The mercenary knights shared out hard bread and the raw red wine in their flasks while some of their number went scrounging for food, eventually returning with piles of wild mushrooms cradled in their arms. Kate watched with alarm as everyone took thin sticks, spearing the mushrooms to hold them over the fire for roasting. “Are those safe?"
André gave her a puzzled look. “Of course they are. Who wouldn't know a dangerous mushroom from a safe one?"
"Lady Kate is from far away,” Joan explained. She seemed in her element among these rough soldiers, trading jokes, asking for news, sharing stories of earlier battles. Every once in a while one of the mercenaries would inadvertently utter an oath and then Joan would gently reprove him, the hardened warriors humbly accepting her admonishments.
Kate ate her share of the mushrooms and bread, taking swigs from flasks as they went around, the red wine warming her insides, watching Joan laugh and talk. The mercenaries listened attentively to her, showing real respect. “I don't get it,” Kate finally murmured to herself.
André had been close enough to hear, and now turned to Kate. “Something bothers you, Lady?"
"Yes. You're all experienced fighting men. You're mercenaries. You're men, and these days men don't listen much to women. But you really seem to think a lot of Joan."
André looked toward Joan as well. “A wise man listens to women on some matters. My father told me that. Most women confine their concerns to the home and the farm, though. But the Maid is different. It's like this. I'm a mercenary, Lady Kate. I used to believe in other things, but mercenaries believe in only one thing, and that's money.” André nodded toward where Joan sat. “You need to stay alive to spend the money you earn, and that's why mercenaries have no qualms about following the Maid. She's a fine leader, with a good mind for combat."
"Really? I've heard a lot about her, but not much about that."
The mercenary laughed harshly. “Thank the nobility for trying to hide it! They couldn't have it known that a girl was a better leader of men in battle than any of them. The English and the Burgundians want little said of it as well, that a woman beat them soundly again and again. Better for them to call her a sorceress who won her battles through black magic, or to talk about her clothing and her faith. But surely you've heard some of the Maid's military doings, like her advice before the fight at Patay."
Kate managed to dredge up that memory. “Something about spurs, wasn't it?"
"Yes. ‘You have good spurs. Use them.’ Then she explained that it didn't make sense to wait around and let the English choose where and when to fight. When we saw them, we should hit them hard and fast, before they were ready.” André grinned. “We tried it at Patay and slaughtered the English, who thought to have another Agincourt or Crécy. We beat them handily at other places, too. The Maid taught us how important speed is, on campaign and in battle, and in a fight she's always at the fore, leading her men onward. If an attack at one place fails she shifts, seeking better approaches. When she has failed, it was because the rock-heads of the nobility held her back. We would have had Paris easily if not for self-serving truces agreed to by the court. The Maid is the best leader many of us have followed, Lady, and that's why I took Duke Alencon's coin and came looking for her."
"So, it's self-interest."
"You could call it that, Lady.” André frowned down at the grass. “That's all it is.” But then he looked at Joan again and his expression wasn't that of a man working only for money.
* * * *
Another dawn on a journey that was only supposed to have lasted a few hours. Kate sat with her back against a tree, trying to understand what had gotten her here. Time travel? That part was easy. What she couldn't figure out was what she was doing following a religious warrior and a band of mercenaries through territory crawling with enemies.
And why did she have a nasty suspicion that she was enjoying this, that she wouldn't leave Joan now no matter how bad things got?
Kate looked at the return control she carried on her wrist, safely under the sleeve of her armored gauntlet when she wore it. Just punch in the code, and she would be gone from here, back to the land of warm showers and fast food and soft beds, where hordes of enemies weren't hunting for her head. But all she did was look.
Joan came around the side of the tree, wearing her breastplate, her sword swinging sheathed by her side, the dawn light gilding her. Kate could only stare for a moment. “God, you look hot,” she blurted out.
"Take not His name in vain, Lady Kate.” But then Joan's expression turned rueful. “In truth, it becomes very warm under armor, does it not?"
"Uh ... yeah. Yes. That's what I meant. Joan, have you ever been in love?"
Joan sat down nearby. “Of course. I love my parents, my brothers, I love Duke Alencon. There are many I am fond of."
"I don't mean that kind of love. I mean passionate love, like getting married."
Joan gave her a quizzical look. “Do you mean romantic love? But that is not what marriage is about. Parents arrange marriages for many reasons, but romantic love is never one of them! Have you been listening to too many court troubadours and their silly songs?"
Kate looked off into the distance. “Romantic love is real."
"Of course it is,” Joan conceded. “But it is not something I could ever have."
Then some of the knights came to tell them it was time to go, and Kate followed Joan to their horses.
* * * *
They made it through that day, and halfway through the next, riding through a countryside where rumor and news of soldiers hunting the Maid were constant companions. Some of the people they encountered warned them, while others doubtless carried word to their hunters.
Joan had continued to improve rapidly despite the hardships of their road. She spent time with the mercenaries, but she also rode with Kate often, talking of many things. Once Kate asked her about the fabled sign to the Dauphin, but Joan just laughed and would say nothing about it. “You are not to be my inquisitor as well,” she chided Kate lightly. “I care for you too much to have you assume such a role, my good Lady Kate."
Just before noon they rode past the ruin of a keep consisting of a small walled court and a tower. Topping a ridge beyond the keep, the lead mercenary halted abruptly. “English!” he called back. “Three score at least!"
André turned his mount. “We ride back and across country.” Spurring their tired horses, the party headed back past the ruined keep.
But on the other side, before they could leave the road, they saw another party of hunters coming toward them. This time the English saw the group with Joan, and warning trumpets sounded as they charged, trumpets that were answered from the group on the other side.
Joan drew rein. “There are at least a hundred English knights and men-at-arms there and more than sixty behind us."
"They come on fast. Our mounts cannot outrun them,” André replied grimly.
"No, and the English have bowmen with them. A fight in the open would be hopeless. To the keep."
The dozen mercenaries, Joan and Kate kicked their horses into a final burst of speed, into the courtyard of the ruined keep where the knights hastily began barricading the broken gate with any available object. They had barely finished piling up a barrier when the first group of English arrived. Within minutes, the second group joined them. Kate watched with a sinking feeling, certain that there were at least two hundred men facing them, and more trumpets could be heard signaling in the distance as other groups converged on the keep.
There was an elevated stone walkway about a yard off the ground, allowing defenders to stand chest-high to the wall, which was substantially intact but only about eight feet tall. Joan dashed up onto the walkway, followed by Kate and most of the mercenaries.
Everything seemed to pause for a moment, the banners of the English flapping in the breeze the only movement and the cries of birds the only sound. Finally, a herald rode out from the English lines, stopping well away from the wal
l. The herald's voice rang out clearly in passable French. “Brave knights, you cannot prevail here. Surrender the witch and you shall all be granted your lives and your freedom."
Her own voice strong, Joan called back an answer. “In the name of God, leave France, go back to your home, and you will have no need to fear me.” No answer came from the English. Joan spoke again, much more quietly, so only those on the wall could hear. “There is no chance of victory here. They want me, but I will not willingly be imprisoned by them again for they seek only my death. I ask no more than that you grant me time to fortify myself inside the keep and then you are free to go where you may and say what you will to ensure your safety."
Kate swallowed nervously, looking sidelong down the ranks of the mercenary knights.
But every one of the knights just gazed forward, their faces as hard and uncompromising as the stone of the wall. None of them replied to the herald.
In a little while an English knight in fine armor rode up to the herald and spoke to him, then the herald raised his voice once more. “If you surrender the witch, you shall be granted your lives, your freedom, and one hundred gold crowns apiece, this sworn to on the word of Sir Costain of Kent."
"You may accept the offer as long as you grant me time to get into the keep,” Joan murmured to the knights. “This alone I ask of you."
After a long moment, André shook his head, looking disgusted. “We can't, Maid."
"I thought all you believed in now was money,” Kate said.
"That's the problem with the Maid, you see.” André smiled toward Joan, then turned a grim face back to the English. “She makes you believe in things again. She makes you believe in her, she makes you believe in yourself, and she makes you believe in dying for France.” André raised his own voice to a shout. “You won't have the Maid from us while we live, you English pig! You can take your filthy gold to hell!"
The herald and the English knight rode back to their lines. There was another pause, messengers riding down the English line calling out orders, then a line of archers stood out. “Beware the longbows,” Joan warned Kate.
The archers bent their bows, then as the trumpets sounded again they launched their arrows as the men-at-arms and knights charged the keep.
It's not real. It's a game. It's not real. It's a game. Kate kept repeating that in her mind to keep from running and hiding as the English reached the keep. Most of the French knights had gone down to hold the gate, but five stood with Joan and Kate along the wall as the English soldiers reached it and began trying to boost their comrades up onto it.
Kate's sword was out and she was actually using it in a real fight, trying not to think about the fact that she was really trying to hurt and kill. Men-at-arms fell back, but one of the French knights on the wall took two arrows and fell, then another was stabbed in the throat by an English soldier who had made it up. That soldier died at the hands of the remaining three French knights with Joan and Kate, then in a momentary lull they heard a cry from below. “The gate is going!"
"To me!” Joan cried, and Kate and the other three knights followed as Joan hurtled down the stairs to the courtyard, where the improvised barricade was coming apart under the pressure of the attackers and several French knights already lay dead or dying. Men-at-arms were coming over the abandoned wall. “We cannot hold here! To the keep!” Joan ordered.
The remaining knights at the gate fell back, joined by those with Joan, and the small group backed their way toward the entrance to the keep, fighting the mass of English soldiers boiling through the gate and over the wall. One more French knight fell, then another, then as Joan, Kate and two other surviving knights reached the keep only André stood between them and the English. “Close the entry!” André shouted.
"I'll not leave you outside the door!” Joan cried in return. “I was so abandoned at Compiegne and I will not do the same to a brave and loyal knight!"
But as André raised his sword for another blow at the onrushing English, longbow archers who had entered the courtyard released their arrows, three of their shafts slamming into him, piercing the armor and leaving André swaying for a moment. “I am done,” he said in a slightly puzzled voice, then fell forward into his attackers, his final collapse holding back the enemy a little longer.
The surviving two knights joined Joan and Kate in levering closed the broken door to the keep, wedging wreckage around it to help hold as the door began splintering under blows from outside.
Joan looked upward. “Kate, go up and see the state of the tower above. There is too much light there. There may be an opening the English can use to enter above us."
Kate took the rickety, decayed stairs at the best speed she could manage in armor, the wildlife nesting in the tower taking flight. The part of Kate's mind not filled with fear noted the many nests and the dried-out old wood and realized the tower's interior was a tinderbox waiting for a spark.
The first level up was choked with more debris and broken wood, the remains of furniture and chests. Kate staggered up the next set of stairs, which creaked ominously under her weight, and onto the second level, bright with light streaming in through a breach in the tower wall close to two meters wide and just as tall. Reaching the opening, Kate gazed downward to where the English were readying tree trunks with the branches lopped off short to form improvised ladders. She went back to the stairs, yelling down to be heard over the clash of fighting below. “Joan, there's a gap in the tower wall two levels up. They're getting ready to try to come through here."
No answer. Despite her tiredness Kate went back down the sagging stairs to the first level and shouted her message to the figures she could now see below.
Joan looked upward, then to the door. “Lady Kate and I will hold the tower above."
One of the French knights nodded. “We shall hold here as long as breath is in us, Maid. Bless us before you leave us, please, that we may die in God's grace."
"I am but a servant of God, not one of His angels,” Joan protested.
"Please, Maid!"
Tears spilling from her eyes, Joan fumbled through a blessing of the two knights as they leaned against the crumbling door. “I come, Kate. Hold the breach until I reach you."
Kate had to pause to rest before lurching up the stairs one more time, one of the steps cracking into fragments and nearly tossing her down. But she made it up again, then to the side of the gap in the tower, where the end of a tree trunk could now be seen just above the bottom of the breach.
She had seen enough movies to know what to do. Kate planted her foot against the tree trunk and shoved as hard as she could. The trunk shifted, to the sounds of yells below. A loud report of metal on stone sounded nearby as an arrow struck the tower. More archers were bending their longbows, aiming at her, but Kate thought of Joan and the knights holding the door below and somehow nerved herself to stay in the opening long enough to shove the trunk again, so that it toppled to one side.
Then Kate whirled back into cover, leaning against the inside of the tower, breathing heavily as arrows rattled through the opening and struck the far wall.
Joan came up the stairs and to the other side of the breach, smiling at Kate through tears. “There is little time left. If you would leave, leave now."
Kate stared, her mouth hanging open, then she shook her head, aware that she was crying as freely as Joan. “I won't leave you.” The words she had never managed to say burst out. “I love you."
"I love you as well, Kate.” But then Joan's eyes locked on Kate's, and Joan somehow read the meaning there. Kate waited for the look of anger, of denial, but Joan's smile just saddened. “That is the way of it? Alas, my good Lady Kate, your love is not the kind I could ever return. Even were you a man, my only Lord can be my God."
"You don't hate me?"
"Hate you? I have been judged by others, Kate. I know how little such judgments say of the truth. How could I hate a woman such as you? My Lord bid us love all, and though I have great bitterness toward
the English even they would I willingly grant leave to depart France in peace if they would do so. But there is no evil in your heart, Kate. Your love is not such as I could ever feel, but it is pure nonetheless. My voices told me this of you, and now you see again how true they are."
More arrows flew through the breach in the wall, but this time they trailed smoke and heat. Joan took a quick look out, then leaned back, shaking her head, for the first time showing a trace of fear. “They seek to force us out of the tower by setting fire to it."
Kate had thought she couldn't be more frightened, but now realized there was always another intensity worse than the last. “This thing will burn like a torch.” A realization broke through her fear. “I can't hear the fighting at the door."
Joan nodded. “You are closer. Check the stairs while I guard here."
Scuttling to the stairs, Kate looked downward. The thud of weapons against wood or their clang against armor no longer came up from below, but she could hear the sounds of movement among the wreckage as well as something else, a crackling sound that she couldn't place for a moment.
Then Kate heard the crackling sound growing louder amid alarmed shouts of “Outside! Outside!” in archaic English, and smoke began curling upward from the ground level in rapidly growing billows as the shouts faded.
Now was definitely the time to panic, but instead as Kate looked toward Joan she felt an odd resolve settle over her.
Kate rejoined Joan at the breach in the tower. “The English won't be coming up the stairs,” Kate gasped.
Joan looked back, seeing the smoke now streaming upward through the stair opening. “The fire has caught below."
"Yes. The English were down there, but I think they ran from the fire. The other two knights must be dead."
Joan leaned back against one side of the breach while Kate rested against the other side. The fire venting up the tower was sucking in air through the breach, keeping this spot clear of smoke and relatively cool despite the growing heat. But the edges of the stairwell up here were smoldering, ready themselves to catch fire, and then the floor beneath them would burn as well. “It seems, my good Lady Kate, that you have saved me from one pyre only to land both of us inside another. I confess to you a secret I tried to hide from my captors. I fear death by fire. There is little I fear, but I fear that so very much."
Analog SFF, November 2009 Page 20
