It was the brothers in action, very much missing Dallan, but they felt his presence because they all had something of him with them – Denys had collected Dallan’s sword, shield, daggers, and undamaged de Winter tunic, and he personally carried Dallan’s gaudy sword while Devon took the man’s daggers and Drake wore his tunic and carried his shield. Therefore, Dallan was still very much with them. It was important to all of them that they keep his memory alive because in this siege, in regaining what belonged to Drake, it was a way for all of the de Winter brothers to unite.
Swords and shields. When the projectiles died down and the call for arms was finally sounded by Davyss, the call for swords and shields, the de Winter brothers were ready. Devon and his battering ram contingent made its way through the destroyed outer bailey towards the inner ward gates, which were also heavily damaged, while Drake and Denys went with the gang of men who were wheeling the siege tower into the outer bailey behind the battering ram.
Davyss, commanding the archers, gave the order for the arrows to fly, pinning down any resistance in the inner ward so they wouldn’t turn projectiles or arrows on those with the battering ram or the siege tower. The truth was that there had been virtually no resistance to the siege, which Davyss found slightly odd, but he was pleased nonetheless. It meant that de Mandeville’s force was either dead or in hiding, and he intended to smoke them out.
But as the arrows rained down and the battering ram began to tear apart the gate to the inner ward, Edmund de Mandeville’s army wasn’t quite dead – as Davyss and Drake and the others would quickly discover. They were simply biding their time and waiting for their chance. As soon as the battering ram tore enough of a hole for men to pass through, the de Mandeville army was there and ready.
And the fight was on.
Drake was one of the first men into the inner ward, immediately set upon by a gang of wild savages with axes and pikes. Lespada went to work, drawing the first blood, as the de Winter army poured through, met by the much smaller de Mandeville force. Edmund’s men, for all of their vicious fighting, were unable to stop the tide of heavily-armed men.
It was bloody and nasty from the onset, with heavy casualties for the de Mandeville troops. Drake, fighting off the onslaught, was on the hunt for Edmund de Mandeville himself. He wanted to find the man in the worst way but when he tried to enter the keep, he could see that the entire thing was on fire in the interior and there was no way to gain entry. Given that it was a stone keep, the exterior wouldn’t burn, but the interior had gone up like kindling. He could see that floors had collapsed and dead men littered the vault on the ground level below.
Concerned that Edmund de Mandeville was already dead after all of the de Winter bombardment, Drake moved through the bailey, noting that his troops had quickly subdued or killed many de Mandeville men. He soon saw Bruis de Mandeville with a gaping chest wound and Glenn de Mandeville lying near his brother with his head nearly cut off, but still no Edmund. With the sons dead, Drake’s hunt resumed in earnest for the father.
Soon after breaching the inner gate, only pockets of fighting remained, so much so that Davyss, the elderly but still powerful knight, had entered the bailey and was dispatching men without fear of being overwhelmed. Drake came to a standstill at the sight of his father, who came near him with a bloodied sword and a look of excitement in his eye. The thrill of battle was something that never died, no matter how old the knight. It brought back memories of days of glory.
“Mother will be quite angry if she hears you entered the battle,” Drake said to his father. “You told her that you would not fight.”
Davyss looked around him at the litter of bodies on the ground. “I am not fighting,” he said. “I am simply viewing the carnage.”
Drake laughed at his father, the big liar. “Would you please stay with me, then?” he asked. “Do not go off by yourself. If something happens to you, Mother will string me up by my thumbs.”
Davyss nodded, fending off a man at his feet who made a grab for him. Drake helped his father by dispatching the man, pulling his father away from the wounded who were still capable of fighting. He looked up to see Denys upon the inner wall, throwing men over the side who tried to attack him, but he’d lost sight of Devon. Remembering his panic, and the result, when he’d lost sight of Dallan in the woods those months ago, Drake pulled his father along.
“We must find Devon,” he said. “I do not see him.”
Davyss wasn’t as concerned as Drake was. “He is around here, somewhere,” he said. “Do not worry over your brother.”
Drake turned to his father, his features like stone. “I worry over everyone, including your old hide,” he said. “The last time I lost sight of a brother, the consequences were devastating. I do not intend to lose another.”
Davyss didn’t say anything, knowing he meant Dallan. He would therefore not criticize Drake’s sense of concern that he didn’t have visual contact with both his remaining brothers in the heat of a fight. Drake paused to scan the southern part of the inner ward where there was more fighting going on. It was an area with two tall yew trees in it and some outbuildings, casting shadows, but he finally spied Devon, kicking aside the enemy and dispatching the wounded, and he was relieved. But as he watched Devon bend over one of his own wounded, a figure appeared from the shadows behind him.
Edmund de Mandeville was finally showing his face in the midst of the hell and chaos. Like a nightmare from the deepest, darkest recesses of the mind, Edmund was covered with gore, his wild, gray hair sticky with black clots. He looked like an utter madman, and this madman was coming up behind Devon. Drake could see it; dear God, he could see it, but he was too far away to do anything about it.
Please, God… not again… I cannot lose a brother again!
Bolting, Drake took off running, screaming at his brother when he saw Edmund bring up a very big, very nasty sword, wielding it high above the back of Devon’s head. Devon hadn’t heard Drake’s cry the first time but the second time Drake bellowed, Devon seemed to hear it. Instinctively, he threw himself onto the ground just as Edmund de Mandeville swung his sword that, had Devon not fallen when he did, would have decapitated him. As the swing of de Mandeville’s sword followed through and momentum took it high above his head, a great swing from one side of his body to the other, Drake reached the man and drove Lespada straight into his chest.
Edmund opened his mouth to bellow but he couldn’t; his lungs were punctured, as was his heart, and the sword above his head clattered to the ground. Edmund fell to the dirt shortly thereafter, quite dead, bleeding out all over the earth of the castle he had, for these months, claimed as his own. Much like his ancestor who had been killed at the hands of a du Reims, this de Mandeville fell to a de Winter, the new Earl of East Anglia. For all of the years of family hatred and drama, for all of the pain the de Mandevilles had caused, now it was finally over.
The de Mandeville legacy was over.
Standing over Edmund, and breathing heavily with emotion and exertion, Drake yanked Lespada from the man’s chest. A few feet away, Devon labored to stand as Davyss pulled him to his feet. They both looked at de Mandeville and realized what had nearly happened.
“I never saw him,” Devon told Drake, shock evident in his tone. “I thought I had secured this area and I swear to you that I never saw him.”
Drake stared down at Edmund de Mandeville a moment longer before turning to look at his twin, his mirror image. He felt sick when he realized how close he came to losing the man but, in the same breath, he was incredibly grateful. Grateful that they were all still alive.
“He must have been hiding somewhere,” Drake said. “Mayhap he had tucked himself beneath the dead. Whatever the case, I saw him when it was nearly too late. Thank God you are not deaf or you would not be standing here speaking to me at this moment. If I lost you… Devon, I could not take losing another brother.”
His eyes suddenly filled with tears and he lowered his gaze, embarrassed at his display of
emotion. Devon went to Drake and threw his arms around his brother. “You will not lose me,” he muttered, pulling back to cup his brother’s head in his hands. “If I were not here, who would be your common sense? Who would tell you when your arrogance is too great or that your wife has done nothing wrong by spending your money? Nay, I am not going away, Drake. You and I are destined to go through life together, no matter what.”
Drake could hardly speak. He simply nodded his head, wiping at his eyes, as Davyss came up and hugged them both. He was stunned and touched to see the emotion in Drake, a man who answered the call to swords and shields with nothing less that emotionless resolve. But this was different; he’d lost one brother and very nearly lost another. That emotionless, prideful knight had grown in the past few months, developing the heart and soul of a true man. It was a wonderful thing to see, something Davyss took great happiness in, but long ago, he seemed to remember the same thing happening to him when a certain Devereux Allington had been introduced into his life.
Women had a way of changing a man for the better.
As Davyss watched Drake and Devon walk away, he could only feel the greatest pride a father could. His sons, men of power and compassion, were everything he could have hoped for and Drake, his eldest, his shining star, had become something more than just a knight. The marriage he’d so resisted, the wife he’d never wanted, had become part of his fabric more than he could ever realize, influencing his ability to express his feelings. Through the highs and lows they had shared, Elizaveta du Reims de Winter had helped his son understand the value of a forgiving heart. Now, he understood more than simply swords and shields. He understood love. Davyss could see, already, that Drake was destined to make a great earl and he would have a great countess by his side.
Davyss smiled to himself, his gaze on Drake as the man yelled at Denys to come down off the wall. He was so glad he’d lived to see the day that Drake should become such a fine man, selfless and true. With his wife waiting in Ipswich a couple of miles away, waiting patiently for her husband to return from the reclamation of their home, Davyss knew that Drake would soon be leaving to collect the woman, to bring her back to the castle, to rebuild it and to start their new life together. It was the start of a magnificent future for Lord and Lady de Winter.
Aye, Davyss thought to himself, thank God I lived to see the day.
The day of Drake’s evolvement into a man of great hope.
It would be the greatest de Winter legacy of all.
EPILOGUE
Norwich Castle
June, 1301 A.D.
“The missive is addressed to the Earl of Thetford, my lord,” a messenger with a heavy French accent spoke. “Lady Agnes du Reims is searching for her daughter. She assumed the de Winters would know where she was.”
Davyss gazed back at the skinny, black-toothed man in disbelief. It was early summer and the morning fog, usually so heavy at this time of year, was quickly burning off beneath a bright, morning sun that would soon give way to pleasant temperatures and clear skies. Everyone was dressing lighter these days, without the heavy cloaks and wools, that included Davyss. He greeted the well-dressed messenger, who had been escorted to the keep by two armed de Winter soldiers, in a linen tunic and leather breeches. After a very long pause, he responded.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The messenger bowed politely, his greasy hair flopping in his face when he did. “I serve the Countess of East Anglia from her property in Gascon.”
Davyss eyed the man. “Do you speak of Agnes du Reims?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“She is no longer the countess. A new earl has assumed the title.”
The messenger lost all of his poise and his facial expression shifted into a shocked grimace. “A… a new earl, my lord?” he stammered. “Lady du Reims is not aware.”
“Then you will tell her,” Davyss said as he reached out to take the missive the messenger was holding. “Christian du Reims died seven months ago, God rest his soul.”
It was obvious that the messenger was stunned. Davyss dismissed the man and his soldiers took him away, practically dragging him away so he could not ask any further questions, as Davyss took the missive back into the dual-halled keep. People were breaking their fast inside, including his family.
Drake and Elizaveta were feasting in the second half of the hall where the family usually ate with Devereux pacing the floor behind them, holding a new infant in her arms. Lady Rose de Winter had been born eighteen days earlier and her parents, as well as her grandparents, were enamored with her.
Devereux often got up with the infant in the middle of the night, helping with feedings and helping the new parents get some much-needed sleep, which meant she brought the baby into her chamber where the child kept Davyss up all night. But he didn’t really mind; she was a beautiful, healthy baby and he was grateful. Sometimes, if his wife was feeling particularly magnanimous, he even got to hold little Rose.
His gaze shifted as he entered the hall, seeing Drake, Elizaveta, and Denys sitting at the end of the table with bowls of warmed porridge and stewed fruit between them. There were also bowls of pickled fruits – lemons and onions – which had been a staple for Elizaveta for the duration of her pregnancy. Due to deliver her child very soon, her belly was positively enormous. Drake hadn’t left her side for the last two months, terrified he would not be present for the birth of his child. Even now, he hovered over her until she threatened to go sit somewhere else. Davyss could hear them bickering as he approached.
“Drake,” Davyss said as he came up behind Denys, looking at the married couple seated next to him. “What have I told you? You must let the woman breathe. She can do for herself and you must let her if she wants to.”
Elizaveta grinned. “It is not that bad,” she said, eyeing her husband. “I can breathe for myself. But that is all I am allowed to do.”
Drake chewed on a hunk of warm bread, displeasure in his features. “Ungrateful,” he muttered. “You are completely ungrateful.”
Elizaveta laughed. “I am very grateful, my love,” she said. “I am grateful for your attentiveness and your thoughtfulness. I am grateful that you follow me everywhere, truly. I am grateful that you allow me to use the privy and only ask to stand at the door rather than try to help me with my necessities. I am grateful for all of these things. But if you do not let me spoon my own food into my mouth, I am going to punch you right in the nose.”
Drake rolled his eyes, turning away and pretending to be very annoyed with his unappreciative wife. “As you wish,” he said, clipped. “I will never help you again.”
“Promise?”
“I do not!”
That set the entire table to laughter, so much that Devereux, with the baby still in her arms, shushed them.
“Quiet!” she hissed. “Rose is sleeping. Do not wake her!”
The room quieted down immediately and Davyss took the opportunity to mention the business he had come about. “Drake,” he said. “I would speak to you alone, please. Come with me.”
Obediently, Drake stood up and started to follow his father, but he was not alone. Elizaveta had risen to her feet as well and was waddling after him. Davyss and Drake were nearly out of the hall when Drake caught sight of Elizaveta shuffling behind him. He came to a halt, as did his father.
“You do not need to come, Vee,” he said, putting his hands on her arms. “Go back and finish your meal.”
Elizaveta started to reply but Davyss interrupted. “It is all right,” he said. “In fact, she should come, too. This missive concerns her.”
Drake looked at his father, his brow furrowing with suspicion and concern. “What missive?”
Drake simply waved the couple on. The two of them followed Davyss into the room to the east of the dining hall, a small chapel the family used for daily prayer. Drake helped Elizaveta to sit on the only pew in the chapel as Davyss produced the missive and broke the seal. He spoke as he unrolled it.
“I j
ust had a visitor,” he said. “A man with a heavy Gascon accent told me that the Countess of East Anglia had sent him because the woman was in search of her daughter. This missive is addressed to me.”
Elizaveta and Drake looked at each other, shocked by the declaration. “The Countess of East Anglia?” Drake repeated. “That is my wife.”
Davyss nodded as he read the contents of the missive. “I know,” he said, glancing up before continuing to read. “This is from Agnes du Reims.”
Drake’s attention returned to his wife to see what her reaction would be to the news. Not surprisingly, Elizaveta had no discernable reaction. She looked at Davyss, and to her husband, before averting her gaze.
“I do not have a mother,” she said. “She has been gone from me these past several months.”
Drake didn’t say anything; truthfully, he didn’t know what to say so it was best to say nothing. However, he was quite curious about this missive and what it may contain but he was also quite wary; he didn’t want his wife upset but there was no use trying to chase her from the room now. She wouldn’t go, anyway, not until she heard the contents of the missive. Therefore, he took her hand and held it as his father finished reading the missive. When Davyss was done, he handed it to Elizaveta but she refused to take it. She didn’t want anything to do with her mother. Drake took it instead.
“Your mother is asking if I know where you are,” Davyss said, eyeing Drake as the man read the missive. “She asks that if I know where you are to please ask you to write her. She wants to know of your health and she says that she is continuing your grandmother’s good work. She is assuming we do not know what that good work is.”
Elizaveta sighed heavily, shaking her head. “She is a fool,” she hissed. “After what happened at The Black Goose, how can she assume I have not told you everything? Could she truly be so daft?”