Fitz settled into his saddle and looked down at his protege, “Remember what I said Gerald, don’t take any chances.”
Gerald nodded as they rode off.
“Horses are going?” asked Sally, looking at him.
“Yes Sally, the horses are going, but they’ll come back and visit again, don’t you worry.”
It was dark outside when Gerald suddenly came awake. The wind was blowing, and he heard something crashing. Rising to his feet, careful not to wake Meredith, he walked over to the window, where he opened the shutters to gaze out the back of the house. In the dim moonlight, he could see that part of the fence around the pigsty had come loose.
He cursed as he quickly put some clothes on. Losing a pig was more than just annoying; it represented a substantial investment. He was counting on its sale to help fill his coffers for the winter months.
He made his way round to the back of the house and looked over the fence. Sure enough, an animal had knocked down the cross beam and escaped, leaving the others in their pen. Now he must hunt the creature down, or forgo the coins the beast would garner.
Looking to the east, he could make out a faint light on the horizon. Fair enough, he thought. The sun was starting to rise; it shouldn’t be too hard to find the wayward pig once morning broke. He quickly repaired the fence, then gathered some rope and grabbed a bite to eat while he waited for dawn.
The trail was relatively easy to follow, so he soon found himself crossing the fields in pursuit. The creature must have been running, for the distance he had already travelled was impressive. The trail was lost shortly after heading into the woods. After making his way through the thick underbrush, he concluded that the cursed pig had entered into a stream. Walking up and down the banks, it took him some time to find where the creature had emerged on the other side. He finally came across the fugitive laying in the sun in an open glade.
Creeping up on it slowly, he quickly realized that the care was unnecessary for it was fast asleep. He slipped the rope around its neck, giving a silent prayer of thanks that he found the pig at last. Waking the animal, he was reminded that a stubborn pig is not easy to move. It was only by prodding its rear that he managed to get it moving at all.
Now his early morning search was becoming a half a day’s task. He had to travel back to the farm in small bursts. The pig was stubborn and reminded him of Sir Rodney in his temperament.
It was close to noon as he rounded Riley Woods to see his house off in the distance. The pig took a moment to lay down in the sun again, and Gerald cursed once more. He looked longingly at the house, wishing he could just pick up the pig, and then noticed that something was wrong. There should be smoke coming from the chimney as Meredith baked during the early day to avoid the heat. A sense of foreboding came over him, and he dropped the rope, abandoning the pig to the sun. Racing across the field, his lungs burning with the effort, he called out to Meredith, but there was no answer. Dread filled his heart.
Rounding the corner of the house, he came to the front door in such a hurry that he almost tripped over what was there. Meredith lay in the doorway, a dark stain beneath her, her skirts lifted around her waist. He rushed forward to help her. The blood that covered the entranceway had poured out of her slit throat. He beheld the scene in horror, unable to fully comprehend what was in front of him, his mind refusing to acknowledge it. He lifted her head, trying desperately to call her back from the Afterlife, but it was too late.
It felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest. Just breathing was an insurmountable effort. He crushed Meredith’s body in his arms, silent tears streaming down his cheeks, all thoughts gone from his mind. A sound from the long grass broke through his sorrow. He lay her down and ran toward it, hoping against hope that Sally was alive.
The grass moved as he spread it to reveal his daughter, lying motionless in a pool of her own blood. She let out a whimper, and he realized she still lived, but as he went to lift her into his arms, he could see her attackers had slit her belly, and even now he could see the life ebbing out of her.
She looked up at her father, her mouth moving but her eyes glazed over and her head flopped to the side before she could speak. Gerald stood for an eternity, staring in disbelief at the body of his only child, Sally. He raised his head to the sky and screamed in anguish as he fell to his knees, his beloved daughter cradled in his arms.
So many thoughts tore through his mind; Fitz had warned him about raiders, why had he left them alone? Guilt surged through him and then, quite suddenly, he decided that he must make these murderers pay. Calmly he carried Sally inside the house and lay her gently in her bed. The raiders had ransacked the house, but he barely noticed.
Fortunately, they had done a poor job, and he reached beneath the bed, pulling out his sword and scabbard. It had been four years since he had wielded it, but now he would feed the blade with the blood of the men responsible for the murder of his family.
He lovingly placed Meredith on their bed, kissing her cheek for the last time. Turning from her final resting place, he drew his sword and left the house, intent on his retaliation. He knew he would not be returning home. He didn’t deserve to live, having failed to protect the only people who meant anything to him. He would sell his life to fuel the vengeance needed to bathe the enemy in blood.
The murderers didn’t make any effort to hide their tracks as they left the devastation behind them, making their trail easy for Gerald to follow. With the sun sinking in the west and nightfall soon to be upon him, Gerald heard sounds of a camp in the distance. He scouted around the area, waiting for the darkness to come and hide his approach. Soon, the glow of their fires would tell him exactly where they were, and then they would all die.
The first raider was an easy kill, Gerald’s blade penetrated his back, as he was pissing against a tree. The last thing the man saw was a blade appear out of his stomach before he fell to the ground, amongst his own piss and blood. His silent death allowed Gerald to move into the camp undetected. The rest of the attackers were sleeping on the ground in makeshift bedrolls. He stabbed down quickly, puncturing the first one’s throat, his victim’s eyes rolling open as he choked to death. Gerald took a step forward; his blade seeking yet another man’s death, but the raider had heard his companion choking and tried to roll out of the way of the attack. He screamed as the blade pierced his side, but was still able to fight. Gerald knew he had lost the element of surprise, but no longer cared. He would seek his death as he executed as many of them as he could.
The remaining raiders ran toward him yelling. He struck one down with a vicious overhand strike to the man’s head. He felt a blade hit his left arm and shook it off. He spotted a new blade coming from the right, and his training took over, blocking the swing, deflecting the blade to the ground, opening the attacker up to Gerald’s next manoeuvre. He raised his sword to slash at the man’s chest and felt the edge slice through bone, causing the man to stumble back, cursing.
Gerald screamed fearlessly rushing toward a group of three men. He swung at one who tried to avoid the blow by backpedalling and then tripped and fell to the ground. The second, much taller one, struck Gerald, and he felt the blow glance off of his shoulder. He ducked under the other’s arm, stepped forward and bashed with the hilt of his sword. Blood spurted across his hand as he felt the nose collapse beneath the strike. He slashed wildly to his left and felt the blade strike flesh again, but he couldn’t keep track of all the combatants. He felt something hit him from behind, knocking him to his knees and he struck out wildly, a different target yelling as he severed the fingers from someone’s hand.
Shouted orders swirled around him, but all he could think about was revenge. His anger filled him, giving him the strength to continue the fight. Again, and again, he hacked with his sword. He was no longer fighting, merely flailing about with inhuman strength. He swung once more and discovered there was no one to hit as the raiders had all backed up, encircling him; he had no escape route.
&nb
sp; They were taunting him. Some stabbing at him with spears, while others threw bottles at him. He felt something hit his head then blood started to pour down his face. He looked to the ground to see glass shards of the bottle that had done the damage. Wiping his face with his arm, he charged towards his enemy, but the world suddenly turned upside-down, causing him to fall forward onto the forest floor. He felt rough hands grab him and then the world began to swim.
Pain. Searing, agonizing pain. Surely this must be his punishment for failing to protect his family. He opened his eyes, tried to see through the crusted blood that almost glued them shut. His arms and legs were tied behind him around a large tree trunk; the ropes cutting off the circulation to his hands and feet, leaving his limbs twisted painfully against the bark.
There was light in the distance; the coming dawn. He gathered he must have been unconscious for some time. His eyes adjusted to the light and he slowly began to see the row of bodies that lay nearby. He had killed six raiders, but their companions were preparing to avenge their fallen comrades. There must have been two dozen men in this band. Now, half a dozen stood in front of him, readying their bows. Behind them he could see others, tending to their wounds. “Let them see how a Mercerian dies,” he thought, “I will not give them the satisfaction of begging for my life.”
He heard the snap of the bowstring as the first Norlander let loose with his arrow. The thud beside his ear told him how close the shot had been. Gerald glared at the man. A second shot nicked his left arm, and he spit in disgust.
He glowered at the raiders in defiance, but it had little effect. They were mocking him, deliberately missing. He would soon begin to suffer from multiple small wounds; they would enjoy killing him slowly.
Twelves shots were loosed at him, all close, but no real hits. They laughed at him, came forward to retrieve their arrows and hit him, pummelling his stomach with punches and striking his face. He could feel his eye swelling, his cheek bleeding from a cut, teeth loosened in his mouth from the impact.
Their leader called them back and knocked an arrow. He took careful aim, and Gerald’s uninjured eye was looking directly at the tip of the arrow. This shot would be the last, he thought, and then he would descend into the Underworld a failure, to forever pay for his mistakes.
He waited, tried to calm his beating heart, but he couldn’t take a deep breath, his ribs hurt from their beatings. The bowstring was pulled back, ready to shoot when a yell came from behind him. The leader turned, and suddenly there were horses in the clearing. Shouting could be heard from all directions, followed by the clash of steel, and then an eerie silence fell over the woods.
Footsteps approached. Gerald could not turn his head but could hear the crunch of branches underfoot. A face loomed in front of him, but he couldn’t focus his eyes.
“Gerald, are you there? Speak man.” It was Fitz.
He felt weak, he wanted to cry out, “Let me die!” but the words would not form in his mouth. He felt the tug as someone began cutting the ropes that bound him to the tree and then he fell forward, unable to control himself.
Fitz caught him, lowered him gently to the ground, a concerned look on his face. “Don’t speak Gerald, we have you. You’ll not be travelling to the Afterlife today.”
Hours later, they were back at the Matheson farm. The patrol had happened across the raiders trail, following it to find the bodies of Meredith and Sally inside. Only fate had led them to the clearing in time to save Gerald.
Now they watched the house burn. Gerald had insisted on using it as their funeral pyre and Lord Richard, surprisingly, had agreed. His life here, his happiness, was dead. Now he only sought to kill those who took his life from him.
He turned to face Fitz, who watched the blaze as it engulfed the roof. “I swear to serve you, Lord Richard,” he pledged, “until I can no longer hold a blade. Until the end of my days.”
“My brother is the baron, Gerald, you’d have to swear to his service, not mine.”
“No, my lord, it is you I will serve. My old life is gone, all that’s left to me is war.”
Lord Richard looked solemnly at his friend. “Very well Gerald, I will accept your oath.”
Chapter 5
Second Siege of Bodden
Summer 933 MC
THERE was a tremendous crash that shook the whole keep. Bits of dust and plaster rained down on Gerald as he made his way to the map room. He cursed the Norlanders and their damn siege engines, wondering how much longer the defenders could survive under the constant bombardment. The Norlanders wanted Bodden; they were throwing everything they had at it. He thought back to his first siege, eight years prior. This army was larger than anything that had attacked before, he thought, someone in Norland was spending a lot of time and effort to take this keep.
He arrived at the tallest point of the structure, the map room, which overlooked the entire barony. Baron Edward was standing at the table, where a large map of the keep and surrounding area was laid out. His brother, Richard, stood beside him while the Knights of Bodden looked on.
Lord Richard noticed him and motioned him over with a nod of his head.
As Gerald approached, the baron’s brother stepped back from the table.
“Have you any new information?” he asked in a quiet voice.
“I’m afraid not Lord,” Gerald replied, “they’ve still got six of the catapults and a sizable number of rocks stacked nearby. It’s only a matter of time before the wall comes down.”
Fitz snorted, “I told my brother as much, but he’s convinced it will all end well.”
“Is there something you want to say brother?” enquired the baron, turning at the discussion behind his back.
“Yes, my lord,” replied Fitz. “The catapults continue their pounding, and they appear to have lots of rocks at their disposal.”
“I see,” retorted the baron. “In other words, there’s nothing new to report.”
“Might I suggest, Lord, that we send out a group to attack the siege engines? Surely without them, the invaders will be forced to give up the attack.”
Baron Edward straightened his back and looked around the room at his knights. “My brother would have us risk all on a foolhardy plan.” He turned to face Lord Richard. “The men are needed to garrison the wall. If we’d had time to finish its construction, it might be a different story, but we have to deal with the issue at hand.”
Fitz was stubborn and spoke up again. “Then let me take just a handful of men, brother. We will destroy the catapults, or die in the attempt. We can’t just sit here waiting for the wall to come down!”
“No,” roared the baron, “I forbid it! We must prepare a counter-attack when they attempt to enter through the breach. Sir John thinks it likely the wall will collapse near the well. They’ll try to storm the breach once it’s down. We’ll prepare defences, throw every combustible we have at them, burn them when they try to force entry.”
“But, my lord-”
“Don’t ‘My lord’ me Richard. My decision is final.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Richard, I know you mean well, but we cannot risk it. My way is the best, if we can decimate their attack, we can sue for terms.”
Richard looked at his brother as if he’d been slapped in the face. “Terms?”
“Yes, Richard. Terms. It’s clear at this point that we can’t beat them, and our messengers failed to break out to get aid. We must gain favourable terms to ensure the safety of the people. I have more to consider than just the troops. Do you understand?”
Lord Richard nodded, “Very well Edward, it shall be as you have commanded.” He turned to Gerald who, caught unawares, almost leaped to attention. “Come along Gerald, we must see to the defence of the wall.”
Gerald followed his mentor out as the discussion in the map room moved on to other matters.
They had descended the first flight of stairs when Gerald spoke up, “So, when are we attacking the catapults?”
Lord Richard stopped suddenly, su
rprised by the younger man’s words. “’WE’ are not attacking the catapults, that is a job for me alone. No one else can disobey the baron’s orders.”
“Begging your pardon, Lord, but you can’t do it alone. Besides, you're to be married in a few months; someone must keep you alive, or are you having second thoughts?” Gerald added with a slight smile.
“Don’t be absurd Gerald. You know that I can’t wait to marry Lady Evelyn, and I shall do my best to remain alive.”
“Really, Lord? One man against the entire Norland army?”
“Yes, alright, I concede the point. Still, you’re likely to get into a lot of trouble over this.”
“I swore my life to your service Lord. I do not carry that burden lightly.”
Lord Richard placed his hand on Gerald’s shoulder. “Thank you, Gerald, that means a lot to me. Now,” he said as he continued his descent, “we must make some plans.”
It was near midnight when they met by the main gate. Gerald was standing among a small group of men as Lord Richard approached.
“What’s this?” asked the nobleman.
“A few volunteers, my lord,” answered Gerald.
Lord Richard scowled, “You men must return to your posts, this is treason.”
“No, my lord,” declared Gerald, “this is desperation. We all know what will happen if the Norlanders get into Bodden. No woman in Bodden will be safe from their ravaging. These men are willing to give their lives to defend their loved ones. Can you deny them that?”
Fitz looked at the group gathered in the darkness. Each member looked back at him with a defiant gleam in their eyes. There were four men, in addition to Gerald, and now he stepped up in front of each one, looking them over carefully.
“Fletcher, I should have expected you. How’s the wife?”
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