and tall boots torn to rags by thorns, and his cloak of intricate patterns bore several holes punched through by thermal ray guns. His hair, unwashed for days, clung to his forehead like greasy pondweed. Beside him were Viscount Consco and Viscount Mari Oran, in even more wretched straits than he.
They had been lucky enough to escape the hands of the Cecil men, who were like starving wolves, but they had no idea where to go next. Severe exhaustion was eroding the three nobles' capacity to think; they felt only that their lives were as foul and sodden as these wetlands, with no hope in sight at all.
Just then, a sound of hoofbeats suddenly came from behind, making Viscount Carroll and his companions, struggling along their way, stop in tense alarm.
But when they turned their heads, they found that what had appeared before them was not Cecil men.
Viscountess Ropeni Glan halted before them, and behind this viscountess followed a sizable company.
"Viscountess Glan, you escaped too?!" Viscount Carroll looked in astonishment at the noblewoman before him. He found her situation far better than his own; though she too looked somewhat bedraggled, not only did she have a horse to ride, but the guards around her seemed fully equipped. He truly could not imagine how the viscountess had managed this amid the chaos. "These people..."
"I gathered up those who had scattered on the plains," Ropeni said with a smile. "Viscount Carroll, it seems you've been separated from your troops again."