Love Everlasting, page 24
In such a dangerous situation the children needed to be kept indoors and protected, and this duty Blenda and Linnet had undertaken. Julianna granted them the use of two empty guest rooms located high in the keep near the nursery. There the two women gathered all of the children, those who belonged to the village as well as the castle.
“Surely, they will be safe there,” Linnet said to Julianna. “My mother and I will guard them with our very lives.”
Fearing the day would come when the young ones would require a sturdier protector, Julianna besought William for a single man-at-arms to stand guard.
“You may use Baldwin,” William said after only a moment’s thought. “He is the oldest of the men-at-arms and he took an arrow in his thigh on the third day of the siege. It’s healing well enough that he’s eager to see action again, but he won’t be able to fight at full strength for at least another week.”
“Yes, I remember Baldwin,” Julianna said. “What a good idea to assign him to an important task that won’t require too much physical strength.”
Baldwin, grey of hair and beard and very tough, was not happy with his new orders. He sulked for the first few days, though he performed his duties with punctilious care.
“He is mellowing,” Alice reported to Julianna one morning. “Who would have guessed that a hardened old warrior would love children? And they love him. He has even the most rambunctious boys well under his control, which leaves the girls for Linnet. But I am worried about Blenda. The deprivations of a siege are always hardest on the old. She doesn’t look well.”
“I’ll check on her later,” Julianna promised. But then, when a fresh batch of men suffering from arrow wounds and burns presented themselves in the hall, Blenda faded from her mind.
The next day, Baldwin sought her out.
“You’d best come now, my lady,” the man-at-arms said in a tone that permitted no delay. “Old Blenda is having difficulty breathing, and I don’t think she ought to be with the children. I told her to go to bed, but she won’t listen to me, nor to Linnet, either. I fear she’s developed lung fever. I’ve seen it before.”
So had Julianna seen lung fever. Sometimes called the old man’s friend because it led to a speedy and peaceful death, it was the ailment that had finally taken the life of Deane of Craydon, carrying him off before the painful chronic disease from which he had suffered for years could kill him.
When Julianna followed Baldwin up the stairs to the nursery, she found Blenda seated on a stool with her back against the wall. The elderly woman’s face was pale save for the red flush on each cheek that bespoke a high fever. Her skin was hot and dry. More significantly, her breathing was shallow and harsh.
Julianna recognized the fatal symptoms at once and when her gaze met Baldwin’s, she saw that he, too, understood that Blenda did not have long to live. In Blenda’s condition Julianna saw the beginnings of the various diseases that would race through the castle, felling the weak and elderly first, then the very young and, finally, the strong warriors. The besiegers needed only to wait until hunger and illness made the castle an easy prize for them to take.
Meanwhile, Baldwin began to deal with the immediate practicalities.
“She’s been sleeping there,” he said, pointing to a narrow cot that was pushed into a corner of the room. “If we pile cushions behind her back so she can sit up, that will help her breathing a little. She cannot stay on that stool until the end.”
“No, of course not,” Julianna agreed. “Lift her onto the cot. I’ll roll up a pallet so she can lean against that until I find some extra pillows. Where is Linnet?”
“With the children.” Baldwin scooped Blenda into his arms and with careful gentleness deposited her on the cot. Then he headed for the door. “I’ll take over for Linnet, so she can be here.”
“Thank you, Baldwin.” Julianna was so preoccupied with Blenda that she scarcely noticed when the man-at-arms left. Still, she was not surprised to see one of the kitchen boys come through the door a short time later, carrying a scoop filled with charcoal for the brazier. The nursery was already comfortably warm, but Baldwin apparently understood the need to maintain a steady heat for Blenda’s sake. Linnet arrived soon after.
“She refused to eat this morning,” Linnet said, moving with a quick step to the edge of the cot, where she sat and took her mother’s thin hand in both of hers. “Baldwin says you agree with him that it’s lung fever.”
“Aye,” Blenda whispered before Julianna could speak. “I know it. I won’t keep ye from yer daily work for long, my lady.”
“Oh, Blenda.” Julianna sat next to Linnet and put an arm around her shoulders, feeling how they shook with repressed grief. “You and Linnet have been such a help to us, especially during this dreadful siege.”
“Ye’ll take care of Linnet after I’m gone?” Blenda asked.
“I promise I will, and Royce will back my promise.” Julianna saw no reason to deny what they all knew would soon happen. “Linnet is welcome to stay here in the castle, and she will always have useful work.”
“That’s all right, then. I cannot ask for more.” Blenda coughed, but she gave Julianna a weak smile. “Linnet will care for yer babe when it comes.”
“You know? How wise you are. And how good you’ve been to the children.” Julianna took Blenda’s hot, withered hand. “You will want a few moments alone with Linnet. Would you like me to find Father Aymon?”
“Aye.” Blenda coughed again, harder this time.
“I’ll send him right away,” Julianna promised. “Then I’ll stop in the kitchen for some warm broth to ease your throat.”
“Don’t waste good food on me,” Blenda whispered. “Not now. Give it to the children.”
Julianna had just stepped out of the nursery and had paused to wipe away a tear when Father Aymon arrived.
“Baldwin sent one of the boys to fetch me,” the priest explained.
Blenda died an hour later, confessed, shriven, and at peace, with her daughter holding her hand. Linnet and Julianna washed her and wrapped her in the shroud that Father Aymon provided from his supply. Then, since all the other men were occupied on the castle walls or lying wounded in the great hall, Baldwin lifted the frail weight in his brawny arms and carried Blenda down to the crypt. Julianna, Alice, Linnet, and most of the children followed, to cluster just outside the entrance where the air was cleaner, while Father Aymon recited a prayer for the repose of Blenda’s soul.
“We are fast running out of space,” Father Aymon said to Julianna after the others had departed. “If the siege doesn’t end soon, the only place remaining that’s cool enough to receive this sad storage will be the cold room where the milk, cheeses, and butter are kept. It is all but empty, now.”
“We cannot use the cold room, lest the stream that cools it is befouled by the bodies,” Julianna protested. “Before the siege is over, we may need to drink that water.”
“Then, let us pray that Michael has found Lord Royce,” the priest said, heading for the chapel to do just that. “And pray that Royce comes to relieve us before many more souls perish from hunger or wounds or sickness.”
“Don’t worry about the children, my lady,” Baldwin said to Julianna later. “I’ll see to them. I’ll keep Linnet busy with them, too, which is the best thing for her just now. I have delegated some of the older boys and girls to help care for the younger ones. You and Lady Alice may tend to the wounded without worrying over the children. Leave them to me.”
Julianna trusted Baldwin. Even so, she did check on the children from time to time, fearing that the confinement necessary for their protection would lead to misbehavior. She discovered that they were remarkably well behaved under Baldwin’s firm supervision. Even Alice’s wild older son sat quietly to listen to Baldwin’s tale of a war waged during his youth.
Baldwin was kind to Linnet, too. Several times in the next few days Julianna saw him with an arm across Linnet’s shoulders and Linnet resting her head against his chest while she wept. Baldwin did not seem to mind Linnet’s homely face or her reddened and swollen eyes. Seeing his tenderness toward the grieving young woman, Julianna found her heart lightening until she was able to smile.
* * * * *
The besiegers had brought up a new machine. Unable to break through the double, iron-reinforced main gate with stones hurled from the mangonel, they cut down a large tree and proceeded to turn it into a battering ram by suspending it on ropes from a wooden frame. The frame was covered with animal skins that afforded protection to the men who were to work the ram.
“Those are the skins of Wortham cattle, the beasts the villagers didn’t have time to herd into the bailey,” William exclaimed in disgust. “We can smell the meat roasting on their spits, while we starve. Damn them all to perdition!”
“How do they imagine they can approach the gate?” Julianna asked, staring down at the moat that, thanks to the recent rains, was nearly overflowing its banks.
“They will sacrifice Wortham Forest. Royce’s trees mean nothing to them. Do you see there?” William pointed to a group of men who were dragging toward the moat what looked like a long, narrow raft. “Those are trees from the forest, cut down and split into logs, then bound together to make a movable bridge. They have plenty of rocks to support it. They’ve saved every rock and stone they’ve stumbled over since they first set up their camp. They’ll dump the rocks into the moat to make a rough road, then run the bridge across, position the battering ram on top, and use the ram to break down the gates. I am surprised they haven’t tried it before this.”
“Will they succeed?” Julianna asked from a throat suddenly gone dry with apprehension.
“In time, they will,” William answered. “Not much time, either. The gates have been weakened by all the stones hurled against them. As soon as Kenric’s people mount a direct assault on the gates, I want everyone who’s not a fighting man moved into the keep. When I give the order, you are to bar the keep door and not open it for any reason.”
“Except to let you and your men inside,” Julianna corrected him.
“No,” William declared stoutly. “Not even for us. Now, don’t argue with me, and do not, under any circumstances, tell Alice what I plan. Royce has put me in charge of the castle defenses, so in this you must obey me, my lady.”
Julianna saw his pleasant features hardened by valiant courage and by his concern for all the people inside the castle walls, whose welfare was entrusted to him. And it occurred to her, not for the first time, that William’s mild manners disguised a remarkably brave man. So she offered the thought that came to her mind in a flash of hope.
“Why are they are in such a great hurry?” she asked. “They must know that all they have to do is wait, and eventually we will be forced to surrender or die.”
“We will never surrender,” William stated firmly. “You and I agreed to that on the first day of the siege.”
“True, but they don’t know what we agreed. They have no reason to believe we won’t surrender. Is it possible that they fear we will be relieved before they can starve us out?”
“Let us hope,” William said, a faint smile curving his mouth, “that Kenric and his fellow conspirators are quaking in their boots with fear over exactly that possibility.”
Chapter 16
As Royce and his company drew nearer to Wortham the outriders who were patrolling in advance of their route captured four men. They bound their prisoners and brought them into that evening’s camp, where they handed them over to Cadwallon. Royce joined the little group, keeping his cloak wrapped around himself so he was unlikely to be recognized.
As he expected, Cadwallon was most enthusiastic in questioning the captives and it was soon learned that they were assigned to report back to the besiegers on any group of warriors who approached Wortham with the apparent intention of lifting the siege.
“The road from the south and and the one from the west are both watched day and night,” one of the captives revealed after Cadwallon, with a fiendish grin, threatened to cut his throat. “My lords Othmar and Edmund, along with Sir Kenric, agree that those are the directions to expect relief to come from, since Lord Royce is at Northampton.”
“What now, my lord?” asked Cadwallon, turning to Royce with a wink that the prisoner could not see. “Shall I kill him, or not?”
“He may yet prove useful,” Royce said, falling in with Cadwallon’s bloodthirsty pretense. “Let him live, for now. “Keep all of the prisoners under close guard, and keep them separated, so they can’t talk to each other.”
Based on what he had just learned, Royce decided that the best way to approach Wortham was through the concealing forest. They set out early the next morning, keeping well away from the road. Since Royce was thoroughly familiar with his own lands he quickly noticed how many trees had been cut down. There were wide areas where chopped-off branches lay strewn across the forest floor and where all the fresh green growth of springtime was trampled and crushed. In those denuded places the birds that usually nested in the trees were missing and no cheerful songs heralded news of insects or juicy worms found in the fields where crops ought to be sprouting. Nor did Royce see any sign of deer or rabbits or any other animals. He guessed they had been eaten by the besiegers, or else frightened away to the undisturbed areas.
Against his son, Arden’s, cautionary advice, Royce rode ahead of his men, to the very edge of the forest to see for himself what damage had been wrought upon castle and village. After signalling their own men to stay out of sight Arden, Braedon, and Cadwallon joined him, with Michael following close behind. No alarm was given. No one noticed them, for the besieging forces were busy.
Wortham Village was almost completely destroyed. Once a delightful place of well maintained cottages with thatched roofs and individual gardens, in the previous springtime the village had shown at its very best as the site of a fair held in conjunction with a great tournament at the castle. Now those same cottages were burned to the ground, presumably to eliminate any hope of shelter for the villagers or for men who came to relieve the siege. Only a few of the most sturdy walls remained standing.
The farmland surrounding the village was ruined. No trace remained of any spring planting. Tents for the besiegers and pens for their horses covered most of the fields, and the river beyond the encampment ran muddy and befouled with waste.
As for the castle, Royce muttered an outraged oath when he saw the damage caused to the south wall by the mangonel, which continued to hammer away at the wall as he stared at it. A narrow aperture had been blasted through the stone. It was as yet too small to admit anyone larger than a young child, and the opening led only to the outer bailey.
A second mangonel sat unused at one side of the road that led to the main gates. The castle drawbridge had been demolished. The main gates, made of oak planks a foot thick and reinforced with iron straps and heavy iron hinges, had been battered until the hinges were pulled loose from the wood and the gates gave way under the force of the assault.
Royce knew it wouldn’t take long to force the inner gatehouse, which boasted a single strong gate, and from there the invaders would pour into the inner bailey. They had only paused in their onslaught to allow their dead, wounded, and injured to be carried away, so they’d have more space to accommodate those men who were fit to fight.
From the number of men being dragged or assisted across the makeshift movable bridge thrown over the moat, it was clear to Royce that the defenders had made good use of the murder holes above the main gates. Once the attackers had advanced as far as the inside of the gatehouse they no longer enjoyed the benefit of the hides that covered the framework of the battering ram. Without that protection they were open to danger from well aimed arrows, heavy stones, or boiling water or oil.
“We don’t have much time,” Cadwallon said. He sat his horse at Royce’s left side, and the usually pleasant lines of his face showed hard in the golden light of early evening. “They won’t stop at nightfall, not when they are so close to victory. They’ll soon have the inner gate smashed to splinters.”
“True,” Royce agreed. Then, taking heart from the other observations he had made, he went on, “They are overconfident. For the moment at least, they are entirely concerned with getting into the castle. I see no guards posted to repulse an attack, which tells me that no one has yet missed the men-at-arms we captured. They probably have no idea that we are so close.
“Arden, Braedon,” he said to his son and son-in-law, “take your men west of the village. Cadwallon, lead your men south and destroy that cursed mangonel. All of you are experienced in battle and you are familiar with the land around here. You know where best to conceal your men and which striking angle will offer the greatest advantage, so I leave the exact manner of your attacks to you.
“I will strike directly at the castle gates,” he told his companions. “You have one hour to make your dispositions. Attack when you hear the trumpet I’ve entrusted to Brian. We will meet again in the great hall.
“Michael, now is the time to use the hourglass I told you to bring along.”
From his saddlebag Michael produced the hourglass, which he turned over to start the sand running. Royce watched the others move away through the trees to rejoin their waiting men. As soon as Cadwallon was gone Michael rode up to sit next to him, holding the glass in a steady hand.
As always, waiting for the battle to begin was the most difficult part of warfare. Royce tried to be patient, knowing he dared not reveal his position until the divisions of his hastily formed army of relief were all in place. He trusted his companions implicitly, and he knew the men they commanded were well trained and eager for the fray. But as the soft, early evening breeze carried to his ears the sounds of continued fighting in the outer bailey, he found it was more and more difficult to resist the urge to action.
