Lords of Darkness and Shadow (33 page)

“You have never mentioned him.”
“I have not thought of him in years.”

“What was his name?”

“Gaston.”

“Gaston de Russe,” she repeated softly. “I like it very much.”

“Better than Braxton de Russe?”

She smiled. “There will be more children and more opportunities to name our children after every male member of my family.” She laughed when he did. “If you wish to name him Gaston, I am agreeable.”

He grasped her gently by the arms and pulled her to him for a sweet kiss. “Thank you,” he murmured. “That means a good deal to me.”

Ellowyn put her knitting aside to touch the man, running her hands over his face, watching him kiss her palm sweetly.  Her mind was moving on from the birth of the child to the not so distant future.  She was also thinking of her husband and his duties to the prince.  He had been home a short while and they hadn’t much chance to discuss the way of things, including how long he planned to remain at Melesse.

“I have not yet had the opportunity to ask you how long you will remain with me this time,” she said softly.  “Will you be leaving again soon?”

He cupped her face with a big hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “Too soon for my taste,” he told her. “I must return to Edward by the end of the month.”

Her face fell a little. “That is only eight days away,” she said. “Where must you go?”

“Poitier,” he replied, still stroking her cheek. "I can only spend the next three or four days here before I must return.  I brought my army back with me, you know. It takes time to move a body of that size to Poitier.”

She fell silent a moment, feeling his hand on her face, relishing his touch. She had missed it so.  “Magnus…,” she started to say, stumbling over the words. “Magnus said that Edward has moved north from Aquitaine, burning and pillaging. He said it is as bad as he has ever seen such things. Is this true?”

Brandt sighed faintly, thinking of the horrors he had caused over the past several weeks. It was his duty and he did not feel guilty for such things, but he couldn’t help but think of Deston’s accusations of his
chevauchee
warfare.  They called it scorched-earth tactics, and it was exactly that. It was devastation on a massive scale, only over the past few months, it had been even worse than that.

“War is never pleasant,” he said, unwilling to tell her the truth of it because it was too terrible for her to comprehend. “It has been very bad indeed.”

She gazed into his face, seeing the exhaustion in the dark depths. “To what end?” she asked. “What I mean is that where
will
it end? Will the prince simply keep raiding and burning without end or is there a purpose to all of this?”

He shrugged. “Of course there is a purpose,” he said. “The purpose is to reach Paris and capture the city, but the army was halted at Tours.  We spent a good deal of time there trying to take the city to no avail.  Now we have regrouped at Chavigney.  The prince has sent a message to the King of France to discuss a resolution to all of this, which is why I must return to Poitier. I must be part of those negotiations.”

She felt some hope in that. “Do you think these wars may finally come to an end?”

“Anything is possible.”

“Will we return home to England when it is over?”

“You do not want to stay in France?”

She shook her head. “I want to go home.”

He understood.  With a kiss to her hand, he rose from the bed and took his cup back over to the wine. He was preparing to pour himself another measure when he glanced out of the window and noticed that there was some activity in the bailey. He could see Dylan and Alex chatting with Stefan, who had just come down off the wall.  Having been asleep most of the morning and then lingering with womenfolk for the past hour, he thought perhaps it was time to make his presence known and meet with his men.   He set the cup down.

“I will return in a while,” he told Ellowyn. “I have not seen my castle in several weeks so it is time to make my rounds.”

Ellowyn grinned as she continued to knit. “It is falling apart at the seams,” she told him saucily. “I have been running it into the ground and taking great delight in ruining your empire.”

He scowled, though it was without force. “Naughty wench.”

She giggled.  Winking at her, Brandt quit the chamber and headed out to the dusty, windy bailey.

It would be the calm before the greatest storm of all.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

“Patrols returning from the north have reported a large army heading our way,” Brennan said. “They are moving in the dead of knight, my lord. That speaks of determination.”

Having been woken out of a deep sleep by Brennan, who had the night watch, Brandt stood in the corridor outside of the chamber he shared with Ellowyn. It was close to midnight and the passageway was dim and quiet. Rubbing his eyes, he appeared weary but the mind was sharp.  It was already calculating the situation.

“Standards?”

“It was difficult to see beneath the moon glow, but he thought he caught the
fleur de lis.”

Brandt stopped rubbing his eyes and looked at him.  “
Fleur de lis
?” he repeated, somewhat incredulous. “Is it Jean?”

“The army is large enough, my lord. Thousands, at the very least.”

“Coming here, did you say?”

“Their path will take them to our doorstep.”

Brandt let out a hiss. “Someone told him I had come home,” he muttered. “This was planned, don’t you see? They knew I had separated myself from Edward. They’ve come to destroy me or at the very least, weaken me and keep me from joining up with Edward.”

“The king has many spies in our camp, just as we have spies in his,” Brennan replied quietly. “The king was already heading south towards Poitier. It would not have taken much for him to alter his course and head for Melesse.”

Brandt could see the logical tactics taking place. He understood them implicitly. “How much time do we have?”

“They will be here by dawn.”

“Which was, no doubt, part of their plan.” Brandt was on the move, heading to the spiral stairs that led down to the first level and the keep entry. “Rouse the rest of the knights. Everyone has their assigns posts. I want everything bottled up tightly and if I know Jean, he is particularly fond of flaming projectiles.  Make sure the thatched roofs of the stables and trade shakes are thoroughly watered down.  He will try to burn us out but we will not allow it.  Hurry, Brennan; there is no time to waste.”

Brennan ran off as Brandt continued down to the living level of the  keep.  He continued outside in the dead cold night, heading to the armory and listening to the sounds of the castle as the knights began to rouse it for battle.  He could hear men moving and shouting, wagons moving, and servants as they were given orders.  Already, the smell of battle was in the air.  He could feel the energy rise.

In the armory, he donned his armor with the help of the sleepy squires.  Straps were secured, weapons checked.  He was very calm, as he usually was before a battle, because he knew only calm heads would survive. He intended to survive.

Ellowyn.

He paused in his dressing, thinking of his wife asleep in their chamber and struggling not to feel fear on her behalf.  He had time to remove her from Melesse, but the closest trustworthy shelter was at least four or five hours away through the dead of night. He wasn’t sure that was a safer option than barricading her up inside of a keep that had withstood many sieges.  Melesse was built for battle. After much internal debate, he decided the safer option was to keep her at the castle.

Fully dressed, the Black Angel emerged from the armory and headed towards the keep. By now, the entire castle had been alerted and men were running about in organized chaos. Brandt made his way across the bailey, now lit with hundreds of torches burning brightly into the night, and took the stairs to the keep.

The keep was still fairly quiet although servants were dashing about.  He took the wide spiral stairs to the second floor, making a great deal of noise as he traversed the dead-quiet corridor.  As he neared the bedchamber door, it suddenly flew open and Ellowyn was standing there.

“What is happening?” she demanded.  Then, she noticed his state of dress and her eyes widened. “Why are you dressed to kill?”

He reached out and put his enormous hands on her arms, turning her around and forcibly escorting her back into the room.

“Our patrol has spotted a large army heading our way,” he said calmly and quietly as he closed the door. “They will be here at dawn.  I suspect we may see a bit of a battle come sunrise.”

Ellowyn remained calm because he was.  But she seemed confused. “Who on earth would be moving in the dead of night to attack us?”

“Our patrol thinks it might be the king,” he said softly.

She cocked her head. “The king? Of England?”

“Of France,” he said, chuckling. “France happens to have a king as well.”

She made a face, that face her father used to call the pickle puss, which made him laugh harder.  He hadn’t seen it in months and it always made him laugh, but if he called it what her father had called it, she would become angry.  So, he simply laughed.  It was a lovely bit of relief in the midst of fearful emotions.

“Well,” she said after she was finished twisting up her face. “It would seem that I should be making some kind of preparations for the wounded we will receive.”

His humor faded. “Nay,” he told her. “I want you to remain here and bolt that door. You will not open it for anyone but me or my knights. Is that clear?”

Her humor faded as well. “Men will need help, Brandt,” she said seriously. “I cannot remain bottled in this room, safe and protected, while men are injured or dying.”

He sighed; he didn’t want to fight with her, not now. “When your father thought to lay siege to Guildford, I told you to stay to the keep and bolt the door. Do you recall?”

“Aye.”

“Do you recall what I said would happen if you did not?”

She gave him a droll expression. “You cannot spank me.”

“I most certainly can.”

She shook her head and patted her big stomach. “You cannot put me over your knee with this belly.”

He rolled his eyes. “I do not need to put you over my knee in order to spank that lovely white bottom,” he said.  Then, he pointed a massive finger at her. “I do not want to have to worry over you, do you understand? I must know that you are safe and locked up. Any other thought will cause me to lose concentration and quite possibly cost me my life. Can I make this any clearer to you?”

She sobered dramatically. “But I only wish to help.”

“I know. But you will be the most help to me if you and our son remain safe.” He moved towards her, putting his big hands on her shoulders. “I am not relishing the thought of you in a castle under siege.  The mere idea eats at me. Will you please help me and stay to your rooms?”

When it put it that way, she could only agree. “Very well,” she said, pressing up against him and trying not to get jabbed by sharp objects on his body. “Please take great care, my love. I would have you return to me safe and whole.”

He bent over, kissing her with great emotion.  “I plan to.”

“Thank you.”

He kissed her one last time before releasing her. “I will have provisions brought up to you so you will not want for anything.  I will also send Annabeth and Bridget to you.”

“What about your daughters?”

“I will make sure they are comfortable and safe, but they will remain in their chamber.”

She simply nodded, feeling sadder and more despondent by the moment at the thought of him heading in to battle.  Certainly, he went to battle all of the time, but she was never witness to it. There was something different about being with him as he risked his life.  As he winked at her and left the chamber, she tried not to let her fear overwhelm her.  She went to sit on the bed, thinking of the coming battle, struggling not to weep.

When Brandt returned a couple of hours later to see her one last time before the keep was sealed up tight, he found her fast asleep.  Kissing her gently, he let her sleep.

***

At sunrise, hell was unleashed.

Flying sky blue standards with yellow
fleur de lis
, Jean II of France unleashed his great war machines on the fortress of Melesse and by mid-morning, a horrible battle was underway.

It was as Brandt had feared; they knew very well the Black Angel had separated himself from the Prince of Wales, and they intended to keep de Russe bottled up and away from Edward, who was having some issues of his own with other French nobles. Divide and conquer seemed to be the French battle cry.

Jean traveled with thousands of men; Brandt estimated it was at least four thousand.  They had a sea of foot soldiers, mounted cavalry, and archers.   Melesse was boxed in very early on, for the massive walls did not have a moat because they were more than twenty feet high and the gatehouse was like a fortress itself.   The gates themselves were iron, without wood to burn that would soften the iron, and there were three portcullises to prevent an easy breech.   Moreover, the portcullis were aligned so that Brandt could post a legion of archers inside the bailey, shooting out of the gatehouse to all those crowded around the exterior of the gatehouse.  It was a very simple thing to pick men off as they tried to breach the gates.

Flaming pots of tar and oil were slung over the walls, some bursting against the keep, others hitting the floor of the bailey and splashing their flaming contents out over men and animals. Stefan, in fact, had been sprayed with burning tar but his armor prevented any serious damage.  He had been extremely hot in it, however, until Magnus had rolled him in the dirt to quench the flame.

Most of the knights had taken to mounting the walls with crossbows, picking off those attacking the walls. Because of the terrain surrounding the castle, the sloping mountain, it made it exceptionally difficult for the king’s army to gain a good foothold for positioning ladders against the walls, and siege towers were impossible.  But the mangonels and ballistas, positioned further down the slope, had adequate footing to hurl their deadly cargo over the walls.

Brandt remained on the walls most of the morning, monitoring the gatehouse and watching the ballistas down below as they were reloaded. He tried to anticipate their trajectory and move men away from the area where they were presumed to hit.  He was very good at predicting their targets, saving lives of men. But as the day wore on into night, the kings army would not give up.  Realizing the walls were nearly impossible to scale, they focused their numbers on the gatehouse and things began to happen.

At sunset, the first ladders began going up on the gatehouse, which was amply protected. However, there were corbels on the structure that were big enough for men to gain footholds, and there was a window for light and air on the third story of the structure overlooking the road below. Conceiveably, men could mount the ladders and use the corbels to propel themselves up to that window. It was risky but possible, and that was exactly what the French were intent on doing.

Brandt could see their plan, however, and charged up to the third floor of the gatehouse with Brennan, Magnus, Dylan, and Alex along with several heavily armed soldiers to wait for them.  As the war machines continued to hurl missiles over the walls, men began climbing the gatehouse with the intent of breeching it.  Brandt and his men were waiting. The first soldier that managed to thrust himself through the single window had his head ripped off, courtesy of Brandt.  The duke literally grabbed the man by the head, twisted, and yanked.

It was an ugly, bloody fight.