The height and shape of the opening allowed the enemy the room to only get two ladders up at a time. Dennis, Riston, and Clive were waiting for them, punching men in the face and shoving the ladders back so that they toppled over and fell on the men waiting to mount them. This went on for quite some time as arrows continued to rain over head, pummeling the occupants of the castle, including those villagers huddled in the inner bailey.
People had been gravely injured by the flaming arrows. Some had their garments lit on fire and a few had been killed by the arrow and then set afire, burnt to cinder. People were screaming, running to the keep and pounding on the door, begging to be admitted. The soldiers inside the keep kept the door barred in spite of the pleas, listening to the hell taking place outside. It was a horrific situation.
Ryan and Lyla were in Ryan’s bower, watching the terrible scene below. There was nowhere for the villagers to run and they made easy prey out in the open for Miguel’s arrows. They were aghast at what they were witnessing; so many people dead or injured, and those who were still whole were begging admission to the keep. It was a massive bastion and would easily be able to shield them, but Dennis had forbid it. The more Ryan saw, the more incensed she became by a seemingly heartless order.
“All of those people,” she said sadly. “They are all going to be killed.”
Lyla watched the scene with both fear and anguish. “Dennis told you that Miguel would not attack the castle,” she said. “Do you suppose he could actually breach the castle and… and conquer us?”
Lyla was working herself up into a fearful state. Ryan shook her head. “Nay,” she said confidently. “Dennis is a fine warrior. He will not let that happen. Remember that Launceston tried for years and years to conquer St. Austell and never could. A pirate will not be able to accomplish what my father and Uncle Richard could not.”
Lyla wasn’t entirely convinced as she watched the fighting down below. Certainly, she had been involved in sieges in the past when Launceston had been on the receiving end of a St. Austell barrage, but it was quite different being caged inside a keep that was not on the top of very tall motte. They were on ground level, looking down at the panicked, the injured, and the dead. It was the reality of war on an entirely new level and she was sickened by it.
“I cannot see what is happening in the outer bailey,” Lyla ventured, craning her neck to try and see what she could. “Do you suppose the knights are well?”
Ryan looked at her cousin, a knowing gleam to her eye. “Do I suppose Riston is well?”
Lyla flushed deeply and averted her gaze. “I was just wondering how they might be faring.”
Ryan fought off a grin. “I am sure they are fine,” she said. “If anything had happened to Dennis, they would have told me right away. I am sure Riston is doing well also.”
Lyla looked at her, then. “Are you not worried for your husband?”
Ryan’s grin faded. “Of course I am,” she said. “But nothing can happen to him.”
“Why not?”
Ryan started to get agitated. “Why must you ask such foolish questions?” she demanded. “I have spent the past several hours telling myself that my husband will come through this unscathed. Nothing can happen to him, do you hear? Not now when Launceston and St Austell are at peace and we have found strength and… and fondness in each other. Nothing must happen to him!”
Lyla watched the woman closely, noting her anxious movements. “Fondness?” she asked softly. “Do you love him?”
Ryan stopped in mid-fuss. She looked at Lyla with a wide-eyed look of both surprise and realization. After a moment, she nodded her head.
“I think I do,” she whispered. “It makes my heart sing simply to look upon him and when he speaks, I hear angels in his voice. I cannot describe it better than that. He makes me feel as if I am floating on a sea of joy. Everything about him brings me joy.”
Lyla smiled. “He feels the same way.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I can tell when he looks at you. Everything about him changes when he looks at you.”
Ryan returned her smile, timidly, and they clasped hands. “So, you see,” she whispered. “Nothing can happen to him. Not now, just when we have found one another.”
Lyla squeezed her hand encouragingly and they found their attention once again drawn to the suffering below. The clouds that had been so heavy most of the day were now starting to let forth their water, and a gentle rain began to fall. It was enough to knock out the fires that had been started by the flaming arrows, but it was adding to the misery of those injured and sick.
The pirates, realizing that their flaming arrows would no longer be effective, took to shooting non-flaming arrows over the walls. The hail of arrows wasn’t nearly as heavy as it had been earlier in the siege, but there were still deadly projectiles raining down. People were still scrambling for safety and they were still banging on the door of the keep, begging to be let in. Ryan and Lyla watched for a short while longer before Ryan abruptly stood up.
“I cannot stand by and watch these people suffer any longer,” she said. “Rouse Patrizia. Tell her we are going to bring the wounded into the keep and that we need her help.”
Lyla jumped up as Ryan rushed to one of her trunks and began pulling out something more durable to wear. She began tossing garments around frantically as she searched.
“You said that Dennis told you not to open the keep,” Lyla reminded her somewhat frantically. “What if the pirates breach the inner bailey? If the keep is open, they will come in and kill us!”
Ryan quickly unlaced her surcoat and pulled it over her head. A plain white shift lay beneath, one she quickly covered up with a broadcloth surcoat the color of a cranberry.
“They will not breach the inner bailey,” she said steadily. “Dennis and his men will stop them. Lyla, you will help, too. There are many that will need assistance.”
Lyla had helped tend wounded before. It was part of the life at Launceston and she was therefore not squeamish at the thought. But she was squeamish about disobeying Dennis, fearful that he would send her back to Launceston for her disobedience. He had threatened to do it once before. She didn’t want to chance it.
“Ryan, please,” she begged. “Dennis said we should stay here with the door bolted. If we….”
Ryan turned on her, abruptly cutting her off. “There are many wounded,” she scolded. “I am finished lounging around while so much misery goes on around me. Come with me or remain here. It is all the same to me.”
“But you cannot! Dennis told you to stay to the keep!”
“He also said Miguel would not attack the castle but he was wrong. I intend to help the wounded no matter what he says.”
With that, she turned her back on her cousin and, snatching a kerchief from her dressing table, rushed to the door. Throwing the panel open, she tied the kerchief around her head to keep her hair out of her eyes as she rushed for the loft where Patrizia and her girls were lying down on the massive bed that had once supported Rodrick d’Vant.
Patrizia, hearing the footsteps, was already sitting up as Ryan, with Lyla skittering after her, entered from the corridor. It was dark in the loft with only a small taper to light the vast space. Ryan finished with her kerchief and began tying off her surcoat as she entered the loft and approached the bed.
“There are many wounded in the inner bailey,” Ryan told Patrizia as she quickly fumbled with the dress. “I am going to have the soldiers bring the wounded into the great hall where we may tend them. Will you help me?”
Patrizia nodded eagerly. “Of course, my lady.”
“Excellent,” Ryan said decisively. “We have been watching from the windows. It seems like there are a good many people in need of assistance. As Lady of St. Austell, it is my duty to help them.”
There was no arguing with her, for it was clear her mind was made up. Finished with her dress, she turned around and headed for the staircase with Patrizia and Lyla struggling to
keep pace. They made their way down into the great hall where Ryan sent Lyla off to gather the servants and have them begin preparing the room for wounded. Fires needed to be stoked and water put on to boil.
When Lyla ran off, Ryan headed straight for the keep entry. Several soldiers were gathered there, their attention mostly drawn to the small lancet window flanking the door so that they could see what was happening outside. The window was too small for a man to pass through. They noticed too late that Lady d’Vant had walked up behind them and thrown the bolt to the entry door. The moment she did so, the crush of people from the other side shoved the door open so violently that it nearly smashed her.
Startled, the soldiers had their hands full trying to keep people out of the keep as Ryan began to shout to them to bring the wounded in. Most heard what she was saying but more children than wounded ended up being brought into the keep even as the soldiers tried to shut the door on them. Ryan screamed at them as the attempted to shut the panel, shoving it open and waving in some of the wounded.
It was a chaotic scene as terrified people pushed into the keep. No matter how hard Ryan tried, there was little to no organization. Patrizia and Lyla, inside the great hall, began directing people into groups to at least have some order to the chaos. The wounded were placed near the fire pit and the children were grouped over near the southern wall.
Ryan wouldn’t admit that it was worse than she had imagined. She was still convinced she had done the right thing by opening the keep to the wounded, but it seemed that the fearful villagers swarmed the keep just as Dennis said they would. With the rain, the muck, and the blood, the great hall quickly turned into an unholy mess. Ryan and the soldiers at the door tried to keep out the terrified, while only admitting the injured, as Patrizia and Lyla began tending those in need. They did the best they could, but it wasn’t enough. Disorder had been introduced to the heart of St. Austell, and Ryan knew it was her fault.
She knew Dennis would be furious. She tried not to think on it. Her intentions were good, she knew that, and she still held hope that the situation was salvageable. Standing at the door with the soldiers, she saw a young boy trying to bring his injured mother up the steps and she rushed out to help. The rain had grown worse and the wooden steps were slippery. As she eased the wounded woman up the steps, she took a moment to look around, seeing the destruction of the inner ward. It was worse than she had imagined.
The gates that separated the outer from the inner wards were still secured, however. She thought she could see some fighting in the outer ward form her vantage point on the top of the steps but she couldn’t be sure. As someone came out to help her with the wounded mother, she paused at the top of the slippery steps, shielding her eyes from the rain, straining to catch a glimpse of her husband. She thought she might have seen him on the wall by the gatehouse but she couldn’t be sure. She hoped he was well. And those were the last thoughts she had before something horrible, powerful, and painful slammed into her body.
The next thing Ryan realized, she was lying on her back staring up at the black night sky. Rain was falling, hitting her in the face. She could hear shouting all around and men grabbing her, pulling her into the keep. She truthfully had no idea what had happened until she heard Lyla scream.
Even then, she still didn’t know what had happened to her but lacked the strength to ask. She couldn’t seem to make her mouth work. She had a very strange floating sensation. It was odd, really. She remembered thinking how very peculiar it was before her mind went blank and everything around her faded to black.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Dennis would have come himself, but you must understand that Lady d’Vant’s injury requires that he remain at her side,” Riston said. “He has sent me in his stead to explain to you what has happened and request assistance.”
In Richard’s lavish solar, Riston stood looking weary and beaten. Seated behind him with a cup of warmed mead in hand, Lyla wept softly as Thomas stood next to her, genuinely distressed. Riston and Lyla had appeared not half an hour earlier telling tales of sieges and pirates and grave injuries. It was overwhelming information that both Thomas and Richard were still trying to grasp.
“What happened to my daughter?” Thomas demanded. “You have said she was injured in the siege. How was she injured?”
Riston turned to look at him; he’d been in battle for two solid days and then in the saddle, riding to Launceston for another two days and part of a night. He couldn’t seriously remember the last time he slept and was verging on collapse. As a result, his patience was thin and his manner edgy.
“We were under siege from Miguel the Pirate,” he said, omitting ‘my lord’ because he was simply too tired to care. “Lady d’Vant, against her husband’s wishes, was assisting the wounded and was struck by an arrow in the process.”
Thomas went weak in the knees. “Where was she struck?”
“In the chest,” Riston said, his voice quieting. “We have had no physic since the assault on St. Austell by Launceston forces two months ago. Our surgeon was killed. Dennis sent for a surgeon in Falmouth. The man was arriving just as I was departing. I do not know the current condition of Lady d’Vant.”
Thomas’ legs would not support him any longer; he sank into the nearest chair, his features a mask of grief. Beside him, Lyla sobbed softly.
“She was only trying to help,” she wept.
Thomas turned to Lyla, tears in his eyes. “Were you with her when it happened?” he asked. “Where in her chest was she struck?”
Lyla pointed to a spot just above the right breast. “Here,” she said. “The arrow went deep. Dennis had to remove it himself and plug the hole. He… he wept the entire time.”
Thomas looked at her, shocked. “And Ryan? Was she in great pain?”
Lyla shook her head. “She was not conscious,” she told him. “She is in no pain.”
“Is she still unconscious?”
Lyla nodded. “She was when we left.”
Thomas stared at his niece a moment longer before rising unsteadily from the chair. He wandered to the lancet window that overlooked the bailey, anguish swelling in his chest.
“That was almost four days ago,” he muttered. “So much could have happened since then. So… much.”
As Thomas wallowed in grief, Richard, who had thus far sat silently through the exchange, spoke quietly.
“Are you sure it was Miguel?” he asked. “He is usually in southern waters this time of year.”
Riston nodded wearily. “It was him,” he said. “We saw his ships in the bay, all four of them. He came with hundreds of men, ravaged the city, and very nearly overran the castle. His men managed to breach the outer bailey and we spent many hours fighting them in the dead of night, but when the sun rose, they suddenly retreated.”
Richard pondered the information. “Why do you suppose they left? Why did they not finish what they started?”
Riston sighed heavily. “They suffered heavy losses, my lord,” he replied. “That is the only explanation that makes any sense.”
Richard thought on that, on the men he had loaned Miguel to accomplish the deed. They were Launceston men dressed as pirates and not to be recognized by those at St. Austell. He wondered how many men he had lost in the battle, frustrated in more ways than one at Riston’s tale. Certainly, he was quite upset over Ryan’s injury. It wasn’t supposed to happen; that had not been a part of his plan.
“Did they weigh anchor and leave the bay?” Richard asked after a moment.
Riston nodded. “The ships left quickly. I suppose they did not want to give us the opportunity to retaliate.”
So Miguel had fled. Richard was furious about it but he kept his composure. He was furious about a great many things at the moment. Rising, he moved to the pitcher of wine and poured himself a measure into a fine pewter cup.
“What state is St. Austell in?” he asked.
Riston accepted the cup of wine that the earl was extending to him. “In terrible shape
, my lord,” he said, smacking his lips after a long drink. “Our northern wall was already weakened after our most recent bout with Launceston and Miguel’s attack weakened it further. Several of our out buildings, including the stables, were burned. Because Miguel burned and looted the town, the villagers sought refuge in the castle and overran the keep. Great damage was done. My lord, we are in desperate need.”
Richard had poured himself a cup of wine, now listening impassively to Riston’s plea. “What can we do?”
“Send us supplies,” Riston said without hesitation. “Food and feed for our horses. Building material such as wood and thatch because our stables must be rebuilt. Men to help us rebuild because our men are weary and beaten. Anything you can send us would be gratefully accepted.”
Richard thought on the request. “We will send what we can,” he said, already thinking about how much he was not going to send them. “For now, I am sure you are weary and would like to rest.”
Riston shrugged. “Although I would like to, I must return as soon as I can. Dennis is in great need of me.”
Richard waved him off. “Rest first,” he insisted. “You will kill yourself if you try to return to St. Austell in your condition. Lyla, please take the knight to Ryan’s room. He may rest there.”
Lyla, sniffling, obediently rose from her chair and moved to the chamber door. Riston set down his wine and wearily followed. Once they were outside in the keep entry, Lyla took Riston by the hand.
“I will show you,” she said softly.
Riston pulled her to a stop just as they came to the narrow spiral stairs that led to the upper chambers. It was so very dark and so very close in Launceston’s small keep, made for miniature people as far as Riston was concerned. But it was quite pleasing when one wanted to be close to another person, as he wanted to be close to Lyla. When she came to a stop and looked at him inquisitively, he cupped her face in his big hands and smiled at her.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 141
