Pushing her ahead of him, Palt half-lifted, half-dragged the seneschal into the watchtower. Deftly wadding the wound with strips torn from Cantrel’s shirt, Palt glanced up at her. ‘That’s the best I can do.’
A shout went up further along the wall and a bell began to ring from the far side of the keep. Guardsmen began to pour past them along the battlements. Risha stared after the disappearing figures. ‘The ladder,’ she said. ‘There’s a ladder still, and ropes.’
Palt hissed through his teeth. ‘You keep an eye on Cantrel.’
As he sprinted from the tower Risha’s eye fell on her abandoned crossbow. With an apologetic glance towards the seneschal she rammed a fistful of bolts into her quiver.
Palt was battling one soldier while another sprang unhindered from the ladder. By the time she’d spanned a bolt, the second man had joined the attack, their combined assault driving Palt away from her along the battlement. Both of Westlaw’s soldiers had their backs to her. Taking a steadying breath, Risha shot. The first man fell. Palt’s sword found the other.
Her next bolt caught a soldier as he leapt the parapet. Someone below cursed as he fell.
Palt kicked at the ladder but it refused to budge. There was a sack of rocks by the wall. Risha dragged it to Palt and he heaved it onto the parapet. As the missiles rattled down the length of the ladder there were several sharp cries. Freed of its load, the ladder proved easy to topple. It fell with a crash.
‘Grapples,’ Palt muttered.
Even as he said it, a soldier vaulted onto the battlements behind them. Risha grabbed for her crossbow. Palt was quicker, the fight over almost before it began. Revising her view of the placid guardsman she knew from their rides, Risha trained her bow on the parapet where the grappling line hung taut. Her arm ached from the sword slash she’d parried. She clenched her teeth against the pain.
They’d cleared the wall of lines when a cluster of guardsmen ran towards them. ‘What’s happening at the gate?’ she demanded.
‘They got a scaling tower across, sixty of them at once. We—’
Emett’s voice cut him off. ‘Risha! What are you doing here? Where’s Cantrel? We need—’
Her expression must have been answer enough.
Cantrel hadn’t moved. Emett dropped to one knee and laid his fingers against the seneschal’s neck. ‘He’s alive. We have to get him downstairs.’ He glanced up. ‘You too, Risha. You’re needed in the hall.’
‘I’m needed here,’ she snapped, turning to refill her quiver.
‘You can’t—’
Palt interrupted whatever objection Emett had been planning. ‘Best get Cantrel down to the hall while there’s time. I’ll keep an eye on things here.’
As Emett and a guardsman hefted the seneschal between them, Risha felt herself begin to shake. Palt’s hand clasped her shoulder as her legs gave way. ‘Sit down a minute. It’s funny the way it takes you once the worst is over.’
Risha opened her mouth but no sound came out. The thud of running feet brought Palt’s sword up.
‘Where’s Lady Arishara?’ a voice shouted. ‘She was here, according to Bron, but the fool doesn’t know — Oh. Beg pardon, my lady.’
‘She’s just catching her breath,’ Palt said. ‘We’d not have held this section of the wall without her.’
‘I’m fine, Sergeant Hent.’ Risha levered herself up, aware of the young guardsman’s worried gaze. ‘Are the battlements clear?’
‘Clear, my lady. We’ve held them off for now.’
‘And the scaling tower?’
With an escort of guardsmen, Risha inspected the damage. Westlaw’s scaling tower lay in a smouldering ruin near the citadel gate. ‘About sixty got across, with more pressing from behind,’ the young sergeant told her. ‘We wouldn’t have held them except for some quick thinking below. Someone sent a few bolts of sulphur-pitch into the base, there.’ He pointed to where the lower supports of the tower were charred and broken. ‘Amazing how fast it spread.’
‘Sergeant Hent! You were detailed to find the lady and get her to safety.’
‘It’s all right, Captain Galyn.’ Risha turned. ‘I asked to see the damage. I don’t suppose you have a spyglass? I’d very much like to know how long it will be before Havre’s ships reach the harbour.
31
Havre’s promise
There was a wary tension about Timon as he faced her. ‘Well met, cousin.’ Questions lurked in his eyes. ‘You look more ruffled than when I saw you last.’
‘Perhaps if Havre had taken less time responding to our request for aid, I would look less so.’
The merchant at Timon’s side shuffled and rubbed his hands. ‘Lady Arishara, we had to be sure. It might have been a trick, or—’
‘Or it might have suited you to arrive just a little too late.’
The man blanched. ‘No, my lady. Not at all! We—’
‘The Council of Havre is committed to ensuring it considers every possibility before any decision is taken,’ Timon interjected blandly.
Impossible to tell whether he meant it as criticism or praise. ‘I shall be interested to learn more of the Council’s processes. You have my ring?’
As the merchant, Feron, hurriedly drew it from his purse, she gave Timon a level look. They would have to talk but this was neither the time nor the place. And there was Feron to deal with. Havre’s delay had cost lives.
Westlaw’s assault had grown desperate once Havre’s ships had been sighted. A group of townspeople, mainly women and children, had been injured when a wall in the compound collapsed under the last flurry of bombardment, and the citadel garrison had been hard-pressed to contain a final frenzied assault on the battlements.
But they had held.
The price Havre had paid to hack a path through Westlaw’s troops had been high. Risha had watched from the battlements as rowboats spilled men onto jetties that bristled with weaponry. The advantage had this time lain with Westlaw, and the water of the inner harbour had been tinged red by the time Goltoy’s army was pushed back.
It had not ended there. Havre’s troops had been obliged to fight their way up through the town. Galyn had stationed LeMarc’s best bowmen on the battlements, but theirs had not been the only archers. Risha recollected a line of men felled as one by a single flight of arrows. As a second was loosed, she’d found the source. ‘Westlaw has archers in the cottage on the slope above the road — the one with vines on the western wall. See if you can get a pitch arrow inside.’
The guardsman beside her had muttered a curse. Dipping the tip of his arrow in sulphur-pitch, he’d touched it to a flame and drawn his bow. His first arrow had fallen on the roof, flames grasping sluggishly at the damp thatch. His second had notched a window frame and dipped inside. Moments later four of Westlaw’s soldiers had abandoned the building, LeMarc’s archers picking them off as they fled.
Risha had congratulated the guardsman, who stood staring glumly at the burning cottage. ‘It’s my sister’s house,’ he said. ‘She’ll not forgive me for that.’
Not long after, the battering of the trebuchet had ceased. They’d later learnt that Havre had landed two ships further along the coast during the night, surprising Westlaw with an assault on his unprotected northern flank. The capture of the siege engine had marked the turning point of the battle — and as if to celebrate the moment, the high, outraged wail of a newborn had broken the sudden silence. Seeing Galyn’s anguished expression, Risha had hurried downstairs. Several of the women from the outlying farms were pregnant, though none was closer to term than Anya.
She’d found them in Margetta’s chamber, the girl cradling the babe while a midwife attended Anya. ‘She’s small but her lungs are strong,’ Margetta had announced triumphantly.
‘How is Galyn?’ Anya looked exhausted as she extended her arms for the child.
‘Safe. The siege is broken.’
Anya had stroked her babe’s cheek. ‘Tell him he has another daughter.’
‘I’ll sen
d him down,’ Risha offered.
Anya had shaken her head. ‘When his job is done. But tell him.’
As she re-crossed the courtyard Emett had bounded towards her, his jerkin stained dark, blood trickling from beneath a rough bandage around his upper arm. He looked strangely exultant. ‘We did it. Westlaw’s soldiers are on the run.’
‘They’ve nowhere to run to,’ she observed. Her elation of moments earlier had fled.
Galyn had eyed her nervously as she rejoined him in the watchtower. ‘You’ve another daughter,’ she said, and had been rewarded by the wonder that washed over his face.
The moment had been stolen from the death that surrounded them. Then, as now, Risha had been grateful for it, and for the joy that had touched Galyn’s tired face. She glanced at him where he stood behind Feron, wondering whether he had yet found time to meet his new daughter.
The merchant puffed his chest and cleared his throat. Like a cockerel about to crow, Risha thought.
‘You will realise the difficulty your request placed on Havre’s Council,’ Feron began, ‘especially when we have so newly been told of your existence.’
Risha considered him coolly. ‘Westlaw’s actions have created difficulties for us all.’ Accepting her mother’s ring, she slipped it onto her finger. ‘Your captain, Nolan, tells me you lost more than sixty men and have twice that number wounded. I am sorry for the grief it will bring to their families. The most critical will be tended in the hall, and billets arranged for the rest. Naturally, both you and my kinsman Timon will lodge in the citadel.’
Feron looked shifty. ‘I would be honoured, of course, Lady Arishara, but perhaps—’
She did not give him a chance to finish. ‘I appreciate Havre’s support, Councillor Feron. Perhaps you would pass on to Captain Nolan and your fleet commander a request to dine with us this evening. You will understand that our kitchens are more stretched than usual, but LeMarc would be remiss in not offering such hospitality as it can muster.’
She’d met Nolan earlier and liked the man. Polite yet direct, he’d made no difficulty when Galyn had requested troops to help round up Westlaw’s stragglers. A sharp brain clearly lurked behind his smooth military façade. Feron, by contrast, was puffed up with his own importance. Risha sighed. Since seeing Nolan she’d washed and changed out of her bloodstained clothes, but her body craved sleep. ‘Timon, perhaps you’ll accompany me in looking in on Cantrel. Councillor Feron—’ She caught sight of Lyse at the door. ‘Lyse will show you to your room. Lyse, please ensure Councillor Feron has everything he requires. I’m sure he’d like to rest before our meal.’
Lyse dropped a meek curtsey and smiled at the townsman. If he objected to being organised out of the way, he was at least wise enough not to show it.
‘Has a courier been sent to Donnel?’ she asked Galyn as soon as Feron was gone. ‘He must hear the outcome of the siege before Goltoy gets news of it.’
‘I’ve sent riders.’
‘Good. Have you seen Anya?’
He shook his head.
‘Then I order you, Captain Galyn, to do so immediately. I don’t wish to see you again before we eat.’
His quick grin lightened her heart.
‘My Lady LeMarc resembles only a little the timid girl I met a year ago,’ Timon observed, as she led the way to Cantrel’s chamber.
‘A lot has happened since.’
‘Risha—’
‘Where is Harl, do you know?’ She was suddenly reluctant to talk.
‘He appointed himself bodyguard to Feron when we landed — I suspect he feared the man might lose stomach for the battle before it was won. Harl seems not to trust Havre any more than Havre trusts him.’
She eyed him sidelong. ‘And you, Timon? Are you trusted?’
Timon inclined his head in a courtier’s bow. ‘I hope I have proven myself of value to the good burghers of Havre. As for the Council,’ he lowered his voice, ‘their decision-making can be tortuous and they are reluctant to commit themselves where they cannot see immediate personal benefit — which generally means trade — but Havre’s well-being mostly matches their own. The soldiery,’ he added, even more quietly, ‘do not always share the Council’s view. It has the potential to create a rift.’
‘Not right now, I hope.’ She had no wish for further problems to add to her store. They had reached Cantrel’s door. She paused a moment before opening it.
The seneschal lay still as a corpse. Fretha sat beside him, her eyes red-rimmed with fatigue. ‘He’s alive, but barely. He’s lost too much blood.’
Risha leant over the bed. ‘Cantrel? It’s Risha. Havre came and we’re safe, but I sorely need your counsel. Fight your way back to us.’ She dropped a kiss on the old man’s cheek, her throat tight with dread.
Flapping a hand for Timon to stay, she hurried from the room, along the corridor, up the stair and out onto the roof of the keep. Placing her hands flat on the stone parapet, she gasped a lungful of air. It held the taint of blood, and worse. She straightened her spine. There were dead still to bury and the injured to attend to — Havre’s and Westlaw’s as well as her own. A grim smile tugged her lips: it was not so very long ago that ‘her own’ had meant no one save Pelon and her goats.
A gust of wind brought the sea to her nose, and the faint, piercing cries of gulls. Whether she willed it or not, her fortunes were bound to both Havre and LeMarc. There was no time for melancholy. The gatehouse was in ruins, half the stables and one of the dairies had been flattened to rubble, the northern curtain wall breached. The town was in chaos, looted and burned, and the countryside beyond doubtless sacked by Westlaw’s army. On top of that, it would soon be winter. She wondered how far she could push Havre — a little way at least.
From her father’s place at the head of the table, Risha scanned the group. She had placed Feron on her right and Nolan on her left. Beyond the Havrean captain, Timon and Emett flanked Margetta, with Havre’s fleet commander, Bruer, opposite between Galyn and Harl. As his eyes met hers, Harl’s scarred face contorted into a ghoulish caricature of a smile.
‘A toast to LeMarc and Havre,’ she said, raising her glass. Exhaustion embraced her like a second skin, an invisible wall that held the others at a distance.
‘Westlaw has fewer ships than I’d expect for a force of such a size,’ Bruer said.
Risha’s tongue felt too sluggish to form an answer. Stepping into her silence, Emett launched into a description of the sea battle. Bruer looked impressed, Feron shocked. As Galyn added details of the siege Risha’s thoughts strayed north, to Fratton, and to the size of the death toll before all was done.
With a start she became aware that the room had fallen silent. All eyes were on her, Feron’s expression betraying impatience. ‘I am sorry, Councillor Feron. My thoughts were on other matters. What did you say?’
‘I asked how quickly you will be able to ready yourself to leave.’
‘Leave? What—’
‘The councillor is eager to return to his home lest winter storms cut him off from its pleasures,’ Nolan said with studied casualness.
‘Not at all!’ Feron coloured. ‘But Bruer tells me the weather will hold fair for the next few days, as we would wish for your crossing to Havre. Naturally you will—’
‘I do not intend leaving LeMarc, Councillor. As anyone can see, there is much to be done before winter.’
‘But surely the seneschal — until your father’s return — you are, after all —’
‘It will be some time before Cantrel is able to take up his responsibilities. Are you suggesting that I abandon my father’s people when they are most in need?’
‘But you have no option,’ Feron blustered. ‘Half our forces have been deployed to fetch you safely to Havre.’
Risha raised an eyebrow. ‘Half, Councillor Feron?’
Nolan coughed behind his hand and Feron’s colour rose further. ‘I gather that gratitude for the assistance we have rendered is not currently in the lady’s favour, however
much it may be deserved,’ he snapped. ‘I will, of course, assure my Council that such a lapse can be attributed to the stress you have been under, and to your youth, Lady Arishara.’
The tension in the room wound tight. ‘Do you presume to patronise me, Councillor Feron? Is it not in my name that your Council governs Havre?’
Feron was undaunted. ‘The Council was established—’
‘I am aware of why the Council was established, though not of how it came to be constituted in its current form.’ She turned. ‘Captain Nolan, is the soldiery represented on Havre’s Council?’
‘Not at present, Lady Arishara.’
‘No? Other groups then? Artisans, farmers, scholars even — it’s thanks to a scholar that I’m still alive. Havre’s navy perhaps?’ She met Bruer’s eyes. He gave a taut shake of his head.
‘Lady Arishara,’ Feron began. ‘I suggest—’
‘I am looking forward to visiting my mother’s home, Councillor Feron, and will do so as soon as LeMarc can spare me.’
Galyn gave a small nod of approval. Harl looked on the verge of exploding.
‘And I will be most interested to learn more of Havre’s system of governance. How its representatives are chosen, for example, and your system of taxation: how levies are set and revenues spent. No doubt you will be able to enlighten me — to which end I propose you remain in LeMarc.’
Feron sputtered, hand clenching his wineglass. ‘Lady Arishara, such a proposal is preposterous. You are too young and inexperienced to realise how—’
The last thing she wanted was to spend time with this pompous little man, but she could not have him return to Havre determined to set his Council against her. She interrupted his bluster. ‘Forgive me, Councillor, but might we defer this discussion until tomorrow? I find myself a little tired this evening.’
Feron’s mouth snapped shut, his round cheeks mottled with annoyance.
‘Inevitably, my lady,’ Nolan said smoothly. ‘This was the first time you’ve taken a direct part in battle?’
Cattra's Legacy Page 25
