“I thought you were going to tell them that she was your escaped captive?”
Devlin pondered that lie a moment and a thought occurred to him. He looked at Shain, rather slyly. “Mayhap she will tell them that I was a captive also, tortured by Black Sword,” he said, thinking aloud. “I am mute because of it. Mayhap that will create more sympathy with them towards both the lady and me.”
Shain was appalled that he was starting to like the man’s plan. He sighed heavily. “Is there no other way, Dev?” he asked, almost pleading. “I have no issue with the lady going into their midst, but you… if you were to be discovered, this rebellion would lose its heart. Is it worth the risk?”
Devlin nodded slowly and deliberately. “I believe it ‘tis,” he said. “Shain, it’s my belief that the invasion fleet the other night was just the beginning. I feel that the English are planning something very big and I must find out what it is. Can you not understand that, lad?”
Shain rolled his eyes in defeat and nodded. “Of course I do,” he said. “But why do you have to go with her? Why can’t I go?”
Devlin was already shaking his head before Shain even finished his question. “Because this is something I must do,” he said, although it wasn’t the truth. There was no reason for Shain not to go; Devlin simply didn’t want him to. He wanted to be the one to escort Emllyn. He wanted to be the one to be with her. “I must hear it with my own ears and see the enemy with my own eyes. I have to understand them, lad. I have to know what we are up against and if there are any weaknesses, I must know.”
Shain accepted the explanation but he clearly wasn’t happy. “What do we tell Iver and Freddy?” he asked. “Freddy is going to be hard to control with you away. I worry over it.”
Devlin shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, lock him in the vault until I return,” he said. “I know Freddy is unpredictable but he is not a fool.”
“As in a fool that would try to take over your men?” Shain wanted to know. There was warning in the tone. “He loves you but he loves himself more. He believes he is in the right, always. He has the ear of the men.”
“I have their ear more,” Devlin fired back softly. “Shain, I appreciate your concern, but I will speak with Freddy. He will understand his place and if he does not, then you and Iver will ensure that he does not get out of control. But while I am away, you are in command. I will trust you.”
Shain knew there wasn’t much more he could say. After a moment, he simply nodded his head. “As you say, Dev,” he said softly.
Devlin could see how unhappy he was and he clapped him gently on the head. “All will be well,” he assured him. “But for now, we need to focus on today. When I came out of the keep, I noticed the men were breaking down the ships on the shore. What are you having them do with the wood and other treasures?”
Shain reluctantly shifted from Devlin’s future plans to the situation at hand. “Anything salvageable, wood or rope or tools, is being brought to the fortress and stacked outside of the walls. Anything of value like personal possessions or coin is being brought inside and stored inside the barn. Would you see it now?”
“Later,” Devlin replied. “Are the prisoners still in the vault?”
Shain nodded. “Still,” he answered. “It is very crowded. Those chambers were made for no more than twelve men and there are thirty of them.”
“Make sure they are fed and watered properly,” Devlin said. “They can deal with the cramped quarters but I would make sure they are fed adequately. I’ve no inclination to starve men to death.”
Shain cocked his head in thought. “Dev,” he said casually, “do you think you should interrogate them before you depart to de Cleveley lands? It is possible that someone knows something about future attacks against us. It would be a prudent thing to at least question them.”
Devlin had been thinking that very same thing. Emllyn had made mention of it last night in a roundabout way, wanting to see the prisoners to see if she knew of one of them in the commander hierarchy, but in her case it was a self-serving desire. She only wanted to see if her precious Trevor was among the captives.
In Devlin’s case, he thought perhaps to interrogate them all to see if anyone knew anything valuable. Truth be told, he was more than curious to know if, indeed, Trevor was among them. A day ago he had no interest in the man but now, he found himself more and more intrigued. Who was this man that held Emllyn’s heart? Curiosity had the better of him, and another emotion he didn’t recognize. He thought it might be anger or disapproval; it never occurred to him that it was jealousy. He had to see the man who had her attention.
“Aye,” he said after a few moments of deliberation. “Mayhap I will visit the captives and see if I can discover anything useful. Has anyone questioned them at all?”
Shain shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “We rounded them up and threw them straightaway into the vault. With the chaos last night, there has been no time for interrogation.”
“Then mayhap the time is now.”
Shain agreed and they made their way out of the stables and into the brisk salty wind that blew steadily off of the sea. The bailey of the fortress was fairly empty this time of night even though his soldiers were milling about and there were men on the wall on patrol. It was a full moon over head, peeking out from between intermittent rain clouds, something that had illuminated the battle the night before much to the advantage of the Irish. Devlin glanced up at the ghostly silver moon, his gaze lingering on it. Shain caught his expression.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
Devlin shrugged although his gaze remained on the sky. “I am thinking of Elathan, the God of the Moon,” he said. “The noble and beautiful prince of darkness. My mother said he was my ancestor.”
Shain’s expression grew somber. “He was also a man too trusting in those around him,” he muttered. “He was betrayed by a relative. Beware that you do not make the same mistake.”
Devlin took his eyes off the moon, looking at his friend and seeing how serious he was. He gave him a half-grin. “That is why I have you to watch out for me.”
They reached the gatehouse, wet from the rains and surrounded by mud that had spilled down into the narrow steps that led to the vault. Shain stopped and faced him before they went in.
“Tell me this,” he murmured. “If Freddy goes against you, do I have your permission to deal with him?”
“How?”
“Kill him.”
Devlin’s warm expression faded. “Although I respect and love you, my friend, you have never particularly cared for Frederick,” he said quietly. “I am not saying you have it in mind to see him dead, but you have never warmed to him. Take care that your personal prejudices against him do not cloud your judgment.”
Shain grunted, lowering his gaze and fidgeting. It was clear he was uncomfortable and perhaps frustrated. “My personal feelings towards him have nothing to do with it,” he said. “Freddy commands eight hundred men personally sworn to him. He is a baron’s son. He is also your cousin and for that alone, he has my respect. But he loves you and he envies you, Dev. He has a devious streak in him. Take care that you are not blind to his true intentions.”
Devlin knew that; Shain was aware that he knew it, too. It was not a new conversation with them. Giving the man another grin, perhaps one to tell him that he worried too much, Devlin descended the slippery, muddy stone steps that led down into the vault.
There were thirteen steps before they hit rock bottom into a tiny, cramped room with two small cells. The cells were separated by bands of iron, forced together with great iron bolts to create what looked like cages, all set within the stone and rock of the sandy Irish soil. A big flaming torch burned against one wall, wedged into an iron sconce and giving off heavy black smoke from the fat-soaked wick. There were two guards on this level, seated on the ground playing some manner of dice game, and they stood up when they saw Devlin enter.
Devlin didn’t notice the guards; he was looking at the pris
oners, literally crammed into the cages until they could barely move. Most of them were sitting but a few were standing because there was no more room to sit, and there was certainly no room to lie down. It was fairly appalling conditions. The entire room reeked of urine and feces, enough so that Devlin’s eyes started to water from the pure strength of the stench. But he studied the group of men who gazed back at him with various expressions of fear and curiosity. As Devlin continued to inspect, Shain pushed in front of him.
“My name is Devlin de Bermingham,” he said with authority. “My father is John de Bermingham, Earl of Louth, and I descend from the kings of Leinster. I am the one known as Black Sword and you are my prisoners. Who is the ranking soldier here?”
No one said anything for a moment; they simply gazed back at Shain in silence. A few lowered their gazes, unable and unwilling to speak. It was clear that the name Black Sword carried great weight with them; they all knew of the rebel leader. He was a man to be feared, the man their liege greatly hated. He was the man who had soundly defeated them. Shain grunted in mounting impatience.
“I am simply looking for one man to speak with,” he said. “I am not looking to make a martyr out of anyone. Speak up, now; who is your leader?”
A rather muscular man standing in the cell on the left moved forward; he was short but clearly strong, with a bald head and trimmed mustache and beard. He had a big gash on his cheek and his tunic around his neck was stained with blood. His hazel eyes fixed on Shain.
“I am Sir Victor St. John,” he said steadily. “You may speak with me.”
Shain fixed on the older knight. “Are you Fitzgerald’s commander?”
“One of them.”
“You know that this is all that is left of your invasion force. There is no one else.”
St. John drew in a long, slow breath. “I know.”
Devlin could see the man had a calm and rather resigned manner about him. He stepped forward and entered the conversation. “Who remains with you?” he asked.
St. John glanced around him, at the men suffering and cold and miserable. “Infantry mostly,” he said. “There are a few archers and two knights.”
“How many knights did you bring with you?”
St. John turned to look at him, showing utter defeat in his eyes for the first time. “Twenty-seven.”
“And there are only three left?”
“Aye.”
“How many men did you have?”
St. John saw no need to keep the facts to himself; it didn’t matter anymore, anyway. They had been conquered and, at the moment, there was nothing left to defend. Not even themselves. They were at the mercy of Black Sword.
“We had eleven vessels and twelve hundred and forty-three men,” he said. “That is not counting the sailors or rope boys or riggers. That is simply the number of fighting men.”
“I see,” Devlin said, eyeing the group of very dirty captives. They were so muddied and beaten that they all seemed to be the same color in skin, hair, and clothes. “Who are your knights?”
St. John pointed towards the back of the cells. “Sir William du Reims,” he said, “and Sir Trevor le Mon.”
Trevor! Devlin felt a jolt as he turned in the direction that the older knight was indicating; all the men seemed to blend into each other. “Who is le Mon?” he couldn’t help himself from asking.
“I am,” came the reply.
A young, tall knight with piercing dark eyes stepped forward; he had been standing back against the wall, allowing one of the injured men on the floor to lean on his legs. He was very tall, in fact; so tall that he couldn’t stand up straight in the cramped quarters of the cell. He was rather slender but well-built; Devlin found himself inspecting the man very closely but he didn’t want to look suspicious about it so he cleared his throat.
“And who is du Reims?” he asked.
The third knight identified himself, an average-sized knight with big hands and shoulders. Devlin eyed him, not particularly interested him, and his gaze drifted back to le Mon, who was gazing at him steadily. Then, he turned and walked away, heading back up the slippery stairs. Shain was right behind him. When they were about half way up, Devlin stopped and turned to him.
“Move St. John into the guard house,” he told him. “I will interrogate him there and see what he knows. Meanwhile, have someone bring hay down to those men so they at least have something dry to lie on. Bring them some blankets as well. Wet as they are, they’re going to catch the damp and they’ll all die from it. If I want to ransom any of them, I will not have the chance.”
Shain nodded and headed back down the stairs as Devlin headed back up. He still wasn’t quite over the fact that Emllyn’s lover was indeed among the prisoners. He couldn’t decide how he felt about it, but at least now he knew. She wouldn’t, however. He didn’t intend to tell her.
Shaking off thoughts of the tall, dark knight, he headed out to find Frederick and Iver to discuss his future plans with them. He also intended to impress upon Frederick that the man should behave himself in his absence. He knew Shain was right about him but Shain also tended to be an alarmist; Devlin had some trust in Frederick, otherwise he would not be one of his top commanders.
Still, Devlin didn’t trust any of them completely, not even Shain. Men with complete trust tended not to live long. Unlike the moon god Elathan, the good humored and somewhat naïve Celtic deity, Devlin would do all he could to prevent being betrayed by his own people. He would take the necessary steps. But before he could worry about that, he had a bigger issue to contend with – discovering what Fitzgerald’s commander knew of his liege’s future plans.
And then he would decide what to do about Trevor le Mon.
∾
CHAPTER FIVE
Emllyn wasn’t quite sure what it was.
It was a person, that was for certain, but she wasn’t sure if it was man or woman. Whatever it was smelled to high heaven of rot and feces, dressed in layers of raggedy clothing, and had something sticking out of its mouth that smoked up on the end of it. The smoke smelled like shite. Whatever it was had knocked on her door and when she had opened the panel, it had wandered in and taken up position on the stool near the hearth. And there it continued to sit.
Clad in the heavy shift and green coat that kept her very warm, Emllyn sat upon the bed and watched the figure curiously. She wasn’t afraid of it, for it was very small and seemingly feeble. With its broad features and smoking pipe, she simply wasn’t sure what to make of it. It hadn’t even spoken to her. It just sat and puffed. Therefore, it was a very strange standoff.
It was the morning after the wild night of passion with Devlin. Emllyn had awoken alone on the big bed, confusion and bewilderment running wild in her mind. As much as she wanted to hate him, to curse him, she simply couldn’t bring herself to do it. He’d done something to her, marked her somehow, and she no longer viewed his actions as brutality. It was… something else. Something else that terrified and warmed her at the same time. As she lay upon the bed, staring up at the ceiling and feeling more disorientation than she ever had, the door had opened and Enda had entered. The old woman had brought the morning meal of cheese and bread, and behind her came young Nessa with a bowl of warmed water and the lumpy bar of soap that smelled of grass.
After devouring the food, Emllyn had used the water and soap to clean herself, perhaps washing the smell of Devlin off of her but every time she caught a whiff of his musk, her body betrayed her by feeling warm and giddy. Furious, she had scrubbed her hands and face, and between her legs, washing all she could of the man off of her. By then, Enda and Nessa had left her, seeing that she was in no mood for their assistance. Emllyn needed to be left alone.
But then the old creature had come, wandering in and squatting by the fire. As the day neared the nooning hour, Emllyn continued to stare at the figure, wondering why it had come. It simply sat, stank, and smoked. Finally, Emllyn could stand no more. She got up off the bed and moved carefully in the creature�
�s direction. Summoning her courage, she spoke.
“Who are you?” she asked. “What is your name?”
The old figure puffed on its pipe, filling the room with the heavy smoke of human excrement. "Each was a game, each was a jest, until Devlin spoke for naught; this thing will hang over him forever,” it rasped. “Yesterday he was larger than a mountain; today there is nothing of him but a shadow."
Emllyn blinked, confused. It made no sense. “Who is shadow?” she asked. “Devlin?”
The old creature sat and puffed, puffed, puffed. Emllyn was uncertain what to do. After several long moment, she simply shrugged and turned away; the old person wasn’t doing any harm, she supposed, so there was no reason to provoke it or throw it from the room. In truth, she didn’t know what to do, so she wandered over to the lancet window that overlooked the sea.
The brisk breeze caressed her face and as Emllyn gazed out over the expanse of blue, she could see the gulls screaming along the shoreline. Something about the sights and smells of the ocean made her feel better, fresher and newer, and lifted her spirits. She very much wanted to walk outside, to feel the sun on her face and inhale deeply of the fresh air, but instead she was stuck in a chamber with a creature that inhaled the smoke of burning shite. It was a very strange circumstance.
From the angle of the window, she could see part of the shoreline to the north and as she strained to see what she could see, she caught glimpses of wrecked and dismantled ships. The sea was very angry, churning wildly around the doomed vessels and she could see many men swarming over the ruins. They were carrying things away; lumber or smaller objects in their quest to demolish Kildare’s invasion fleet. There was a good deal of flotsam and debris still in the water and washed up on shore, and it took her some time to realize that most of the debris were human remains.
Emllyn sighed with sorrow at the sight; there were literally hundreds of bodies, going ignored by the Irish as they focused on the vessels that were of some value. She inevitably thought of Trevor and wondered if he was among the dead half-buried in the sand, washed upon by waves as if they were nothing of matter. It was sad, truly. The more she watched, the more saddened she became.
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