Ironhand

by Hilary Green

  Their first day's ride passed without incident. The floor of the valley was thickly wooded, with trees Ranulph recognised as sweet chestnuts, and from time to time they passed groups of women foraging among the leaf litter for the last nuts. Above them, the hills rose in sharp peaks, each one crowned with a cluster of dwellings and the ramparts of a castle. Beyond that, the mountains proper closed in the skyline.

  Towards noon the following day they came to a place where a tributary tumbled down the hillside to join the river. At the confluence of the two was a ford; and on the far side of the ford stood a cluster of armed horsemen. Leofric drew rein and shouted across the distance.

  'We are travelling to join the forces of the Emperor. We mean you no harm. Let us pass.'

  He spoke in French, which seemed the most likely language to be understood, but the reply came back in a tongue no one recognised. It's aggressive import was left in no doubt, however. Leofric tried again, in English and Flemish, but with the same result. Then a man was pulled forward on the opposing side, and in broken French repeated his leader's demands.

  'You in land of our lord, Count Massimo. He say you pay tribute if you wish to cross.'

  'To hell with that!' Leofric growled. 'Come on. That's enough talking.'

  He urged his horse into the stream and the rest followed at a canter. Their impetus carried them up onto the further bank but there they were brought to a halt by a determined resistance and swords flashed as battle was joined. Ranulph, being unarmed, had intended to stay on their own side of the stream, but Silver was trained to battle and had no intention of being left out. In a few strides she carried him into the middle of the mêlée. For a breathless moment he was in the midst of a whirling mass of blades, then Silver reared up, striking out with her front feet, and he fell off. He scrambled to his knees, surrounded by trampling hooves, and looked up to see a man on a black horse charging at him, sword upraised. He twisted away and felt a hand grab his shoulder and Hildred's voice shouted, 'Up! Mount behind me!' Ranulph seized the back of the saddle to pull himself up, but at that moment another opponent struck Hildred's shield with his lance and toppled him from his horse. He fell hard, and lay apparently insensible, his sword fallen from his hand. Without pause for thought, Ranulph grabbed it and as he looked up he saw that the man had wheeled his horse and was riding in to deal the killing blow to his fallen enemy. As the horse reached him Ranulph thrust upwards from a crouching position, using his body like a spring, and the point of the sword went in under the edge of the attacker's brigandine with the whole of Ranulph's upward momentum behind it. The man dropped his lance and sagged backwards out of the saddle, almost dragging the weapon out of Ranulph's grasp.

  The riderless horse cantered away and Ranulph turned to see Hildred trying to struggle to his feet. At the same moment, a new attacker, on foot this time, was advancing on him, seeing an easy kill. With a leap Ranulph set himself astride the body of his friend and engaged the other man's sword. It seemed a long time since his last practice bout with Alberik but the lessons were ingrained in his muscles and he reacted instinctively, parrying and thrusting, parrying again, feinting and lunging. His opponent's strokes grew wilder and Ranulph gasped as the tip of his blade ripped across his chest, tearing the fabric of his tunic and drawing blood; but the movement had left the other man off balance and the sudden pain gave Ranulph a new impetus. He slashed downwards and saw the other man's expression change to blank amazement as his hand was severed from his arm. For a second he stood staring at the stump from which blood was pumping. Then, quite slowly, he sank to the ground.

  Ranulph looked around him, panting, and realised that the fight was over. There were bodies on the ground, some still, others writhing in pain. Hooves clattered as the remaining assailants galloped for safety. All around him, men of his own company were sheathing weapons and catching up stray horses.

  A hand grasped his arm and he whirled round to find Hildred on his feet.

  'Mine, I think,' he said, holding out his hand.

  Ranulph looked down at the sword he held. Reluctantly, he reversed it and offered the hilt to Hildred. 'Sorry.'

  Hildred exploded into a snort of laughter. 'Sorry! You're sorry? By Christ, you just saved my life. What are you sorry for?'

  'I mean, using your sword. I don't have one …'

  Hildred bent and picked something up from the ground at his feet. 'You do now.'

  He was holding out the sword dropped from the hand Ranulph had just severed. Ranulph gazed from it to his face. 'I can't, can I?'

  'Of course you can. It's the spoils of war.' Then as Ranulph looked round uncertainly, 'The man's dead, Ranulph. And the other one. You accounted for two of them and their arms and armour now belong to you.'

  'And rightly so!' Leofric had joined them. 'Why did you never tell me that you knew how to use a sword?'

  'I didn't … I couldn't see how … when I didn't have one,' Ranulph mumbled.

  'That could have been remedied. But anyway, you have one now. Two in fact.' He picked up the weapon dropped by Ranulph's first assailant and inspected it. 'This is the better blade, I fancy.' He stopped and looked sharply at Ranulph. 'You are bleeding. Where are you wounded?'

  Ranulph looked down at the front of his tunic and saw it was red with blood. Hildred swore under his breath and ripped the fabric away to expose a long cut. 'A flesh wound only, thank God. It will heal, but we need to staunch the blood.' He looked round. 'Paega! Over here.'

  The cook had kept out of the battle but now he limped over carrying a bag, from which he produced a strip of clean linen which he bound, with a dexterity that surprised Ranulph, around his chest. Meanwhile, Hildred was stripping the two fallen men.

  'Here, Little Wolf. You need some protection if you're going to get involved in the fighting. Try this on.'

  'Little Wolf'. It was the literal meaning of his name but no one had ever called him that before. Ranulph recognised with a glow of pride that being given a nickname was another sign that he was accepted. Hildred was holding out the leather brigandine the first man had been wearing and Ranulph let him slip it over his shoulders. 'It's heavy!' he said.

  'It's a good piece. It's lucky your blade went up underneath it. You would never have pierced it.' He stood back and looked him over, nodding. 'That's better. Now all you need is a helmet.' The second man's helmet proved to be a better fit. Ranulph put it on and Hildred handed him a fallen shield and grinned. 'Now you're properly equipped, I shall want you as my shield man in the next battle.'

  He held out his hand and Ranulph took it, with a swelling heart.

  Leofric had called the rest of the men together. 'Have we any casualties?'

  'Nothing worse than scratches and bruises,' Paega reported.

  'What about the enemy?'

  'Five dead, two wounded,' Everwin said. 'One of those is not likely to last long.'

  'Can the other one talk?'

  'Oh yes, he can talk all right.'

  A small man with dark, matted hair and a blood-soaked right sleeve was dragged forward. It was the one who had addressed them in such execrable French before the fight. Leofric frowned down at him. 'You are Count Massimo's man, yes?'

  'Yes,' the little man answered hoarsely. 'Please, seigneur, no meant harm. But orders...'

  'Does this Count require tribute from all who pass this way?'

  'Yes, seigneur.'

  'Pilgrims, as well as ordinary travellers?'

  'Everyone.'

  'And where does this robber count reside? Where is his stronghold?'

  'Up.' The prisoner jerked his head towards the rocky peaks above them.

  By craning his neck Ranulph could just make out a cluster of buildings perched at the top of a steep crag.

  'Is he well defended? How many men at arms does he have?'

  The prisoner hesitated, screwing up his eyes. 'Not so many.' He looked around him. 'Some dead now.'

  'And the rest on their way back home,' Leofric commented grimly. He looked r
ound at his men. 'Well, lads. I think we should teach this robber lord to leave harmless travellers alone. What do you say?'

  He was greeted with a roar of approval. Leofric looked round him. 'Paega, you stay here and watch the mules. Alwen, that leg wound looks painful. Stay here on guard with Paega. Someone bind this fellow and tie him to a horse. The rest of you, mount up!'

  Someone had caught Silver and led her back to him. Ranulph swung himself onto her back and followed as the company set off at a canter. His pulse was beating fast and the battle fury was still with him, but it was tempered by a cold self-awareness. He could handle himself in a fight. He had killed four times now, the last twice deliberately. If he had been damned for the first death, how much difference could three more make? God, if there was a God, could strike him down at any moment; but so far he had suffered no retribution.

  It took longer to reach the village on the hilltop than they had expected. The path wound backwards and forwards as it climbed through the forest and soon they had to slow the pace to a trot, and then a walk. The sun was low by the time they came out onto the open hillside and they saw the village ahead of them. It was no more than a handful of poor cottages, built of wood and with thatched roofs, surrounded by a wooden palisade. Beyond them they could see the stone keep, set on the highest point and shielded on two sides by a precipitous drop.

  They were hardly clear of the trees before a flight of arrows sang past their ears and one of the men gave a sharp cry and clutched at his arm. Leofric wheeled his horse. 'Back! Take cover in the trees!'

  Once sheltered by the trunks he turned to the prisoner. 'You didn't tell me there were archers in the garrison.'

  'You not ask,' the man replied with a cackle, and was silenced by a sharp blow from the back of Leofric's hand.

  Turning from him, Leofric studied the palisade. 'We need to know how many there are. Watch carefully!'

  Ranulph almost cried out in protest as he spurred his horse forwards and cantered in a wide arc across the front of their position. Arrows flew over his head and struck the ground before and behind him, but he survived unhurt and dismounted again in the shelter of the trees.

  'Well?'

  'Five of them,' someone said.

  'No, I counted six,' corrected Everwin.

  'Very well. Now we need to get them to show themselves long enough to get a good shot at them. Gladwein, Hildred, you know what I'm thinking. Those of you who can shoot, ready your bows. And have fire arrows at the ready for later.'

  One of the horses captured from the enemy at the ford was led forward. Its saddle had a socket built into it in which the butt of a lance could rest. No one wanted to carry the whole weight of a weapon like that if it was not in use. Ranulph watched as Gladwein and Hildred fixed a lance in position and then draped a spare cloak over it.

  'Ready?' Leofric asked. Seven men were standing just within the tree cover, with bows at the ready and arrows nocked. 'Let her go!'

  Gladwein gave the captured horse a smart slap on the rump and sent it out into the open. Knowing where its stable was, it trotted smartly towards the gate in the palisade. Ranulph caught his breath as he understood the subterfuge. In the dying light the cloak hanging on the lance could easily be mistaken, by men whose nerves were already stretched to breaking point, for an enemy rider. He was right. Before the animal had crossed half the distance it was the target of a shower of arrows. It went down and the lance and cloak collapsed with it, but the arrows had not all flown in one direction. To shoot, the enemy had had to show themselves above the parapet and Leofric's archers knew their business. Ranulph saw at least three of them fall backwards with arrows in their chests.

  'Now! The fire arrows!' Leofric commanded.

  While their comrades had been shooting the rest had been busy. Ranulph watched in fascination. These arrows were different. Instead of a barb, each one had a small wire cage at the tip which they had filled with tow soaked in tallow. Now one man struck a spark from a flint and set fire to the first and the flame was quickly passed to the rest. The archers took them and in a moment the darkening sky was streaked with golden sparks. They soared over the palisade and fell onto the thatched roofs beyond and very quickly smoke and then flames leapt into view.

  Leofric gave the order to charge and Ranulph galloped with the rest. When they reached the gate in the palisade two men dismounted and put their shoulders against it. There was no resistance. All the inhabitants were too busy trying to quell the fires. The gates sprang open and Leofric led them inside.

  What followed was to stay in Ranulph's memory for many years. As a small child he had experienced what happened when an enemy put a village to the flames. Suddenly he was back in that hollow tree, hearing the screams, smelling the acrid stench of burning straw, trembling with fear. Now he saw the reality as Leofric's men took their revenge on the lord who had attempted to rob them. Women and children fled, screaming, from the galloping horses. Men were cut down without mercy. They charged on, until they came to the keep on its promontory. There, a small force of men was gathered around a man in full armour seated on a big horse. Swords met swords in a flurry of sparks. Ranulph had not drawn his sword as they rode through the village, but now he found himself once again fighting for his life. He yanked on the reins and Silver swerved aside just in time to avoid a thrown lance. Someone else slashed at his leg and he cut downwards and heard a scream. Another man grabbed for Silver's bridle and he leaned forward and drove his sword point into his throat. Then, quite suddenly, it was all over. Looking round, he saw that the man on the big horse was on the ground, pinned there by the shaft of a lance, and the others who remained on their feet were throwing down their swords and surrendering.

  Ranulph slid out of the saddle and discovered that his legs were shaking. Bile rose in his throat and he knew he was going to be sick. He ran to a dark corner and vomited until his stomach was empty. Then he sat with his back against the wall and closed his eyes. The noises of the aftermath of battle faded and he lost consciousness. When his head cleared again, it was dark and the space around the keep was empty except for two bodies and a stray horse. The flames from the burning buildings had subsided to a dull glow and the screaming had stopped. The village seemed eerily quiet, but from inside the keep he could hear men's voices raised in what sounded like jubilation. He dragged himself to his feet and staggered across to the half-open door. It led into the lord's hall, which was lit by torches and warmed by a large fire in the central hearth. Around it, the men of his company were sitting or lying, laughing and joking, with wine cups in their hands, while the carcass of a pig turned slowly over the flames. They were not alone. There were women in the room. Some were moving around, refilling cups or tending the fire, but every man present seemed to have at least one in his arms or on his lap. Staring round, Ranulph realised that these were the village women who had fled from them when they galloped in. Young or not so young, they were being kissed and tumbled by the men who had, in all probability, slaughtered their husbands and sons an hour earlier. Some struggled and screamed, others submitted dumbly. Not far away, Hildred was holding a plump woman by the hair and fondling her breasts with his free hand. He looked up as Ranulph entered and called out.

  'There you are! We thought you'd found yourself a juicy morsel and taken her off somewhere to keep her to yourself.'

  Leofric yelled, 'Somebody give that boy a cup of wine!' and one of the women pushed a goblet into his hand. He swallowed a large gulp and choked. Leofric stood up. 'Here, Little Wolf! I've been saving this one for you. She's the pick of the bunch and I warrant you still a virgin.'

  He shoved a slight girl with tangled black hair, clad in nothing but a torn shift, into Ranulph's arms. He jumped back in confusion and there was a chorus of jeers and shouts of encouragement from the men around him.

  'Go on, get stuck in, boy!'

  'Don't pass up a chance like this!'

  'You know what to do with her, don't you?'

  To his amazement, the gi
rl threw herself against him and clung to him. He could feel her trembling, her slender body delicate as a bird's in his arms. One of the men called, 'If you don't want her, pass her over here! We'll teach her a thing or two. You can watch if you like!'

  Looking over her head he saw that several of the men were already rutting like stags, pale thighs and white buttocks glimmering together in the firelight. He understood that if he rejected the girl she would inevitably fall victim to any man who had not yet satisfied his lust; perhaps to more than one. That was why she was clinging to him. He looked down and her dark eyes implored him and she pressed herself closer. In spite of his exhaustion, he felt his body respond. He looked around the hall. Not here! Not in the middle of this scene of abandonment, with the other men looking on, as like as not. On an impulse he picked the girl up bodily and carried her outside.

  There was nowhere in the open, cobbled yard that offered the privacy he sought. He carried her round the corner of the building and there found a small lean-to built against the wall, a place to store firewood and straw. He stooped under the low roof and laid her down on a pile of rushes. Then he unbuckled his sword belt and stretched himself beside her. She reached up and put her arm round his neck and whispered something in her own language. He had been trying to learn some Italian as they travelled and he thought he made out the word, 'grazie', 'thank you.'

  'No, no need,' he whispered back, in English. It seemed as good as any other tongue. She made no protest when he kissed her. In fact, her lips parted under his own and her tongue touched his.

  He was suddenly aware how encumbered he was by the heavy leather brigandine. He sat up and struggled out of it and she helped him to free himself. He gathered her to him and felt her small breasts pressing against his chest and she did not attempt to stop him when he slid his hand inside her shift to caress them. Nor did she object when he pulled it up and put his hand between her legs. He fastened his mouth on hers and was dimly aware that her small, cold hands were pushing down his braies and removing the final barrier. She cried out when he entered her and he understood that she had, in truth, been a virgin; but it was a cry of pain, not protest, and she clung to him while he thrust and thrust until the ultimate, shattering climax.