David wasn’t aware that Leeton and Brickley were tracking him and even if he did know, he wouldn’t have cared. He was more concerned with driving Dennis into the ground because, truth be told, he was becoming quite exhausted. He didn’t want Dennis to exploit that exhaustion although the mercenary was surely feeling exhaustion of his own. What David didn’t realize was that their weariness was very apparent to everyone watching, as their movements had slowed and become sloppier. Still, Dennis was taking the worst of it.
Everyone in the lists and on the field sensed that the end was drawing near, made more apparent when David put a foot in behind Dennis and shoved the man to the ground. Then, he pounced on him, slugging him in the face as hard as he could.
“That,” he grunted, “was for my brother. And this,” he hit again, “is for Brentford. You were unworthy to even fight the man much less kill him, you bastard. Now I’m going to flip you over on your belly and drown you in this mud. You’re going to suck it up into your lungs and breathe it in, you filth, and with every painful last breath, I want you to think of my brother and Brentford. See their faces and know that your death is because of what you did to them.”
Dennis was in a bad way because David had him at a tremendous disadvantage; in the position he was in, with his arms pinned beneath David’s body weight, he simply couldn’t get the range of motion to dislodge the man. Still, he kept calm. Panic would not help him at this moment for he knew that men seeking vengeance as David de Lohr was would only feed on his terror. If he wanted to live, he couldn’t give the man any more strength or purpose than he already had.
“You cannot win,” Dennis said, his French accent heavy and distorted by his swollen mouth and missing teeth. “This is something neither of us can win, David. This is between Richard and John.”
David stopped punching him and wrapped his swollen, battered hands around the man’s neck. He began to squeeze. “This is most definitely between us,” he snarled. “I will kill you if it is the last thing I do.”
Dennis knew that. He’d known that from the start of the mass competition it would come down to him and David. He knew the man was out for revenge after what happened to his brother. David’s hands squeezed tighter and Dennis threw out his arms as much as he could, feeling around for a weapon, something to use against David before he lost consciousness. His fingers finally came across something but he didn’t know what it was. He didn’t care. Grasping it, he swung it up and managed to catch David in the head.
Without his helm, David fell like a stone. Gasping for air, Dennis struggled up from his back and rolled over onto David, shoving his face into the mud with the intention of drowning him, but Leeton and Brickley prevented it. They had been standing a few feet away, watching the battle, and now Leeton rushed forward with Brickley on his heels, grabbing Dennis by the hair and throwing him off of David. As Brickley dragged Dennis away, Leeton pulled David up out of the mud and quickly, clumsily, cleaned out his mouth and nose, slapping his face to force him to come around. There was panic on Leeton’s fair face as he gazed down at David’s mud-covered features.
“Breathe, David,” he hissed. “Breathe!”
As David took a choking breath and struggled to come around, Dennis yanked himself away from Brickley and kicked the man in the groin, kicking him again when he doubled over in pain. With Brickley down, and Leeton on his knees trying to revive David, Dennis staggered over to the lists where John and Ralph sat, where an entire collection of shocked people sat, and threw his arms up in the air in a signal of victory.
Per the rules of the mass, a competition that had seen every single rule broken and then some, Dennis de la Londe, by sheer definition of the rules, had come out on top.
Last man standing.
*
Emilie wasn’t quite sure what to make of the mass competition at first.
It was a brutal affair from the onslaught, with two sides crashing into each other and men all twisted up with one another, limbs intertwined, hands flailing. It seemed to Emilie that no one was getting anything done, really, because they were in such tight quarters that they simply seemed to be shoving each other around. There wasn’t room to do much else.
David had instructed de Wolfe to keep Emilie out of the lists for fear of what would happen if Ralph caught sight of her. Therefore, Edward, Emilie, and seventeen de Lohr soldiers were standing near the eastern gate of the arena, watching the roiling mass of men in the middle. For the first few minutes, there really wasn’t much to see at all. It wasn’t even all that exciting.
“So… they just push each other around, Sir Edward?” Emilie asked as she peered through the fencing. “I do not think I understand this game very well.”
Edward grinned. Wearing most of his armor and the de Lohr tunic because up until several minutes ago he had been planning to compete, he leaned against the fence next to Emilie.
“The mass competition is truly exciting, my lady,” he assured her. “Unfortunately, the restricted area of the field is making for very close quarters, but soon men will start to fall and the field should even out. We will be able to see much more when that happens.”
Emilie cocked her head thoughtfully as she looked at the mass undulating about. “The goal is to capture men and ransom them?”
“Aye, my lady.”
She shook her head. “It seems to me that all one would have to do is reach out and grab a man to capture him,” she said. “I am sure there is more to it than that, however.”
Edward laughed softly. “There is,” he said. “You must look at the mass competition as you would look at a battle. There is strategy involved. Why, I attended at tournament in Rouen last year where the mass competition took place over a two-mile area. Men were running everywhere, fighting and capturing each other. In fact, the spectators had to ride horses or take wagons to follow the games about. It was quite spectacular, truly, so this mass is very small compared to that one. But they all differ to some degree.”
Emilie found that a bit more interesting than what she was seeing now. “Fascinating,” she said. Growing rather bored of the men on the field pushing each other around in a tight jam, her attention moved to the lists. They were full this day, crowded with people, and she could see the prince and Ralph in the distant royal box. Wary, she moved towards the fence post as if to hide herself from them.
“Do you think the sheriff has seen me?” she asked.
Edward’s gaze moved to the royal box as well. “If he has, he will make no move against you,” he said. “Not while the mass is going on. I would not worry, my lady. You are safe.”
Emilie glanced at Edward. “I am safe at the expense of you being unable to compete in the mass,” she said. “You are very kind to stand watch over me while Sir David is competing.”
Edward smiled at her. “I am most happy to be here,” he said, gesturing to the men on the field. “Look at them. Clubbing each other, falling in the mud, getting their fingers broken. I am in a much better place than they are so do not feel pity for me. I will not be battered and bruised come the end of the day.”
Emilie returned his smile. He seemed rather pleasant and she was comfortable with him. “I will not pity you, then,” she said. “Let us point fingers and laugh at those men who are dirty and broken when we are clean and whole.”
Edward laughed softly. “Speaking of clean,” he said, “are your garments sufficiently dry now?”
Emilie nodded, smoothing down her currant-colored wool. “Dry for the most part but I fear the garment is ruined,” she said. “The color has run and the fabric is starting to smell. But it will do for now, thank you.”
Edward simply nodded, smiling politely before returning his attention to the competition at hand. He had been watching David and the other men as they moved in and out of the crowd, clubs wielded, but the crowd was starting to thin out a bit now and he was noticing that some of the men were bearing clubs with great spikes on them, instruments meant to injure or kill. The smile faded from
his face as he realized John’s mercenaries were using illegal weapons, weapons that the field marshals were allowing. Or, more than likely, weapons that John had declared they could use.
“Why do some men have clubs with spikes sticking out of them?” Emilie asked, interrupting his thoughts.
So she had noticed, too. Edward wasn’t entirely sure he liked where this competition was heading. “I know,” he said. “Those are illegal. It would seem that those loyal to John are carrying them.”
Emilie frowned as she watched the mass between the fence slats. Men were falling more frequently now and most of them were bloodied. The game in general was starting to become more bloody. Concerned, she watched as men were dragged from the field, or limped from the field, and suddenly de Lohr squires were racing in their direction. Darren, the oldest squire, came straight to Edward.
“Sir David wants his weapons and his shield,” he said quickly. “He says to tell you to bring forth all manner of killing instruments. His men need them.”
Edward nodded swiftly. The squires could not leave the field so it was up to Edward and the de Lohr soldiers to collect what they needed. But they simply couldn’t run off and leave Emilie standing there, so she would have to come with them. Edward reached out and grasped her elbow.
“Come along, my lady,” he said quickly and quietly. “You can help.”
Emilie was more than willing to help. Gathering her skirts, she ran back to the de Lohr encampment along with the rest of the de Lohr men, who began bringing forth axes and shields and swords once they reached the tents. Emilie stood just outside of the main tent, holding her arms out when Edward carefully laid an axe across them. It wasn’t too heavy but it was razor sharp, and once the rest of the weaponry was collected, weaponry even for the squires, they made their way quickly back to the field.
It was worse now there than when they’d left. Rain was starting to fall heavily and the field, bloodied, was turning into a muddy red swamp. It was all quite distasteful and they could see women leaving the lists in droves. But Emilie didn’t pay attention; she was concentrating on delivering the axe to the squires, who took it from her carefully and thanked her for bringing it. Emilie felt as if she had accomplished something, as if she was part of that legendary de Lohr war machine somehow. It was rather exciting to be part of the games, however peripherally. It made the event far more interesting in her eyes.
But not for too long. With the addition of the de Lohr weapons, and weapons from other great houses, the mock battle soon turned into the real thing and the mass became far more gory than interesting. Blood spurted and limbs fell, severed, but as she was about to turn away so she wouldn’t become sick, she noticed David moving through the group with his razor-edged shield and his broadsword. Then, the games became interesting again and she watched, fascinated, as the man fought warrior after warrior, sometimes with his sword, sometimes with his shields, and even sometimes with his feet, but he fought with every piece of his body as he moved. No movement was wasted.
It was like watching a well-choreographed dance. David had so much talent, and moved so quickly, that his movements were fluid, one into the next. He moved as if he knew what would happen ten steps ahead of him – he never faltered and he never stopped. He simply kept on moving as if knowing once he stopped, he would be lost. The energy the man exhibited was impressive, and Emilie watched, enraptured, as he fought man after man.
He is the greatest warrior in all the land.
In spite of the bloody circumstances, she managed a smile as she watched David move, a man of such bravery that surely his heart was made of steel. There was no other way to explain the skills or courage of such a man. She knew the de Lohrs were legendary in their fighting ability, in their reputations, and now she was coming to understand the truth behind that legend.
Now, she was seeing the reality of the de Lohr war machine.
But her admiration soon turned to fear. The field of men was dwindling now and it was clear who the allies were and who the enemy was, as told by the muddy tunics they wore. A man with a de Lohr tunic was hit by a club squarely in the back and went face-first into the mud. That brought David and Darren running but, as those outside of the arena watched, David was abruptly cut off by a man aiming a club at his head. David threw himself and rolled out of the way to avoid having his skull crushed, but from that point on, the fight became the most brutal thing Emilie could have possibly imagined.
The men on the field declined until there was all but three or four men left as David and a man bearing colors for the prince went at it. At first, it was weapon upon weapon, and that was a terrifying and thrilling thing to watch, but soon enough, the weapons fell aside and they went after each other with their hands in a barbaric fist-fight in ankle-deep mud.
On and on it went. Punches flew, heads snapped back and helms fell to the mud, but overall David seemed to be winning. He was as fast with his fists as he was with his sword and his opponent was taking a serious beating. Emilie watched in horror as the men beat on each other; she’d never seen anything like it in her life.
Having spent her time in feminine pursuits, this was something so out of the realm of her experience that it was making her sick to her stomach. The only reason she watched it was because David was in the middle of it and she couldn’t have taken her gaze away from him if she’d wanted to. She was riveted to him, terrified for him, and with good reason.
This was a battle to the death.
Both David and his opponent eventually grew exhausted. They were throwing punches still, but with not nearly the ferocity as before. David’s opponent even threw a punch and missed, and David got a foot in behind the man’s foot and tripped him, shoving him over backwards. David fell atop the man and began pummeling his face.
“It is over,” Edward hissed with satisfaction. “He will kill Dennis now for what the man did to his brother. What a stunning and impressive battle for David.”
Gripping the fence post in terror as she watched, Emilie recognized the name. “Dennis the Destroyer?” she said to Edward. “I heard you mention that name once before. He is the same man who killed Brentford le Bec, is he not?”
Edward’s gaze was riveted to David in the center of the bloodied field as he pounded Dennis’ head. “Aye,” he muttered. “David is seeking vengeance for Brentford as well. This is a reckoning, my lady. Make no mistake.”
Emilie tore her eyes off of the scene long enough to look up at Edward, who seemed unable to take his eyes away from what he was seeing. She looked around to the other de Lohr soldiers and they, too, were all focused on the beating their liege was dealing the man who had injured Christopher. A reckoning, she thought. Is that how men truly think? As she pondered that mind set, the idea of vengeance that would see one man kill another to seek justice for a wrong doing, or to even the score of some imaginary tabulation, the entire lists let up a collective gasp and she saw Edward jump. Startled, she turned to see that David was now lying face-down in the mud as his enemy, Dennis, pushed his head down into the slop.
Panic filled her. Without thinking, Emilie started to crawl between the fence slats with the intention of running to David’s aid. It was clear that Dennis was trying to kill him as well and she could not stand by and watch that happen. She would not stand by. But the moment she moved, Edward grabbed her and refused to let her go any further.
“Nay, my lady,” he hissed. “Look – look at Leeton and Brick!”
Emilie stopped fighting him as her gaze sought out what he was describing. She could see Brickley and one of the big de Lohr knights rushing to David’s aid. Brickley took on Dennis while the other knight pulled David out of the slop. Brickley, however, was kicked by Dennis and he fell to the ground as the de Lohr knight held David, who was clearly not moving, and tried to bring him around. Dennis stumbled around, his arms raised in victory to a politely applauding crowd, leaving three downed knights in his wake.
After that, Emilie didn’t see much of anything else. All s
he knew was that David was injured and must be tended to. She could think of nothing else.
“Bring David to me,” she told Edward, throwing an arm in the direction of the field, pointing. “This foolish competition is over. Bring David to me so that I may tend his injuries, of which I am sure there are many. Do you have a physic with you?”
Edward realized he was being very firmly ordered about. He didn’t contest her, though; after what they’d seen, he didn’t blame her for being upset.
“The physic is with David’s brother, I believe,” he said. “I will have the soldiers take you back to David’s tent and bring you what you need in order to tend him.”
With that, he motioned to a few of the men to take the lady back to the encampment. Emilie was escorted back to the de Lohr tents by twelve de Lohr soldiers but she kept turning around to see if David was moving under his own power or if he was being carried off the field. From what she could see, he was being carried off but she soon lost sight of him by the time they entered the encampment. Then, her focus turned to what she needed in order to tend the man.
A man who had fought so bravely against men who were trying to kill him. A prince who was trying to kill him, who had very nearly killed his brother. David de Lohr and men like him were in a league of their own, fighting for good and justice in an England that was shrouded in greed and darkness. She didn’t even care that he didn’t win the mass competition, or that he didn’t win any game in this tournament. To her, he was beyond such things. He was too great to be considered with the rabble.
It was this man she would tend and make well and, God willing, she would never leave his side.
This man with the heart of steel.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
David was first aware of someone very carefully swabbing his face. He came in and out of consciousness, and back in again, and now someone was literally picking out his nose. It was uncomfortable. He snorted. He began to grow more lucid, in a misty dreamland where he could hear voices as if they were at an end of a tunnel, but then his last memories began pouring into his mind and he was suddenly in the fight for his life again. He began swinging again, fighting, and he heard a female yelp as several strong hands held him down.