Abacus Calculation Section Thirty-One

  The Duke of Masen's banquet was a prelude to the army's expedition, gathering the powerful vassal lords under his command. In addition to winning over these vassals, their families were also kept in the castle as guests, but in Arwode's view, this was simply to ensure that hostages were left behind to guarantee loyalty, and everyone pretended not to notice, putting on a very honored appearance.

  "The duke is preparing to go against the Saxons, it's making people wait anxiously." Since he had sworn fealty to Eber, the first heir of Meissen, Yves' mood seemed to have improved a lot. He was wearing chain mail and a surcoat with the Wendel family crest printed on it. The boredom of waiting not only made the people of the Wendel family restless but also spread throughout the entire camp. More and more people were drinking and having fun, and fights broke out one after another. Although it hadn't reached the point where knights participated, if this continued for a long time, the army's morale would surely collapse.

  "Do not be in a hurry, I see Sir Ebrill going to the tower, they must be deploying somewhere, anyway it's good that our people are on alert." Sir Wendel, who happened to be riding his horse back from the castle, jumped off and heard Yves' complaint, said to his eldest son.

  "Yes, Marcos has been with our people all along. And what about the Duke, is he also in the tower?" Arrod sat in his tent, in front of him a piece of parchment and a small bottle of precious ink that he had begged Sir Ebral to give him, as ink was a luxury item in this era. On the parchment was recorded an account of expenses, mainly the cost of dozens of barrels of malted beer purchased from the market, as well as his own troops' consumption situation.

  "Yes, Sir Ebor was summoned by the Duke, and he thinks the Duke is going to give orders to march out, so he ordered me to come back and prepare our equipment, and he will ask the Duke to include us in his troops." Sir Windell pulled on his collar and sat down on a barrel of malt, looking at Arwold who was writing with a goose quill. He was writing Arabic numerals, which people of this era couldn't understand, but whenever Sir Windell asked about the price and quantity of the malt, Arwold could always answer correctly, so Sir Windell just furrowed his brow and didn't bother to pay attention to his son anymore. There were too many mysteries surrounding Arwold, and sometimes the knight deliberately ignored them because he was afraid that his son was being tempted by the devil.

  "Oh? It seems that this is a temple calculation." Ah Ruo De stopped writing, thoughtfully said, in the Art of War by Sun Tzu, before major military operations, the war planner must lock the gate of the great temple to make meticulous plans, which is called temple calculation. Although medieval nobles may not have read The Art of War, they also deeply knew that military plans could not be leaked, especially among noble families who always had various intermarriage relationships.

  "You're talking nonsense again, I'll go see the soldiers." Sir Wendel heard Arrod's words and stood up with a shrug, his chain mail making a rustling sound. The tight chain mail could protect a knight's body, but he was worried about his son's soul. "Arrod, put away what you've written, don't let others see it."

  "Uh-huh." Arwade was reminded by his father and woke up from his contemplation, hastily rolling up his own sheepskin paper and putting it in a close place.

  In the castle, the tower where the Duke of Mason lived, the most secretive conference hall was at the end of the corridor, only two people could walk side by side on the stone corridor, rows of stone pillars divided the wall into sections, and at the end, two solid wooden doors as high as two adults were tightly closed. Outside the door, two knights in full armor, wearing chain mail, helmets with nose guards, holding a pointed kite shield in one hand and resting their long swords on the other, expressionless, staring straight down the corridor. Anyone who tried to pass through the corridor into the hall was within their line of sight. Inside the heavily guarded gate, the nobles' quarrelsome voices were faintly heard, while the knights adhered to the principles of chivalry and turned a deaf ear.

  "We should concentrate our forces and strike directly at the Duke of Saxony's lair."

  "What about food and fodder? It's impossible to gather enough for 5,000 men and horses along the way. Are we supposed to fight on empty stomachs?"

  "That's right, we must be cautious, for the old lion, the Duke of Saxony, is not a man to be trifled with."

  "Coward, gutless wonder."

  "What did you say? Say it again."

  Through the gate, in this not-so-large council chamber, gathered the most powerful nobles of the duchy. They were Duke Mason and his eldest son, Count Lauteritz, and three lords. In the center of the room stood a long, rectangular wooden table. At one end sat the most noble Duke Mason, with the other nobles seated on either side. To the duke's left was his eldest son, Sir Eber, and to his right was Count Lauteritz, indicating their close relationship with the duke. Meanwhile, Count Lauteritz was arguing heatedly with the three lords.

  The Duke of Mason gazed gloomily at a sheepskin map on the table, roughly depicting mountains and rivers, marking the boundaries between his territory and that of the Duke of Saxony. Five small wooden figurines were placed beside the map: a knight on horseback and four shield-bearing soldiers. Although the carvings did not depict facial features, it was clear from their postures that they were engaged in battle. On the Saxon side of the map stood a larger knight and two shield-bearing soldiers, representing the Saxon forces. Three thousand against five thousand seemed to give Mason an advantage, but he couldn't muster any enthusiasm. The Saxons had always been known for their bravery and martial prowess; their knights were rough and ferocious when provoked, and their infantry consisted mainly of forest-dwelling hunters accustomed to bloodshed. In contrast, the Duke of Mason could only summon weak farmers, so despite his numerical superiority, he couldn't afford to be complacent.

  "Ah, my heir, what do you think?" Duke Mason asked his heir on his left hand, hesitating. Upon hearing the duke's words, all the nobles stopped arguing and the council chamber fell silent.

  "My dear father, if we concentrate our forces, although they are more numerous than those of the Duke of Saxony, do not forget that the lands of the Saxons are full of forests and marshes, where knights cannot charge, while the Saxons know the terrain like the back of their hand." Sir Everard leaned forward from his chair, stretching out his right index finger to tap on the map the lands of the Saxons, where large expanses of forest were depicted.

  "Oh, the forest is indeed unfavorable for knights to fight, but what if we dismount them?" Duke Mason thought for a moment, as if asking Sir Ebral and also talking to himself.

  "It's too dangerous, the field of view is not broad, if the knights lose too much, the infantry will definitely run away." A lord said with a worried tone.

  "What should we do then?" another lord asked.

  "Divide your troops." Sir Ebrar said, looking at the nobles present.

  "Divided troops?"

  "That's right, the Duke of Saxony will definitely lead his army to wait on one side close to our border. His troops are few and he dare not divide them arbitrarily. But we are different, with many people, after dividing the troops, my father's main force holds back the Duke of Saxony, and the other two routes bypass the Duke of Saxony and attack his territory. At that time, the vassals and knights of the Duke of Saxony will definitely be shaken. At this time, we can defeat the Duke of Saxony by pincer movement." Sir Ebull took up the knights and three infantry sculptures on the map, placed them in front of the Duke of Saxony's troops, and then picked up two other infantry sculptures to bypass the Duke of Saxony from behind, and suddenly the situation presented a pincer movement.

  "What a good idea, this also solves the problem of food and grass. It's indeed a clever plan." The nobles nodded one after another upon hearing it, thinking that it was a simple and feasible plan. They knew from years of war that only simple plans could easily lead to victory.

  "Hmm, not bad." The Duke of Mason also nodded, a smile involuntarily spreading from the corners of his mouth. Having someone to succeed him was the most delightful thing for him, even more so than defeating the Duke of Saxony.

  "Haha, Lord Ebrel is indeed good at plotting, but I wonder how he'll do on the battlefield." Count Lautrec's face was expressionless as he watched the scene before him, his inner anger growing. His own efforts had been overshadowed by this young upstart, who had gained the Duke's favor with just a few words, all because of his birth as the Duke's son. He couldn't help but make a sarcastic remark.

  "You are right, Count Lauzun." Sir Ebrard's keen perception of the count's discontent, who had always been left behind by his father on previous expeditions and now wanted to lead a detachment himself, prompted him to take advantage of the count's words to report to Duke Meson, "Father, please give me command of a detached corps."

  "What? You're going yourself? No need, I'll send someone else. You stay by my side." The Duke of Mason shook his head, refusing his son's suggestion, unwilling to let his heir take risks.

  "Let me go, this plan was mine to propose. If I do not personally lead it, the other nobles will look at me with disdain and my prestige will plummet." Sir Eber stood up again, entreating Duke Mason once more.

  "This..." Duke Mason hesitated, looking at the other lords and thinking that if his son couldn't establish enough prestige, he would probably be unable to suppress these unruly nobles after his own death, and how to make them swear allegiance again.

  "That's right, Duke. Lord Ebral is an excellent knight and even a small lion must learn to hunt on its own." The other nobles had a good impression of Sir Ebral and thought that this heir should be allowed to participate in the battle to see if he has enough talent to protect their status and rights.

  "Alright, I declare that Eber will lead the left wing of our troops, Count Lauzitz will lead the right wing, and the rest of you lords will ride with me. This time we'll make sure to give that old scoundrel, the Duke of Saxony, a taste of his own medicine. I swear it in the name of God." The Duke of Meissen proclaimed loudly as everyone nodded in agreement.