As Alpheo had envisioned, when his soldiers had gone to apprehend and hang the guilty, the outcry came swiftly and predictably. The moment the nooses tightened and the bodies of the condemned swung before the gathered regiments, their lord—whose banner those men had marched under—had come storming into Alpheo's command tent.
It wasn't grief, of course. Lords like him didn't weep for soldiers unless their deaths affected ledger or legacy. What burned at the men was the humiliation—soldiers from their contingent had been hanged publicly, in front of thousands. And worse, the punishment had been dealt without their consent, as if they were just another bystander in their own domain.
It was as if declaring that they led bandits in battle.
The crime itself—raping some laborer women—was not what concerned the prince. Gods knew, in his mind, such things were as common and expected as lice in bedding.
