As Robert appeared uncomfortable over the fact that Alpheo was not budging on receiving payment before the campaign's end, Alpheo was instead racking his brain over what to do.
This spells trouble. A prince in a losing war, without coin and without men. I certainly do not work on promises, he thought. Yet, as he pondered some more, he realized that not all was lost. There was still a way to turn this to his advantage, if they did not have the coins perhapse they had something better.
Clearing his throat to call for attention, Alpheo interjected into the tense exchange. "If your prince finds himself short on silver,as I cannot think of any other way for which a nobleman such as him would not advance payment, perhaps there are other assets of value he can offer as prepayment," he suggested, his tone measured yet resolute.
Robert's eyes narrowed, curiosity battling with suspicion. He leaned forward slightly, his fingers drumming against the table. "What other form would you be willing to accept?" he asked cautiously, sensing that they might finally be nearing a compromise.
Alpheo's gaze flickered toward the stables, where rows of prized warhorses stood, their strong, muscular frames illuminated by the torchlight. He did not miss the fine craftsmanship of their saddles, the rich leather embossed with the sigils of noble houses. Those were not mere horses; they were bred for war, trained to charge through enemy lines without hesitation.
"Warhorses," Alpheo declared firmly, his voice carrying the weight of finality.
Robert recoiled as if struck. He looked at Alpheo as though the young man had suddenly lost his mind. "Warhorses? Surely you jest," he scoffed, his tone somewhere between incredulous and outraged.
Alpheo's expression did not waver. If anything, it hardened. His dark eyes locked onto Robert's with unshakable resolve. "I do not jest," he said sharply, his words clipped and precise. "And while I have patience for many things, your obstinance is proving difficult to tolerate. No coins, no horses—will you pay with kind words?Do we look like priests?"
He let the question hang in the air, his fingers casually reaching for a piece of cheese from the plate before him. He bit into it, chewing thoughtfully, betraying nothing of his inner calculations.
Robert's lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening as he tried to keep his frustration in check. Alpheo knew what he was asking for. Warhorses were not mere animals; they were as valuable as trained soldiers—perhaps even more so. A well-bred warhorse could mean the difference between life and death on the battlefield, between a routed charge and a victorious assault. Plus they were basically what separated the small nobility from the commoners.
They were a nobleman's pride, a kingdom's backbone.
"Those horses belong to my prince's knights," Robert finally said, his voice a shade lower, almost warning. "They are not bargaining chips."
Alpheo sighed, shaking his head as if Robert were being purposefully dense. "I ask for prepayment because your prince's precarious position leaves me no choice," he explained, his tone now bordering on impatient. "Not only is he losing the war, but he lacks the means to secure our services with coin. That leaves us with two options: either he pays in something of equal value, or we walk away, and he faces his fate without us.I am sure there are others with coin looking for men at arms."
Robert's fingers twitched at the thought. He looked over his shoulder at his guards, who remained tense, their hands resting near their hilts.
Alpheo leaned forward, dropping his voice slightly, making Robert strain to hear his next words. "I am already taking a considerable risk by even entertaining this offer," he continued. "It is only fair that the terms reflect the magnitude of that risk. I do not make foolish investments, Sir Robert." He exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if daring Robert to argue. "This is certainly no simple hike through the mountains.A greater risk should only be equal to greater rewards.Are you perhaps thinking us fools that will fight for whoever asks and then extends our hands pleading for scraps?"
Silence fell between them. The tension stretched like a taut bowstring, waiting for someone to let the arrow fly.
"This is not what I meant," Robert said slowly, his voice low and measured, as if each word were being dragged out of him.
Alpheo met his gaze with a steady stare, his expression a mix of scrutiny and impatience. "Perhaps not," he replied, his tone cool and unyielding, "but it is the truth. Are you aware that we are aligning ourselves with the losing side in this conflict? And yet, you refuse to make any concessions. What am I to make of that? Should I go to my men and tell them they will give their lives for a prince who promises payment with coins he does not have?"
Robert grunted, his reluctance palpable as he shifted in his seat. His fingers drummed lightly on the table, betraying his unease. "I will have to bring this to my liege," he conceded begrudgingly, the words heavy with resignation.
"By all means, do so," Alpheo replied, his voice calm but edged with steel. "In the meantime, let us discuss the matter of the warhorses. The numbers, to be precise."
When Alpheo proposed a quantity of 200 warhorses, Robert's eyes widened, and he immediately pushed back. "Thirty," he countered, his tone firm. "No more."
Alpheo didn't flinch. "One hundred and fifty," he said, his voice steady. "No armor, no stirrups. Just warhorses—beasts with hooves and little else."
Robert hesitated, his jaw tightening as he weighed his options. "Forty," he offered finally, the word clipped and reluctant.
Alpheo leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Robert's. "One hundred. And I won't go any lower."
The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Robert's expression was unreadable, but the faint tightening of his lips betrayed his frustration. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh. "Very well. I will report your request to my liege. Perhaps we should table this discussion for now and address other matters."
Alpheo nodded, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Very well. Let us proceed." He clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "I believe it is customary to say this: I will lead my men personally, and I will not accept anyone overriding my decisions in battle—except, of course, your liege. Given our numbers, we will naturally form one of the flanks in battle, and I intend to command it."
Robert's response was immediate, his tone almost rehearsed. "The command of a flank is given by the king to those he trusts. Making you a head commander is… unprecedented."
Alpheo's smirk widened, though there was no humor in it. "Then let us make it precedented. Your king will place men he trusts in command, yes, but will they prioritize the lives of my men? Will they know how to wield them effectively? That responsibility falls to me. I know my soldiers—their strengths, their limits. I will not see them wasted."
Robert paused, his gaze narrowing as he considered Alpheo's words. Finally, he nodded, though the gesture was reluctant. "I will extend this request to my liege, along with your demand for prepayment."
Alpheo's smile was thin but satisfied. "Then hopefully, we will see each other again with a positive answer. Just make sure to inform your liege of our numbers and equipment before dictating our requests."
Robert rose from his seat, his movements stiff and deliberate. Alpheo stood as well, offering a curt nod. "Safe travels," he said, his tone polite but distant.
Once again alone, Jarza approached Alpheo, his expression stern. "I thought we asked you to mind your behavior?"
Alpheo flashed a sly grin. "Was I not at my best?" he replied with a hint of amusement. "He didn't even reach for his sword. I'd call that a success. Not even Fertility mother of all things herself could have been more considerate."
Egil, always quick to support his companion, chimed in with a nod. "You saw it too, Jarza. Alph dominated that meeting."
Jarza let out a deep sigh, shaking his head. "You're missing the point. We're outsiders here. We can't afford to act like that."
Egil was unfazed, his tone blunt. "Shit is shit, no matter how much honey you smear on it. We've got the sword, and they've got the coin. That's all that matters. You don't go to a whorehouse and pay with rocks.The same way you don't pay mercenary with kind words.You saw what happened, if we did not have Alpheo we would have fought only to then discover an empty purse."
Alpheo chuckled at Egil's analogy, nodding in agreement. "True enough, my friend. Remember who you are and make sure not to be bothered when it is used against you. We're mercenaries. We fight for gold, not for justice or law. The only thing we care about is how heavy our purse is after a war."
Jarza's tone grew more serious. "Just don't make a habit of it."
"Of course, of course," Alpheo replied dismissively, his smile never fading. Deep down, he knew that the cards were in his hands. Now, it was time to move forward. They needed to make a name for themselves, and in a place that knew war far better than peace, that wouldn't be difficult. There would be plenty of chances to rise through the ranks.
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