Artaud studied the edge of the woods as the mist burned down, still thick on the ground. Enemy soldiers emerged from the trees at the foot of the slope. The rising sun glinted off their helmets. He'd secretly hoped to have more time, but John-John had been accurate. Damas had planned to surprise him. Artaud was glad to disappoint.
He pointed to Damas in his plumed helmet, and his dozen mounted knights emerging from the misty tree line. "If he believes he can take Montarcher that easily, he is mistaken."
Ida frowned under the helmet hiding her hair. "What makes him think he can win this time?"
The puzzling question made Artaud's insides churn. "I'm not sure."
A determined scowl furrowed Ida's brow. "His last attempt was a debacle. He lost all his troops and ended up in our dungeon. Didn't he learn his lesson?"
"Damas is a cunning warrior." Artaud sighed. "If I learned anything from him, ‘tis that a good strategist never makes the same mistake twice."
"So what's his secret weapon this time around?" Ida stared into the distance. "I don't even see any war engines."
Artaud grunted at the disturbing thought. "He escaped the dungeon with inside help, and we never found his accomplice."
Ida's brow shot up. "You think he plans to use our secret tunnels?"
"Good luck with that. All the tunnel entrances are locked and secure." Artaud had made sure of it.
Ida faced him squarely. "What if the accomplice reopens them from inside during the battle?"
Artaud winked at Ida. "No chance of that, sis. I have a special gatekeeper."
He didn't mention magic. Even his siblings could never know of Melusine's Fae nature, or the Goddess would worsen her curse. Since the Great One allowed it for this particular battle, however, his lovely wife used her gifts to keep all the secret doors hermetically locked. Anyone approaching them from either side would freeze, and remain paralyzed until she released the spell.
They would have to be discreet about it, of course. If discovered using magic, they could lose everything. Artaud secretly hoped this trap would catch the traitor. How he wished Melusine could use her gifts all the time without consequences. It would make their life so much easier.
Ida pointed to a spot half-way to the tree line. "Look!"
Enemy archers had crawled unseen in the low-hanging fog and now lit their bolts to their pitch bowl and rose, knocking their flaming arrows. A fiery volley came at them. Artaud grabbed Ida and ducked behind the battlements, as the incendiary projectiles brushed the top of the ramparts.
"Get these archers. Keep firing!"
Arrows and bolts whistled from the many loopholes in the thick wall below them.
Ida, crouching near him, peered over the side of a merlon down the slope. "They are bringing a ram."
"By Jupiter's balls." Artaud glanced at the ram on wheels coming up the grassy slope. Soldiers with raised shields pulled it on both sides. Arrows rained uselessly upon their protective carapace of wood and metal. "It seems Damas doesn't intend to lay siege and starve us out, but to quickly force his way through the main gate."
"He cannot break the gate, the portcullis is down." The resolve in Ida's voice surprised him.
Smaller groups of soldiers, protected by makeshift planks, like roofs on wheels, now charged toward the gate as well.
"He intends to swarm the barbican." Artaud raised his sword in the familiar signal. "To the barbican!"
Soldiers and knights rushed to follow him. The guards up above the gate poured burning pitch upon the enemy below, who attempted to climb up the metal grate to reach the barbican and the portcullis mechanism. A few fell, screaming all the way down. Still, several reached the parapet, where they met Artaud's knights. Despite knights and guards, the enemy, quick and strong, now swarmed the barbican.
Calling on the magic of Caliburn, Artaud sliced and speared with speed and efficiency. Still, the savage enemy soldiers fought like bloody demons. A battle horn sounded in the distance. The enemy charge?
Did Damas trust his barbarian mercenaries to the point of sounding the charge, before they had control of the gate? Dear Goddess help us all!
* * *
In her chambers at the top of the keep, Melusine sat against the bolsters on the large bed and shifted to accommodate her heavy belly. She focused her gifts on maintaining the spells protecting the tunnels. No one had approached any of the secret doors... yet.
The din of battle intruded through the closed shutters. Outside, on the battlements, steel clashed against steel, arrows whistled. The wounded screamed or moaned in lament. From the stables, the fearful whinny of horses responded to the acrid smell of smoke. Melusine hoped Artaud, Ida and Guilli were safe.
A sharp twinge in her distended belly wrenched a cry from her throat and scattered her thoughts. She winced, holding her side. What was that? Certainly not a kick... something much stronger. The babies? Dear Goddess, please, not now.
Birthing, always a dangerous thing for a Fae, might prove especially difficult with twins... both sons to boot. Fae rarely gave birth to live sons, but Melusine dared to hope. She had birthed healthy sons over six decades ago, as the Lady of Luxembourg.
"You called, m'lady?" The serving girl's eyes rounded in alarm.
"I believe I had a birth cramp." Melusine struggled to right her spine and straighten against the bolsters. "Find the healer and the midwife."
"At once, m'lady. And I'm sending someone to stay with you. You should not be alone." The girl curtsied and scrambled out the door.
Panic gripped Melusine's insides. Other people in the room would distract her from protecting the castle. Furthermore, how could she maintain control of her protective spells while giving birth?
Her own mother lost her Fae powers in childbearing and remained powerless for months. But that was part of her mother's curse, not hers. In the past, Melusine had recovered quickly from childbirth. Still. If her magic barriers weakened or failed while the battle still raged, the consequences to Montarcher could be disastrous.
She forced her mind to slow down then she took a deep, calming breath. Perhaps, 'twas a false alarm. All would be well.
A warm flow inundated her thighs and drenched her skirts. Dear Goddess, this was really happening.
She dragged herself to the edge of the bed and lowered her feet to the floor rushes.
A woman barged into the room. "I was sent to help, m'lady."
"I need fresh air. Please, open the window." Dread banded Melusine's chest like a vise, as she realized her predicament. She wobbled on her feet, legs apart. She could barely breathe. "The babies are coming."
The woman hastened to her side to support her waist. "Babies?"
Realizing her mistake, Melusine bit her lips then forced a mirthless chuckle. "‘Tis a wild guess. With such a wide girth to my waist, there has to be more than one, or this baby is a giant."
Chapter Nineteen
Montarcher, the same day
Atop the wall, Artaud crossed blades with bloodthirsty demons climbing ladders and ropes like acrobats despite the weight of metal armor. Battle axe in hand, swords and knives tucked at their belts, they ignored the knights raining death blows from above.
A clenching jolt tore Artaud's side. When he checked himself for a wound, his mail was whole. No bloody tear on his surcoat. Then, as another invisible stab pierced him, he heard an unmistakable scream coming from up high in the keep.
Beloved, help! Melusine's voice pleaded in his head. How could it be? Were their minds linked?
Has the enemy invaded the keep? Are they slaughtering the women?
No, Beloved. Melusine's voice huffed in his mind. I am in labor.
So soon? Artaud glanced up the stark gray walls of the keep to see a woman leaning out of the high window. She motioned happily toward him, excitement coloring her plump face. The midwife!
Melusine was giving birth, and their minds and bodies were linked somehow. "By the sacred horns of Mithras!"
"What is it?" Ida asked at his
side, panting, her face gritty from sweat and smoke.
"Melusine is giving birth!"
Ida followed his gaze up the keep's highest window then turned to him, a stern expression on her face. "You can't leave now, brother. We need you out here."
Higher, on the roof of the keep, between two merlons, Guilli waved at them. Artaud waved back.
"Aye." He nodded to Ida. She spoke true. He must defend the castle, if only to keep those he loved safe from the enemy. "I would only get in the way in the keep."
"Behind you!" Ida shouted.
Artaud whirled about. An enemy soldier climbed over the parapet, a dagger clenched between his teeth. Swinging Caliburn, Artaud decapitated the mercenary in one stroke. The man's eyes froze. His head tumbled down, dagger and all.
Then Artaud kicked, shoving the rest of his body over the edge with his boot. It dropped upon the next climbing enemy, unsettling the ladder and the soldiers climbing below. The ladder fell back in the midst of the assailants, accompanied by screams, and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the grassy slope.
"Look! Over there!" Ida pointed her sword in the distance, to a strategic bend in the river.
Artaud followed the direction of her blade. Damas and a dozen knights, wearing the Couzan cross on their surcoats, rode hard toward the river bend. Artaud knew the place well. One of the escape tunnels ended there. Ida knew it, too.
By the horns of Mithras. "We better re-check that tunnel entrance."
Ida's brow arched. "You said you trusted your gatekeeper."
"Perhaps I was wrong." Artaud realized with a start that Melusine may not be able to sustain the protecting spells during her ordeal.
Artaud motioned for more of his knights to climb from the bailey, and they rushed to fill their places on the battlements.
He called to Ida. "Let's go check, and perhaps catch our traitor."
"‘Twill take Damas some time to travel the length of the underground tunnel on foot, especially with all the stairs. We can make sure ‘tis locked at our end."
With Ida close behind him, Artaud descended the wall stairs to the outer bailey, where servants and soldiers struggled to extinguish small fires. He hurried across, then through the second gate to the inner bailey, and into the keep.
The great hall buzzed with servants carrying bandages and baskets of liniments and potions. A few soldiers sat on the flagstone, backs propped against the wall, on each side of the giant fireplaces, nursing bloody bandages around their heads and limbs. In and around the roaring fires, small caldrons of hot water and brew exuded warm steam, and the strong aroma of medicinal herbs and poultice.
Artaud and Ida skirted the great hall. Artaud snatched a torch from a sconce and hurried down the stairs leading to the wine and cheese cellars... and to several subterranean passages. No one in sight down below. Good.
The thick walls muffled the tumult of battle outside. The smell of ripening cheese and mildew, dust, fermenting wine, and oak barrels filled the stone passages.
Ida on his heels, Artaud went straight to the end of the passage, into an empty storeroom. The even stone wall showed no sign of a secret door. To the casual eye, the room looked ordinary enough, and unused. In times of need, it could house a small military force.
Artaud turned to Ida. "Anyone in sight?"
She glanced down the passage behind her. "No one." She entered the storeroom after him and glanced at the back wall. "Is the entrance secure?"
He pointed to a set of footsteps in the dust. "Someone has been here recently... and did not return... yet."
Artaud set the torch in the sconce, but could not see whether the locking stone was set or not. He needed to get closer. He hesitated. The footsteps could be from days ago. What if Melusine's spells were still in place? Then he and Ida would freeze.
Ida strode toward the back wall of the room.
"Wait!" A sharp, piercing pain stopped Artaud's next words and he grimaced. He could hear Melusine's labor cries in his thoughts and wished he were with her. I can feel your pain, love. Tell me. Are the spells still in place?
Melusine's voice in his mind sounded scared and shaky. No, beloved. My spells cannot hold without my full attention. I failed you at the worst of times.
Rest easy. We'll take care of everything.
"Are you all right?" Ida, sword drawn, stared at him, immobile, listening. "What did you hear?"
As Artaud took a deep breath and righted himself from the fading pain, a ghostly sound behind the wall made them glance up.
"‘Tis too soon to be Damas," he whispered.
He motioned to Ida, and they both retreated to the blind side of the large swivel stone. The stone door lurched in a grating of chains. As it pivoted on its axis, the air flowing from the open tunnel sent the torch aflutter in its sconce.
A Montarcher soldier walked in wearily, sword in one hand, torch in the other. From inside the dark tunnel, sounds of armor and chain mail echoed in the distance. Damas and his knights.
Artaud let the soldier walk inside the room, then he rushed past him to cut his exit into the hallway. Behind the man, Ida barred his way back into the tunnel. This was their traitor. One of his own soldiers.
Anger sent tingling jolts of energy along Artaud's sword arm. "Ida, close the passage and lock the stone."
The man cringed, dropped his torch, and pulled a dagger from his belt. He stepped back and faced Artaud, sword in one hand, dagger in the other, in a defensive stance.
Ida pushed the pivoting door closed. Then she locked the mechanism by sliding the protruding side stone into its indentation. It clicked into place, level with the wall surface. "No one will breach that wall from the outside now."
Dread tightening his face, eyes wide but determined, the soldier faced Artaud and Ida, but he now had his back to a wall and two armed knights challenging his escape.
"Surrender," Artaud ordered in his battle voice. "Or by Jupiter's balls, I'll take your head right now."
The soldier spat on the dusty floor and charged Ida. She blocked his blow. She was strong enough to hold her own, but Artaud did not take kindly to those who attacked his family. He stepped into the fight.
The soldier whirled and lunged at him. Artaud parried then stepped aside and plunged Caliburn into the soldier's heart, right through the metal links. The traitor collapsed, a look of disbelief in his fixed, dead eyes.
Ida blinked at her brother then sighed. "Thanks. By the way, that's a mighty sword you have here, brother, to pierce through chain mail."
Artaud smiled. "Aye, a mighty sword, indeed."
He wiped Caliburn on the man's sleeve then sheathed it.
Ida picked up the fallen torch, eyes hard, like the seasoned warrior she had become over the past two years, strong of body and heart.
Artaud bent and grasped the dead traitor's ankle then dragged him out of the storeroom, trailing a smear of blood past the cellars, and up the stairwell. Ida followed without a word. The dead man's head thudded upon each stone step but Artaud didn't care. A dead traitor deserved no respect.
When he reached the great hall, Artaud called to one of the guards. "Get rid of this vermin. It's stinking up my hall."
The soldier nodded, took the dead man's other ankle, and dragged him out of the hall. Artaud hoped this was the only traitor. The only one who knew of the secret tunnels. For added security, he motioned to two other guards. "You two."
Both men rushed to his side. "M'lord," they said in perfect ensemble.
"Stand guard on each side of these stairs. No matter what happens, you stay here and make sure no one goes down to the cellars or comes up that way until this battle is over. Absolutely no one. No servant, soldier, or captain of the guard. Not even one of you. Understood?"
Both men straightened their backs with pride and saluted, the importance of their special mission shining in their eyes. "Aye, m'lord."
Artaud turned to Ida. "Are you all right?"
Ida nodded, resolve tensing her face. "Let's get back to the ba
ttle."
* * *
"Damn Artaud and his Pagan bitch!" Damas kicked his heels to his destrier with barely contained rage, as he rode back to the battlefield ahead of his knights. Damn his careless spy inside Montarcher. The stupid soldier must have gotten himself caught upon his return. May he die a slow, agonizing death.
Not only he'd embarrassed Damas in front of his most trusted knights, but with no way to infiltrate the castle as planned, even these savage mercenaries may not conquer such a well defended fortress. Besides, he had not prepared for a long siege and had no catapult, ballista, or siege towers on the ground. It would take weeks to build them, and he did not intend to feed all these soldiers for weeks, or months to come.
The memory of his previous defeat beneath these same walls, and his short sojourn in Artaud's dungeon still stung his pride. Perhaps, he should hold on until the archbishop contacted the pope to ratify the excommunication. Then, the whole of Christendom would flock to Forez, to rid the country of its stubborn, Pagan count.
As he reached the hillock from which he'd observed the battle, the fog had completely lifted and the late morning sun shone on the countryside. Damas noticed the Burgundy captain's questioning look. How dare he doubt his commander?
Before the man could ask, Damas snapped, "A slight mishap."
The captain chewed his lips. "My lord, our men are dying with no result. If the battle plan is compromised, perhaps we should regroup and devise a new one."
How Damas hated to be reminded he had failed. Yet, he refused to retreat in front of Artaud. The young upstart had caused him too much grief over the past year. At this time, however, he may not have any other option. "Sound the retreat!"
A horn blared in the woods behind him. Not the low sounding retreat for his mercenaries, but a high-pitched, crystalline sound that pierced the barren woods.
The Burgundy captain turned toward the sound, squinting in the gray light to see what came at them between the tall trunks of leafless trees. "Troops, my lord. Not ours. Riders and foot soldiers... Hundreds of them..."
Chatelaine of Forez Page 19
