“Aye,” he finally said. “We are coming with ye. Let me go home and gather as many men as I can and I’ll return in four days.”
“We’ll be waitin’ on ye,” Eustace said with some satisfaction. “But if ye aren’t back in four days, we leave without ye. We canna delay.”
“Understood,” Arn said. “But what about the meeting in Jedburgh? Will ye send word tae the chiefs not tae go?”
Eustace nodded. “I already have,” he replied. “We’ll move it somewhere else, somewhere Edward canna find. For now, it will not be at Jedburgh. When Edward goes there, he will find it empty.”
With that, the matter was settled and there was a good deal of drinking beyond that point. Plans were set and the future, although frightening, was also exciting. Was it really possible that they could damage Edward’s army in a small way by attacking the de Winter troops? That was the hope, at any rate, and the Scots were determined to do what needed to be done in order to protect their lives, their interests, and Scotland.
Aim for the knights.
That would be their rally cry.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Healey Wood
8.8 miles southeast of Hexham
Mid-November
Due to terrible weather conditions, including a snowstorm that had blown the white stuff vertically all day and all night, Drake’s travel north with his eighteen hundred-man army had been draggingly slow. His men were properly dressed, as his father was always insistent that the men be taken care of because weak men made for a weak army, so Drake and Devon and Dallan made sure their men were well dressed for the climate, but it still didn’t make for swift travel simply because the weather was working against them most of the time.
Still, Drake made sure that they found shelter every night which, for almost two thousand men, could be quite difficult. Shelter was usually groves of trees, but two nights in a row it was the three barns and outbuildings of a very big farming operation. Drake’s men had slept beneath a roof, surrounded by dry straw and farm animals, but they didn’t seem to mind. It was warm and dry, and that was all that mattered.
As they drew further north, the weather seemed to worsen. The nights seemed longer and colder, and the days more dreary and uncomfortable. The roads were terrible, ruined by freezing rain and snow, so their pace had gone from slow to slower. Sometimes they had to carry the wagons over great ruts because they simply couldn’t be pulled through them. In all, it made for miserable travel and Drake was starting to think that he would never be warm again. He’d forgotten what it felt like. The cold seemed to suck everything out of him except one thing – the memory of Elizaveta with the feel of her body against his. He remembered that very well and happily so. It was the only thing that had given him any comfort over the past forty-one days. Aye, he’d counted the days. There had been little else to do but count them.
Elizaveta was in his thoughts constantly. He kept reliving the short time they’d had together, remembering their wedding, the comical way they’d been introduced (which he found humorous now although he hadn’t particularly at the time), and he wondered how she was passing the time these days. Was she thinking of him as much as he was thinking of her? He hoped she was. He held tight to the memory of her weeping when he’d left Thetford, believing that she truly felt something for him because women did not weep for men they did not care about.
Still, he was afraid to voice any of his thoughts to Devon even though he knew the man would be happy for him. It seemed rather embarrassing for him to admit to his brother that the man had been right about marriage and a wife. Pride was an odd thing and Drake had enough pride to fill a moat. Therefore, his thoughts on Elizaveta were his own. He wouldn’t admit anything, not yet. He liked it that way.
On this eleventh day of November, the de Winter army was trudging up a particularly bad section of the road that hadn’t held up well under the foul weather. It was mid-day under gray skies although there was no rain or snow, for which they were grateful, but Drake looked up into the sky and kept expecting a deluge at any moment. That seemed to be how their luck worked as of late.
The land was relatively flat here except for a few rolling hills, seasonally devoid of color. To their right was a meadow bordering a forest, a line of trees that ran as far as the eye could see. As Drake studied the tree line, he could see that the road up ahead took a turn and disappeared into the forest. He was thinking that it might be a good place for them to bed down and spend the night; according to their scouts, Hexham was just under ten miles away and they could make that easily on the morrow. He was, therefore, thinking of giving his men some extra time to rest after their difficult march north. Devon and Dallan were riding up ahead, at point, and Drake spurred his heavy-boned warmblood forward through the ranks to reach them.
“Look at the heavy canopy of trees up ahead,” he pointed them out. “It might be a very good place to bed the men down for the night.”
Devon and Dallan were looking ahead, seeing the dark line of trees in the distance. “Do you want me to scout out a location, Drake?” Dallan asked. “I will take a few men with me and we can find a good spot.”
Drake glanced at his youngest brother; a tall, young man who had just seen twenty years and two, he had pale eyes and blond hair, and was following very much in his eldest brother’s footsteps in that he enjoyed the company of women a great deal. He was flawless with a blade and shared his brother’s love of pranks as well. Drake had a particular fondness for Dallan and he was very glad his brother had come with him on this journey. He was the baby of the family, a bit immature, and something like this was bound to help him grow.
“Aye,” Drake said. “See if you can find it near a stream. And, Great Bleeding Christ, make sure the men dig the latrines downstream this time. One does not appreciate shite in the water when one is trying to wash one’s hands or face in the morning, as I was a few days ago.”
Dallan burst into a big grin. “What’s this you say?” he said, teasing. “The latrines should be dug downstream? I would have never guessed.”
Drake shook his head at his brother as Devon snorted. “That is because you are an idiot,” Drake told Dallan. “I am going to make sure that whatever water you touch from now on has some form of shite in it. Be very, very careful how you bathe or eat the next few days.”
Dallan laughed; it was always great fun to taunt Drake, the King of the Jesters. “You would not dare,” Dallan said. “For if you do, I shall tell Mother and then you will be very sorry.”
Drake pointed a finger at him. “If you tell Mother, I will tie you up and beat you within an inch of your life,” he threatened, hearing Dallan laugh as he spurred his frisky stallion up the road. Drake called after him. “Do you hear me? You are still my little brother and I can still beat on you!”
“Nay, you cannot,” Devon said, grinning.
Drake shook his head as if he had a great and terrible problem on his hands. “Nay, I cannot,” he agreed, resigned. “That lad can throw a punch that will put a grown man unconscious for two days. I have seen it.”
“So have I.”
Drake looked at him. “Then you will help me catch him when I must beat him,” he said. “I will not tackle Dallan alone.”
Devon chortled. “I will not help you,” he said. “You must do your own dirty work.”
Drake was grinning as he watched Dallan gather a few soldiers who were riding ahead of the army. Dallan led them away as his horse galloped down the road towards the forest where he hoped to find shelter for the army. Overhead, thunder began to roll.
“I am glad he came with us,” Drake said, glancing up at the sky. “He spends far too much time with Mother. The lad truly needs to grow up.”
Devon nodded. “That is true,” he said. “But he is her baby, her youngest. It is difficult for her to let him go.”
Drake looked at him. “She did not coddle us the way she coddles him.”
Devon shook his head. “Nay, she did not,” he said. “She see
med to be more than eager to be rid of us. I cannot imagine why.”
Drake had to laugh. “Because we were always fighting each other, tearing the house down,” he said. “I would be eager to be rid of us, too.”
“So would I,” Devon said, glancing at his brother. “But it was great fun, wasn’t it?”
“Absolutely.”
Devon returned his attention to the road before glancing up at the sky, thinking he felt some rain when thunder rolled again. “I wonder if I will be as eager to send my son away to foster as Mother was to send us,” he said.
Drake shrugged. “I suppose we will both find out, if God is good.”
Devon looked at him. There was something in the man’s tone that suggested he was, perhaps, hoping for such a thing. “A son for the future Earl of East Anglia,” he said, noting that Drake was refusing to look at him as he spoke on his marriage and future progeny. “Mayhap several sons. How many times have you bedded your wife since you married her, Drake?”
Drake was losing the battle against the threatening grin. “Several.”
“She is a beautiful woman. Dannie likes her a great deal.”
“I like her a great deal.”
It slipped out before Drake could stop it and he heard his brother snort. “I deduced as much,” he said. “I am very pleased, Brother. She is a fine woman and you make a fine pair together.”
Drake turned to look at him, waiting for more of a taunt. “Aren’t you going to tell me that you told me so?”
“Told you so what?”
“That marriage was nothing to fear.”
Devon simply shook his head. “I believe I said that I did not understand your fear,” he said tactfully, for unlike the other brothers, he wasn’t one to gloat. “But you simply did not wish to be married. I defended you to Mother many times to that regard, but she was determined. I am glad her determination has brought you some happiness.”
Drake allowed his grin to emerge, mostly because he was thinking of Elizaveta. Thoughts of her always made him smile.
“Aye,” he said quietly, glancing at his brother with some embarrassment. “It has.”
Devon grinned in return, knowing that would be as close to an admission from Drake that he had been wrong about marriage as anyone would ever hear. But it was good enough for him and he was thrilled for his brother. He had truly wondered if he would ever see the day when Drake would be a settled, content husband and it would seem that the time had finally come.
The army continued along in relative silence as the sky above grew darker and the thunder grew more frequent. Big, fat drops of freezing rain began to fall and Drake knew he had to find shelter for the men before the deluge began. It would be much more difficult to erect shelters, even in the trees, with the wind howling and the rain falling. He had Devon pass the word down the column to pick up the pace and de Wolfe, at the very rear of the troops, took up the cry and began encouraging the men to hurry in the choicest language possible.
De Wolfe could curse with the best of them, they had come to discover, and when he began shouting that the men were beastly, deformed hedge-pigs with beastly, deformed legs that wouldn’t move very fast, Drake and Devon laughed so hard that they were weeping. They began howling with laughter when de Wolfe, hearing their snickers, called one of the men a dull-eyed maggot simply because the man tripped over his own feet in his haste to pick up the pace.
Fortunately, however, the soldiers began laughing, too, because de Wolfe’s insults were truly hilarious and it made the travel far less miserable if they were laughing. He called them onion-eyed pizzles or flap-mouthed harlots, which was extraordinarily entertaining when boomed in his loud and commanding voice. Drake and Devon began to suspect that was what de Wolfe was doing all along. He was simply entertaining the men with insults so they wouldn’t be quite so dismal as they practically ran to make it to the shielding forest before the storm broke.
The sheltering trees welcomed the army as the men made it beneath the canopy which, thick as it was, offered a fair amount of shelter. The foliage was quite thick and they could hear Dallan and his soldiers off to the north in the trees, shouting to each other. Soon enough, Dallan reappeared and indicated for the army to follow him as he’d found a particularly heavy growth of canopy that had nearly no rain on the ground beneath it.
Men began to trudge through the undergrowth and the wagons were diverted off of the road, struggling through the heavy brush as soldiers pushed from behind, helping them through the thicket. Drake had brought four provisions wagons with him, so it was a struggle to move them off the road and into the area indicated by Dallan, but the trouble was worth it. The area was truly nearly dry and well-protected. Drake ordered tents pitched and fires started, and his men moved swiftly to settle in for the night.
Dismounting his horse, Drake turned it over to one of de Wolfe’s squires for tending, the young man who was his sister’s son, and he went to one of the provisions wagons and began removing his possessions. His quartermaster already had his tent mostly raised, a dark blue, somewhat small tent that had once belonged to his father.
The tent held Drake, Devon, and Dallan, and little else, but it was well constructed and warm. As he pulled his brazier and raised cot off the wagon, he could hear the thunder roll overhead and more droplets of rain made it through the canopy, which told him there was a truly nasty storm going on. He could see the vertical rain blowing on the edges of the forest and considered himself lucky that they had been able to find this sheltered haven. He looked forward to a quiet and restful night.
But that was until he heard some commotion off to the north. It sounded like yelling, he thought, but it was distant. Curious, he set the brazier down and looked to the northern edge of their small clearing to see what was going on and was thoroughly surprised to see Dallan, and a few soldiers on horseback, burst into the clearing with an entire group of poorly-dressed men on foot rushing after them.
But Drake’s surprise was only momentary; after that, his training kicked in. They were being attacked by a group of unknown accosters and Drake rushed to the wagon where Lespada lay in its scabbard. He began bellowing for his horse but he knew the animal was too far away, probably already stripped of his saddle. Therefore, Drake had to face this attack on foot, as did most of his men. He was still in full armor, and still completely armed, so he grasped the sword of his forefathers and headed towards the attack.
His men, well-trained, were also heavily armed and rushing to meet the incoming tide of men. As Drake ran closer, he could see his men already engaging what looked to be Scots. They were clearly wearing the Scots manner of dress of very long tunics, with no armor that he could see, and they were using pikes and axes rather than swords. There were no archers that he could see, thankfully. Swiftly assessing the situation, and not stopping to wonder why Scots were pouring out of an English forest, he lifted Lespada to the first enemy he came across and heads began to roll.
“Scots, Drake!”
Devon raced up behind him as Drake finished off a second man. For a moment, Drake and Devon studied the men Drake had just killed, seeing that they were, quite clearly, Scots. Then they looked around them, seeing the fighting and killing. Everyone who wasn’t a de Winter soldier was dressed in the traditional Scots dress of long tunics, down to their knees, and the baggy braies, or baggy hose, underneath.
“Great Bleeding Christ,” Drake hissed in disbelief. “What are Scots doing this far south?”
Devon couldn’t answer him. Soon enough, they were set upon by a large concentration of Scots and they were quickly fighting for their lives. But more de Winter soldiers rushed to their aid, chasing them off, and forming a kind of circle around them, fending off any Scots that came too close. There were far more de Winter soldiers so the fighting was going on in pockets, not on the whole, and Drake and Devon rushed into the trees because they could hear de Wolfe bellowing angrily. By the time they got there, de Wolfe’s horse had been killed by pikes to the chest and de
Wolfe was fending off several angry Scots.
Drake and Devon plowed into the group, killing anything in a tunic. The Scots, seeing an onslaught of de Winter troops, began to retreat with the de Winter men pursuing. Some of the mounted soldiers had found their horses and were riding after the retreating Scots, killing them before they could get away.
As quickly as the attack started, it seemed to trickle off. Left in its wake was a great bloody mess in the trees, a massacre or sorts, with Drake and Devon and de Wolfe eventually going around killing any Scot that was still twitching. Even so, Drake wanted some answers. He wanted to know who these men were and why they had come so far south. It was very odd for Scots to venture this far south into England; more than that, this wasn’t just a few marauding Scots. This had been a fairly sizable force and their attack had seemed semi-well planned. They had made a point of going for the knights or those who were giving order. Nay, this wasn’t a random raid in the least.
Ordering his men to gather a few prisoners that could talk, Drake went about with Devon and de Wolfe to quell any more pockets of fighting. As he was running to catch up with his brother, a big horse suddenly bolted past him. Looking up, he saw that it was Dallan’s bloodied horse.
And it was riderless.
Panic set in. “Devon!” he bellowed. “Find Dallan! He is without his horse!”
Devon turned swiftly to see the bloodied horse rushing off. Realizing what his brother had meant, he began screaming Dallan’s name, running in the direction the horse had come from, with Drake and de Wolfe on his heels. They were all calling for Dallan, looking at the dead and wounded, seeing if they could spy the remaining de Winter brother.
It was a harried flight through the foliage, battling through pockets of fighting, stepping on men who were clearly dead, struggling to locate the last remaining knight. Dallan. Drake struggled not to curse himself for letting his younger brother out of his sight, but he knew it was foolish to shoulder any blame. Dallan had been on horseback, fighting with a group of men, and presumably well protected.
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