Chapter 29: What the Sergeant Didn’t See

STEVEN GEORGE BOWED to the people of Rich Reach and bowed to Prince Montague Valentine.

“All this was in the book?” Val asked Steven.

“You need never know what is in the book,” Steven answered. “Only that it is there.”

The Prince pushed a bundle toward Steven across the banquet table. It was long and slender. As Steven unwrapped it, both a dagger and a sword fell out. Each had a delicately carved hilt that fit Steven’s hand perfectly. But more amazingly, on the blades were engraved the figures of two dragons. The engravings glowed with a light of their own and if they were turned just right, one might see the figure of a lady on the sword and of a child on the dagger. Steven smiled.

“If I may, Your Highness,” Steven said to the Prince, “I should like a bit of fresh air. May I walk on the battlements?”

“By all means, Steven George the Dragonslayer,” said Prince Valentine. He addressed the people gathered at the banquet, who were still whispering among themselves over Steven’s story.

“May all the people know that Steven George the Dragonslayer has met and mastered the Terror of Rich Reach, and we are ever thankful for the safety that this ensures for our kingdom and our people. Wherever he goes, he is the emissary of the King and friend of the Prince. There are no boundaries to the protection that he provides.” And so, having shaken the Prince’s hand and embraced as true friends, Steven left the banquet hall.

Late at night, the Prince decided to see if Steven was still on the battlements, for he had not seen him since the feast. He saw many guards scurrying about the palace, looking in corners and behind rusty suits of armor. He hurried on to the castle wall.

“Well, there is no reason he should stay here, is there?” the Prince said. “He fulfilled his task.”

“But how could he leave the castle with the gates all closed for the night?” the Prince answered.

“Perhaps you should ask the Sergeant,” the Prince said.

“Sergeant, where is the Dragonslayer?” the Prince demanded.

“Now, Your Grace, we’d all like to know that. He was here some time ago,” the Sergeant answered.

The Sergeant had not always been a sergeant, of course. He had begun his career as a lowly yeoman and survived enough battles to rise to the top of his ranks. The Sergeant learned many things in his career. When the commanding officer gave an order, he obeyed. Instantly. When he was asked a question, he answered. Clearly. And when he was given a troop to lead, he led. Courageously.

But perhaps the most important thing the Sergeant learned was how to communicate with both his superiors and his men. He discovered that what he did not say was as important as what he did say.

“Sergeant!” yelled the Captain. Captains always yelled and thus when sergeants spoke to their troops, they yelled as well. This was the first lesson in communication. Whispers were for spies. Soldiers yelled. “Did you see any enemy troops coming over that ridge?”

“No sir!” the Sergeant yelled back at the Captain. “I saw enemy troops coming through the forest over there.”

“I know about the enemy in the forest,” yelled the Captain. “I asked you about the enemy on the ridge.”

“Yes sir!” yelled the Sergeant.

“Yes sir, you saw enemy troops coming over the ridge?”

“No sir! I saw no enemy troops coming over the ridge, sir.”

“Dismissed!”

The Sergeant left the Captain’s tent having learned a valuable lesson. Answer only the question you are asked. It seemed to make sense. The next time the Sergeant was called before the Captain to report, the Captain barked, “Sergeant! Has the supply wagon arrived?”

“Yes sir,” the Sergeant responded. He did not add that the wagon was empty and the escort was gone. The Captain found out soon enough.

You might think that not giving all the knowledge one has when asked a question would be counter-productive, but it served the Sergeant well through his career. The Captain knew he could count on a clear and concise answer to the question he asked, and not have his time wasted with other details. And he could always ask more questions to get additional information if he needed it. This went well until the Sergeant discovered a particularly important (to him) bit of information that the Captain really needed in order to succeed in the campaign.

“Sergeant!” barked the Captain. “How many enemy are coming through the forest?”

“None sir,” the sergeant yelled.

“And how many are coming over the ridge?”

“None sir.”

“Then we are done here. Sound the retreat,” yelled the Captain. Now it happened that the Sergeant had seen a large party of the enemy coming at them from behind—in fact, from the direction of their retreat. He puzzled for a moment before he announced his information.

“I am not saying I saw no enemy coming from behind us,” he bellowed.

“How many enemy are you not saying are coming from behind?” asked the Captain.

“I’m not saying there are 400 troops coming from behind, sir. Nor am I saying they are armed with bows and lances.”

“And what else are you not saying?” yelled the Captain.

“I’m not saying that I miss my wife and children, sir.”

“Good! Sound the charge and lead the men over the ridge!” And so it happened that the Sergeant learned that what he was not saying could be as important as what he was saying, but not to push it.

His ability to communicate stood him in good stead when he was off the battle field as well. Take for instance, his wife’s new dress. Like good soldierly wives, she was hearty and stout and he loved her dearly, but she was a bit vain, which he tolerated amiably. One day she approached her husband to show him the new dress she was wearing.