“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 Poitiers. 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 shacks 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 snuff, 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 he 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 into 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 t
o 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 king’s 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. Conceivably, 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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
It was that dream again, only this time, there was a different dimension to it.
Behind her, the castle had melted until it looked like soft butter. Everything was running onto the ground, now blending with the mud and the rain. Standing over the knight leaning against the tree, she could only stare at the crest on the breastplate. She knew it. It was the talons of the de Russe dragon, the Duke of Exeter. It was Brandt. She knew it was Brandt even though she couldn’t see his face.
“God, help me!” she cried.
The child in her belly was kicking terribly, as if he knew his father was dying. Kicking and kicking until it caused her pain and she gripped her belly, holding it, as stabs of agony ripped through her body. She ceased to see the man at her feet any longer, only concerned with the pain radiating through her torso. The baby’s kicking lessened but the pain was still there. The kicking faded until it was virtually no more. She couldn’t feel the kicking any longer. As the last embers of life diminished from the father, so perhaps did they diminish from the child. Both of them were dying and she could do nothing to help them.
Crying out, she awoke in a cold sweat.
*
Something was wrong with the child. She knew that the moment she awoke in agony. As the battle raged below, she held her belly and wept, terrified that something was horribly amiss. Annabeth and Bridget, keeping company with her in the barricaded room, were alerted to the sounds of her weeping.
“My lady?” Annabeth was on the bed beside her. “What is amiss?”
Ellowyn wiped her eyes, struggling to calm herself. She was terrified. “I… I will be all right,” she assured her frightened ladies. “I am sure it is simply the fear of the battle causing me to….”
“Causing what?”
“… well, there is some pain, but I am sure it will go away.”
Annabeth’s eyes widened but she held her control. Bridget, seated on the other side of the bed, reached out to touch Ellowyn’s arm.
“We shall find the midwife,” she said. “Do not distress, my lady. We shall find her.”
Ellowyn shook her head, reaching over to grasp Bridget before the woman could run off. She was very fast in that respect.
“Nay,” she insisted. “It will pass, I am sure. Moreover, the midwife is in town and it would be impossible to get through the closed gates.”
“Then I will seek the duke’s surgeon,” Bridget insisted. “He must be able to help.”
Again, Ellowyn shook her head, holding fast to Bridget so she would not run away. “He is tending wounded,” she said. “It would be foolish to pull him away from dozens of injured men to come and tend one woman. Nay, leave him be. You are here. You are all of the help I need.”
“But… then I must send for the duke!”
“You will do no such thing. This will pass.”
Bridget and Annabeth exchanged fearful glances. “As you say, my lady” Bridget said. “Where is your pain? Do you believe the child is coming now?”
Ellowyn sighed. The pain had subsided somewhat but it was still there. “I do not know,” she admitted. “I have never had a child before. I do not know what it feels like other than I was told to expect pain when the child is delivered.”
As Bridget went to get water and a rag to wipe over her mistress to comfort her, Annabeth grasped Ellowyn’s hand.
“Would you like some wine?” she asked softly. “It might help ease you.”
Ellowyn shook her head, feeling exhausted and sleepy, and struggling to put the pain behind her. She could hear the battle down below, the shouts of men as they tried to kill one another. To know her husband was in that chaos did not help her state. She closed her eyes, trying to block it out.
“Nay,” she replied. “I believe I will try to go back to sleep. The pain seems to have lessened.”
Annabeth nodded silently, watching Ellowyn close her eyes. The truth was that she was terrified but she didn’t want Ellowyn to see it. They were trapped in a room as a battle waged below, and now her mistress was feeling childbirth pains well before the child’s due date. Under normal circumstances, either of those individual events would have been reason for panic. Indeed, there was much to be terrified over.
She began to pray.
*
The gatehouse breach had proved to be a disaster for the French. Every man that came through the narrow gatehouse window met his death at the hands of Brandt or one of his knights. Then, the body would be hauled out by soldiers who would throw it over the walls. It had a hugely demoralizing effect on the army of Jean, and eventually, men stopped trying to climb through the hole because it was certain death. No one wanted to commit suicide.
The entire night of the siege saw more projectiles hurled over the wall. Giving up on the gatehouse, the king’s army focused their energy on the iron gates and the three successive portcullises, which was a futile endeavor. It only cost Jean more men. Melesse was truly an unbreachable fortress and at dawn on the second day, the king’s armies began to retreat.
Watching the pull-out from his post near the gatehouse as the sun began to rise, Brandt was exceptionally relieved as the French collected their dead and began to subside. But he was also leery. He turned to Dylan.
“They will be heading for Edward now,” he said with urgency in his voice. “Gather the men. Make sure everyone is fed and moderately rested. We must follow that army and provide Edward with support.”
“But I thought that the king wished to negotiate with Edward to avoid a big battle at Poitiers?” Dylan said. “Why would he move on to attack him now?”
Brandt cocked an eyebrow at the army retreating in the distance. “His actions in laying siege to my
castle tell me that what the man says and what he intends are two different things,” he said. “We must hurry if we are going to prevent him from slaughtering Edward. Even after losing soldiers in this battle, he carries many more men than Edward does.”
“When do you wish to leave?”
“No more than four hours. See to it.”
Dylan nodded and began issuing orders. Brandt remained on the wall, watching the retreat to ensure they did not regroup and attack a second time, before his thoughts turned to his wife. The moment he saw her face in his mind’s eye, he could think of nothing else.
Descending the wall, he made his way across the littered and blasted bailey as he headed for the keep. He would spend a few hours with Ellowyn before heading out with the army. He was already relishing the time spent with her, eager to feel her in his arms. The battle with Jean had been a relatively short but particularly brutal one and he was anxious to get his mind off blood and pain and onto something soft and soothing.
The keep door was bolted and it took quite some time for the servants to work the bolts loose. Two big iron bolts liked to stick and Brandt stood impatiently on the doorstep as the big panel was opened. Once it swung loose, he shoved it open the rest of the way and stepped into the cool, musty interior.
As anxious as he was to see his wife, that enthusiasm was quickly doused when Annabeth met him at the door. She motioned for silence and left him standing in the hall as she came out of the room and shut the door softly behind her. As he opened his mouth to question her actions, she put her hands up again to quiet him.
“I must speak with you before you see your wife, my lord,” she whispered. “Lady Ellowyn awoke in great pain last evening. She would not let us send for you or the midwife. She has been in pain all night and has only now fallen back asleep. If the battle is indeed over, we must send for the midwife immediately.”
Brandt knees went weak. “Something is wrong?”
Annabeth lifted her shoulders. “We do not know,” she said. “Only the midwife can tell us. Will you please send for her, my lord?”