But there were times when things did not go his way.
This was one of those times. Faced with five knights who had returned from Gainford with a concerning tale, de Puiset wasn’t thrilled with what he was being told. It was bad enough that Bowes Castle had been taken by Richard’s forces because de Puiset had lost a revenue stream in the tribute de la Roarke paid him from those he stole from, but now it was evident that the army who now held Bowes was filtering into nearby Gainford. Nay, he didn’t like that news at all.
Obese, with a pug nose, very expensive robes embroidered with gold, and hair worn in the style of tonsure, or the shaving of most of his scalp, Hugh de Puiset was a man who was brilliant in some areas but not in others. One area he was not brilliant at was military might, or tactics, even though he commanded a fine army. He didn’t like to use it, for various reasons, which is why he hadn’t sent his men to counter the siege on Bowes. That would have meant spending money and losing resources, so he’d had to weigh the value of the lost revenue stream from Bowes against losing men and material. The latter had won over.
Yet, the news from Gainford described the army from Bowes becoming bold and expanding. The name behind that expansion was even more concerning – the High Sheriff of Yorkshire. Aye, de Puiset knew the man and his army. Everyone in England did. The Lord of Winter, Juston de Royans was called, and de Puiset wasn’t happy in the least to hear that de Royans had made his way into his bishopric. Misery was reflected on his round face.
“De Royans,” he muttered. “You are certain of this?”
The knight with the bushy beard nodded. “He was identified to me by one of his knights, Your Grace,” he said. “Juston de Royans is now in possession of Bowes and we saw his men in Gainford.”
De Puiset sighed heavily. “Then the man is becoming bold,” he said. “First Bowes, now Gainford.”
“Auckland may be next,” the dirty-beard knight said anxiously. “Your Grace, we are all aware that you did not wish to aid Bowes during the siege, but if de Royans is becoming bold, then there is no telling what his next target will be. We must act.”
De Puiset knew that. He wasn’t thrilled with it, but he knew it. “We cannot have the man come to Auckland,” he muttered. “Worse still, what if he chooses to invade all of Durham? We received word those weeks ago from Cotherstone regarding the siege of Bowes and the messenger told us that men had also been sent to Richmond and Carlisle. What of them? Do we know if Carlisle or Richmond have moved to regain Bowes?”
As usual, the bishop was looking for others to do his work, to protect him. The knight with the dirty beard shook his head. “There is no way of knowing, Your Grace, unless we send word to them,” he said, trying to stress the urgency of the situation. “That will take time. We do not have much time if de Royans is expanding his reach.”
De Puiset nodded reluctantly. He had truly hoped this moment would not come but it had. Ever since the siege of Bowes, he had been praying that would be the end of it, that whoever held Bowes would not become greedy and invade more of his territory. But his prayers to that regard had not been answered.
“I suppose you are correct,” he said, clearly unhappy. “We must protect ourselves against Richard’s invasion. Moreover, if I do not act, Henry will once again view me as weak, as he has in the past when I have failed to move swiftly enough against Scot raids. If I do not move to quell Richard and his servant, de Royans, then Henry would once again view me with disfavor. I have worked too hard over the years to rebuild the man’s faith in me.”
The knight with the dirty beard was greatly encouraged. “Then we move, Your Grace?”
De Puiset gave the command he’d been dreading. “We move. Gather my military advisors. We move immediately to Bowes and expel de Royans from her innards.”
That was what the Durham knights wanted to hear. Finally, a favorable decision from de Puiset that would see him defending what belonged to him and purging Durham of Richard’s surge against Henry’s properties and loyalists. They weren’t honestly sure if de Puiset would act, being that he tended to be reluctant to enter into any sort of military conflict, so this was a great and significant moment as far as they were concerned.
Finally, they could act.
After that, the Durham knights scattered, gathering the bishop’s military advisor, men who were surprised to hear of the situation and of de Puiset’s response. By night, the military council had convened and by morning, the bishop’s army was being amassed. Men were outfitted, food and materials loaded into wagons, and there was a sense of purpose in the air. Richard had sent de Royans to destroy Henry’s hold in Durham and it was time for the Bishop of Durham to hold his ground. It was time for him to purge de Royans from Bowes and take back the castle.
Something that was far easier said than done.
Bowes Castle
“Brough is not coming.”
It was a blustery and cloudy morning as Juston and his knights stood at the gatehouse of Bowes. One of their own messengers had just arrived, a man they’d sent to Brough Castle to ask for assistance. The words out of his mouth were not words that Juston had wanted to hear.
Having been roused from a warm, cozy bed with Emera sleeping soundly against him, Juston had been summoned by Gart with whisperings of the returned messenger. By the time he reached the gatehouse, all of the knights were there, lingering, hovering anxiously.
The news was not good.
“Why not?” Juston demanded. “Why will they not come?”
The messenger, heavily armed, was purposely not wearing de Royans colors. If the man was captured, it was to protect him against those who might be enemies of Richard and, subsequently, de Royans. He was a seasoned soldier and had ridden very hard for the past few days. Consequently, he was filthy, cold, and exhausted. He tried to explain his message without sounding as if he was miserable and whining.
“Because Brough is under attack, my lord,” the messenger told him. “She was under attack when I reached her. I cannot be sure, but it looked to me as if it was Carlisle.”
Juston’s eyebrows flew up, as did Christopher’s and nearly every other knight’s. Attack! “Carlisle?” Juston hissed in disbelief as he turned to look at Christopher. “Great Bleeding Christ… why would Carlisle go after Brough?”
Christopher shook his head. “I can only speculate,” he said. “It is entirely possible that Carlisle was alerted to the siege of Bowes and had come to aid them. We were told that Cotherstone had sent out messengers, several of them. We speculated that some had been sent north to Carlisle.”
“It seems as if that was true.”
“Carlisle’s army would have to pass by Brough Castle on the way to defend Bowes.”
“And Brough stopped them from going any further,” David suggested what they were all thinking. “Brough guards the mouth of the pass where the road leads to Bowes. They would not let Carlisle pass.”
It seemed like the most logical assumption. It was a stunning realization. “Then Brough saved us,” Maxton said. “They saved us from facing Carlisle in battle.”
Juston could only nod. “It would seem so,” he said. “They held them there and prevented them from moving any further into the pass. Carlisle would have made a good attempt at destroying us, to be certain. They carry far more numbers than we do. But the fact remains that they are well south of Carlisle and have left the castle open to the Scots if they brought the bulk of their army south. That would not have been a smart move, which leads me to believe they did not bring their entire army.”
“There were at least a thousand men or more doing battle at Brough,” the messenger said. “They had already established an encampment and the surrounding area had been picked clean. It looked as if they had been there a week or two at least.”
Juston looked at the man. “A thousand men from Carlisle is not their entire army. Brough has three times that. No wonder they’ve been able to hold them.”
It was all very startling information, somet
hing that changed their outlook on the situation considerably. Juston considered everything he’d been told and what had been speculated. He rubbed his hands together against the chill of the morning, contemplating his next step.
“So,” he said after a moment, “we cannot expect reinforcements from Brough and I will assume the same from Appleby Castle because it, too, is along the same road, only further north of Brough. I will assume they tangled with Carlisle as well. Chris, what about Pendragon Castle? It is not too terribly far from here but it is very small. They normally do not carry more than a few hundred men at any given time. I wonder if they would send men to staff Bowes when I take the bulk of my army away to meet Durham.”
Christopher shook his head. “Pendragon belongs to the Lords of Coverdale,” he said. “Although they are loyal to Richard, Pendragon guards the road between Brough to the north and the Wensleydale pass to the south. In fact, that road comes out of the pass just south of Richmond, so I would not think the commander of Pendragon would be willing or able to supply us with men. Richmond is still a threat. Truly, Juston, we have enough men – even if we leave two hundred men here to guard the castle, that still means we will be fielding over one thousand against Durham.”
Juston knew all of that but Christopher merely confirmed his own thoughts on the matter. So… Brough had prevented Carlisle from coming down on them. Pendragon wasn’t an option because she was needed to hold that small pass for Richard. Juston could still send to Netherghyll for reinforcements but they were at least four days away, if not more. He didn’t think they had that much time. Something told him Durham was coming, and coming soon.
Juston looked around at the men at his command; the de Lohr brothers, inarguably two of the finest knights to ever walk the earth, and Marcus Burton, a genius in his own right. Then there were Maxton and Kress and Achilles, his Unholy Trinity, men who would fight and die for him without question. He joked about their darkness, the edginess that each one of them seemed to have, but that edginess was a fuel for their talents.
Finally, there were Gart and Erik and Gillem. Odd how his knights seemed to travel in threes. Gart wasn’t even a knight yet but he was treated like one and he could fight like one. There was no one more talented than young Forbes. Erik came very close, however, and he was a full-fledged knight, a man of honor and intelligence.
Then there was Gillem who, of course, had his own issues with Juston. Juston had to admit that he’d considered putting Gillem out front in a battle, many times, with the hope that he would catch a blade he could not defend himself from, but the truth was that Gillem was excellent in battle and to lose him would be a loss felt, indeed, simply for his skill and strength. It was an odd dynamic between them but as long as Juston could maintain control over the man, he was satisfied.
These were the men in his stable, the finest stable of knights that had surely served any lord. Juston was proud of them all, proud that such talented and loyal men were sworn to him. Now they were facing something that was possibly more dangerous than anything they’d faced in a very long time. He knew what he had to do.
And so did his men.
“Erik,” he turned to de Russe. “When you came here, it was under Richard and Eleanor’s instruction, but I am sure they did not realize what a serious situation you were entering. Therefore, you will take Tristan and go south to Netherghyll. Keep the boy there. Right now, the fortress is commanded by one of my senior soldiers. I will send you with a missive to him that will put you in charge of the fortress until I return. Keep the boy safe there and remain until you hear further word from me. Do you understand?”
Erik frowned. “But, Juston….”
“That is my command.”
A command that clearly frustrated the knight. He looked around at the other men, who were looking back at him expectantly. Expecting him to obey. De Royans didn’t give orders that were meant to be refuted. But Erik didn’t want to go.
“Do you truly think it wise to be down one knight when you anticipate going into battle, my lord?” he asked, giving it one last try. “Tristan will be locked up in the keep, safe from harm. You need me.”
Juston smiled faintly. “Of course I need you,” he said. “But that boy is more important than I am. You must remove him immediately.”
Erik was stubborn. He shook his head, clearly displeased. “Please, my lord. You must….”
Juston put up a hand to cut him off. He eyed the messenger, still standing there, so exhausted that he was trembling.
“Go inside and eat something,” he told the messenger. “Find a corner to sleep in and rest. Your services have been greatly appreciated.”
The messenger nodded swiftly. “Thank you, my lord.”
As the soldier staggered off towards the keep, Juston maintained silence among his men for a few moments longer to ensure no one could hear their conversation. From this point on, the subject matter would be very private, indeed.
“Gillem,” Juston looked to the red-haired knight. “Go with the messenger and see if there is anything more he knows that he has forgotten to tell us. He seems very exhausted; it is possible that something has slipped his mind. Report back to me after you are convinced he has told you everything.”
Gillem couldn’t help but notice he was the only knight being sent away. It was an insult as far as he was concerned but he begrudgingly followed the messenger as the man headed for the keep. Once he was far enough away, Juston spoke again.
“There is something you should all know about the lad Erik brought with him,” he said quietly, looking around the host of curious faces. “Some of you may already know this, but for those of you who do not, the young boy that accompanied Erik is none other than the son of Henry and Princess Alys of France. I am sure you are all well aware that Alys has been Henry’s mistress for some time and there has always been the rumor that she bore Henry a child, but it seems those rumors are confirmed. Richard and Eleanor are now in possession of the child and they sent him north with Erik, to me, for safe keeping. But now it would seem it is not safe to remain here so that is why I am asking Erik to take the boy south to Netherghyll. You will, of course, never repeat what you have been told but I am telling you this so you understand that young boy’s life is to be protected above all else.”
Everyone was registering various level of surprise at the news but no one commented other than to cast their expressions at each other, silently confirming their shock at such information. Henry’s bastard son! It was astonishing to all concerned, a rumor that, for once, had been born in truth. Eventually, Maxton spoke.
“I agree with you, Juston,” he said. “That lad’s worth is immeasurable. Do they intend to ransom him to Henry?”
Juston shrugged. “This I cannot tell you,” he said. “With Eleanor involved, I would say ransoming the boy is not out of the question but, more than likely, she and Richard will threaten him somehow in order to force Henry to do their bidding. They are not beyond such things.”
That was the truth. Eleanor, in some ways, was far more ruthless than her son and threatening a child, if it would gain her what she wanted in the end, was a definite possibility.
“Then the lad should not be in a castle that is facing a potential siege,” Maxton said. “If something happened and he was injured, or worse, the ax of Eleanor would fall on your neck. She would have your head for it and Richard could not protect you.”
Juston glanced at Erik. “Are you hearing this?” he asked. “I will take the fall if anything happens to the boy, not you. Therefore, you will take him out of here before midday. Gather your things, ready your mounts, and head for Netherghyll.”
Erik knew he had no choice. He glanced at the knights around him before finally looking to Juston.
“Very well,” he said with great reluctance. “I will go. But I will not take the road to Netherghyll that passes close to Richmond; I will travel another way. It will take me longer to reach Netherghyll.”
“So long as you reach it.”
Upset, Erik left the group, trudging back towards the keep as the wind picked up around them and the sky began to darken. A storm was approaching. Juston glanced up at the heavens, sensing the change in the weather, before returning his attention to his men.
“You had your orders last night,” he said. “Nothing has changed. Durham is still coming and we must still meet him. Continue along with your tasks but I should like to have the army prepared to move out by dawn. Chris, you will select the men to remain here. You told me that thirteen hundred and forty-three men survived the initial battle. Of that group, leave two hundred of them here, including twenty-five archers. They may be needed if there is a siege. Everyone else goes with us, so ensure the men are prepared.”
“Who are you leaving in command of the castle, Juston?” Marcus, standing next to Christopher, asked.
Juston’s gaze lingered on him. “Are you volunteering?”
“I am not.”
Juston knew it was going to be difficult to convince one of them to remain behind in command. These were fighting men and if there was a fight, they wanted to be in it. He didn’t like that whoever he chose would cause him grief about it, much as Erik had just done. They were anxious now, smelling the scent of battle. In fact, knowing that the man he chose to remain behind would resist his wishes irritated him greatly.
“Then if you are not volunteering, I shall make the decision,” he said, his manner bordering on snappish. “I wish I could take all of you into battle with me, but the truth is that there needs to be someone here in command. Since Gillem is not here, let it be him. Someone tell him and if he says one word to the contrary, I will lash him to the walls of the vault and leave him there to rot. He will remain in command of the castle because, God help us, if Durham is able to move past us, I will need a seasoned knight here to hold the castle. Now, the rest of you, on with your tasks.”
With that, he turned on his heel and headed for the keep. The wind whistled through the bailey, blowing his tunic around as he went. In the gatehouse, the knights were pretending to move away but the truth was that they were not. They were still lingering on the most eventful news that had been delivered to them. Only when de Royans was out of earshot did they dare speak on it.
Fearsome Brides Page 27
