"...With the 4th Roazhon Militia joining us, all accountable forces have now been withdrawn to the Gwilen River crossings. The only exceptions are the eight Ranger companies detached by the Landgrave of Nordkreuz. They are led by Duke Hubert of Pictiers and Lady Lynette, and were ordered to harass the Caliphate's scouts and vanguard to slow down their advance."
Sylviane nodded along as Lady Anne finished her brief tactical summary at the projection table.
Anne de Lyonesse was not only a Knight Preceptor and Marshal of the Hospitaller Order, she was also the Mother Abbess who once raised Edith. And while Edith nominally outranked her as the order's official Grand Commander, the reality was that Anne performed most of the administrative duties while Edith served largely as a symbol.
The Mother Abbess wore a suit of half-plate over her traditional nun's habit -- a tunic in black and white that concealed much of her lean and modest figure. Her wrinkled, stern countenance gave her a look in the commoners' late 'forties', with an appearance that would have been homely had it not been for her deep-emerald gaze. Her long, ruby-red hair lay obscured under a black habit. A white cross decorated the back of her headdress as the symbol of the 'Monastic Order of the Knight-Healers of Saint Joan', better known as the Knights Hospitaller.
"Do we have a count on our casualties yet?" The Princess asked.
"The tally is still coming in, Your Highness. Many units will need to have their command structure rebuilt before we can accurately assess their losses," the Mother Abbess grimaced. "Twenty-seven banners have lost almost their entire combat strength. Many others were so badly mauled they will need reorganization before they can even fight again. My initial estimates are around twelve to sixteen thousand irrecoverable losses."
Sylviane could feel her knuckles tighten as she leaned against the projection table. Her eyes fixated themselves on the Lotharin unit markers by the river as she pictured the endless columns of missing men those numbers failed to represent.
"Half the available army," she muttered through clenched teeth. This day is just getting worse and worse.
"What about the enemy?"
"We destroyed much of their vanguard and first three attack waves, plus Lady Estelle annihilated almost their entire fifth wave," spoke Duke Lionel of Helveteu, one of the army's more experienced veterans. "Combined with casualties inflicted upon their light horse and mounted archers, I'd estimate their casualties to be around... six to ten thousand."
"Except they took the battlefield, so two-third of that as they'll be able to recover their wounded," Sylviane added.
The healing arts of Hyperion had been refined to the point where soldiers who survived the battle itself were very unlikely to die from wounds or infections, at least for the winning side. Noble and yeomen troops were harder to treat, due to their innate mana resistance which sought to reject even a healer's magic. However the common soldier could have an entire severed arm regrown and still return for combat duty within two weeks.
According to the Articles of War, the defeated should be given proper medical treatment from the victors. However, neither Rhin-Lotharingie nor the Cataliyan Caliphate ever signed the articles. Even if they had, 'outsiders' would always receive a lower priority for treatment than one's own. Given the emergency nature of injuries, even a minute's delay could mean the difference between life -- albeit as a prisoner of war, a euphemism for 'slave labor' -- and being dumped into a mass grave.
"So what you are all saying... is that Edith, with your support, lost nearly half our army, in exchange for one-tenth of our enemy's?"
Sylviane lifted her eyebrows as she raised her head with a cold, unforgiving look. Her glare swept across the nobles and officers assembled inside the large expandable cabin that served as their briefing room.
And the stupid woman herself is still too unconscious to account for her actions! She thought about Edith, the commander responsible for this entire debacle.
"We had hoped that the ambush would be more successful," mumbled one nobleman.
"...And that the powder explosion would buy us more time..."
"Plus, they were the elite cavalry corps of the infidel army," interjected a third officer, as though it had justified everything.
"Yes, notice they're professionally trained cavalry with high discipline and the capacity for rapid maneuvering." Sylviane's fingers pointed on the map, to the main Caliphate encampment that remained near the battlefield. "Notice the rather flat terrain in that area. Notice complete lack of natural barriers to impede their movement except for some sparse woods. And notice that you began the battle outnumbered more than two-to-one!"
The Princess was sick of hearing nothing but excuses from a bunch of nobles who were more interested in dodging blame than admitting how badly they almost screwed up. If she hadn't arrived with the Weichsel air cavalry in time, the whole army could have, would have been encircled and destroyed!
The Avorican capital of Roazhon was only lightly garrisoned as most of their soldiers had been sent to reinforce Edith. The kingdom was also in the midst of a leadership crisis as Queen Katell had sequestered herself in depression after the death of her husband. Destruction of this army would almost certainly lead to the downfall of the Kingdom of Avorica and the seizure of mountain passes into the Lotharin heartlands. The strategic consequences of this would be catastrophic as it meant the entire Lotharin defensive line would now be outflanked!
Sylviane stared at the assembled leaders before snarling. "What's your next excuse? That you weren't expecting to be flanked!? Have you been all struck down by idiocy!?"
Several faces reddened with anger as the Princess lashed out. But before any of them could retort, it was Mother Abbess Anne who began in a soft, unperturbed tone:
"Our goal had never been to win outright. We only hoped to halt the infidels' advance, to inflict enough casualties upon them and force them to reorganize -- which is exactly what they're doing. Now, tens of thousands of refugees will have the time they need to reach the safety of Roazhon."
"Safety?" Sylviane turned to stare as though the nun had suddenly sprouted horns. "How safe do you think the city will be when I tell the widowed Queen Katell Penteur that her capital will soon be under siege. And instead of outnumbering us two-to-one, the Caliphate now has four times our strength!?"
"What are you suggesting then, Your Highness?" Anne replied with a hint of mockery in her disdainful voice. "That we betray our vows to protect the people and abandon the innocent in order to make our lives easier?"
"We will do what is necessary to protect all the peoples of Rhin-Lotharingie, not just those who stand before us!"
"--Then when you stand before the Holy Father for judgment, will you also tell him that yesterday, virtue could not be upheld because it was inconvenient?"
"--I will tell him that it is my burden of responsibility to bear evil for a greater good," Sylviane retorted. "That we could not afford to gamble this army away and leave the entire western flank of the Empire defenseless!"
After all, that's what Father died for! To send you the last reinforcements he could muster! The Princess couldn't help thinking.
"Reinforcements from the interior under General Macdonald will arrive by then..."
"Of course! There will be thirty thousand soldiers arriving in three days' time to make up for this army's destruction." The Princess interjected in a mocking voice as she pointed out that Macdonald only had one-third that. "Why is it that these troops are not labeled on the map? Or do you suppose that the Holy Father will send his angels to make up for the disparity?"
"Remember, Your Highness, that we all win or lose by the grace of the Holy Father." Lady Anne countered, her calm demeanor refusing to be agitated. "The Lord himself shall decide the final outcome of battles, judged by our virtue and sin."
"The outcomes of battles are decided by the Holy Father," Sylviane acquiesced first. "But also by the qualitative and quantitative disparity of our armies, by the tactics and planning of our leaders, by the morale and discipline of our troops!"
The Princess stepped closer before she stared down the Mother Abbess from less than an arm's reach away.
"How many wars did the Holy Father win for us just because we declared so in his name?"
The answer was known by everyone in the room: there had been six major holy wars since Pope Peter VI launched the first at the behest of King Ferdinand I of Weichsel -- three declared by the Trinitians and three by the Tauheeds, including this one. Thus far, only the 1st Tauheed Holy War, declared by the Caliph Fatimah, had achieved a decisive victory.
"Then what do you advocate? That we simply surrender?" Lady Anne challenged. "Even if we had lost not a single soul this battle, even if we received all the expected reinforcements for the next three weeks ahead of time, the Caliphate's forces will still outnumber us and be of superior quality! Without the grace of the Holy Father, this is a battle that we cannot win!"
"I can." A familiar voice came from the corner of the room as the door that nobody noticed opening pressed shut.
"Blasphemy!" Hissed one of the Hospitallers behind Anne.
"I can and I shall, because the Holy Father has seen fit to place me here. Do you deny this?" The newcomer countered as other nobles and officers stepped out of his way.
"Pascal," Sylviane addressed in a suppressed calm. "I believe you are supposed to be under house arrest? Who told you to come?"
But before he could even answer, it was the Colonel Hammerstein -- the Knight Phantom commander who hadn't said one word all meeting -- who spoke out first:
"I did, Your Highness."
The Princess turned to shoot him a royal glare. However this time Hammerstein rebuffed it with a mere twist of his lips, as though he found it cute.
"I told him to quit being a spoiled little brat and come back to do his job," the Colonel stressed. "Because while Your Highness may be soft-hearted and unwilling to flog him for insubordination, I am not."
