Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  1.7 miles east of Warborough, near the village of Shillingford

  The battle lines were drawn.

  Almost two miles east of Warborough Castle, the army of Simon de Montfort intercepted the army of King Henry. In fact, the armies had known they were nearing one another for some time and the lines had already been drawn and the troops placed. Standards of great houses blew in the breeze as rain intermittently fell, punctuated by periods of bright sun and clear skies. It was all rather strange but it made for beautiful weather at times, at least clear enough to see the standards of opposing houses as they flew straight and firm in the wind. It was clear that a battle of epic proportions was lining up.

  When all was said and done, Simon had more men but Henry had the advantage of de Winter archers. They were the best in England. As Maximus, Gallus, and several other knights watched from a ridge just above the troop lines, they could see the archers being placed. Maximus guessed that Davyss, or his younger brother, Hugh, was placing the archers because it was strategic. They were behind the infantry and when the sun would come out from behind the clouds, they could see the glint of the archer shields. This would make the battle more interesting.

  As the knights sat and watched, trying to gauge what Henry’s army was doing so they could better place their infantry, they were joined by several other barons. William de Wolfe was one of them. The legendary Wolfe of the North, father of the de Wolfe twins, Scott and Troy, had joined Simon’s army with one hundred men he’d brought with him from the north. It wasn’t a good deal of men but, given that they served The Wolfe, it was a crack-squad of soldiers. Just one of de Wolfe’s men was as good as five regular men.

  De Montfort was on horseback, watching the distant army and surrounded by Paeton de Royans, the de Shera brothers, and several other men as de Wolfe approached. When Simon saw William, he motioned the man towards him.

  “My lord,” Simon addressed him formally, purely out of respect. “Have you been watching our friends across the field? They have many archers.”

  William, a handsome, older man with dark hair, dark skin, and an eye-patch over his missing left eye, studied the army in the distance. As he did, his sons, who had been back behind Gallus, gravitated towards their father. The de Wolfe men gathered together for battle, strength on strength, and William acknowledged his sons before turning his attention to Henry’s army.

  “They are positioning the archers very far back, almost near the tree line,” William said, and everyone was glued to every word he said. The mighty Wolfe was speaking. “If I were a betting man, it would tell me that the archers are going to cover the infantry as it moves forward.”

  On the other side of de Montfort, Gallus grunted in agreement. “De Winter has been known to do that,” he said. “He will shower us with arrows while his infantry charges forward and then we will be fighting off a hail of arrows and unprepared for the infantry when they finally come upon us.”

  De Montfort looked at Gallus. “Then what do you want to do?” he asked. “Have you seen enough?”

  Gallus nodded, his eyes still on the distant army. He turned around, looking at the tree line about a quarter of a mile behind them. “Get the men into the trees,” he said. “That will take the advantage of the archers away from them because the canopy will stop the arrows for the most part. We, however, will place what few archers we have at the very front of our lines to cut down de Winter’s infantry as it approaches. That should give us a tactical advantage.”

  The Thunder Lord had spoken. Word began to spread back through de Montfort’s lines and soon, eighteen hundred men were moving west by a quarter of a mile, forming lines just inside a long band of trees that stretched, north to south, for about two miles. As they moved, they could see Henry’s army, with the de Winter banners flying, following them, hopefully to close the gap. Or it was even possible that they thought de Montfort was retreating. However, when Henry’s army came to the crest that de Montfort had been on and saw the tree line in the distance, and de Montfort’s men buried within it, they came to an immediate halt. Now, they understood why de Montfort had moved. The odds were now even – it would be infantry against infantry.

  De Winter pulled the archers back and his men were given the order to draw swords, the flashes of which could be seen in the sunlight. Gallus and the other commanders, realizing that Henry was going to take the offensive, gave the orders for their men to draw weapons as well. The knights thundered back to their troops and unmuzzled the war horses, nasty beasts that would bite and kick and trample the enemy to death. The smell of battle was in the air as the knights slung their shields over their left knee, the usual place for them when heading into battle for easy access in close-quarters fighting. And, from the looks of it, they would soon be in the middle of exactly that type of battle. Blood was coming.

  Maximus remained with de Montfort and de Royans as Gallus and Tiberius headed back to their men. William was to the south of the de Shera troops and the Lords of Canterbury, represented by Maddoc du Bois, were on the other side of de Montfort to the north. Maximus could see the great knight at the head of his men, in full battle armor, and he was rather regretful that he’d been unable to converse with the man before they rode to battle.

  Maddoc and Stefan had spent most of their time together, in Maddoc’s tent, while Maximus had spent his time with de Montfort. Even now, Stefan rode with his father, as Gallus had given him permission to do so. It seemed that all of the sons wished to see battle alongside their fathers, as the de Wolfe brothers rode with William as well. It gave Maximus reflection, wondering if he would ever know a son who would ride with him to battle. He truly hoped so.

  But his thoughts moved back to the battle at hand, away from thoughts of a strong son and avoiding thoughts of his wife. He couldn’t think of her now, knowing that a distraction such as that could be deadly in his profession, but it was inevitable to think of her and, in so doing, to also think of her father. Kellen de Lara had been placed to the extreme northern end of the battle lines, far away from the Lords of Thunder and far away from Maximus. Gallus had made this so, fearful of what would happen if the two men came together. Gallus has done such a good job of placing Kellen that Maximus hadn’t even seen him or his troops. The man blended in with the rest of the infantry.

  De Montfort, of course, knew nothing about any of this and probably wouldn’t for quite some time. It was inconsequential, truly, when the fate of a country hung in the balance. In fact, thoughts of Kellen quickly faded as Maximus noticed the de Winter standard runner bearing the flag for the infantry, signaling them to advance. Now, the battle was to commence in full and he muttered the fact to de Montfort just as Henry’s infantry, along with several knights, began to move across the field towards them. Maximus looked over his shoulder to Gallus, several feet away.

  “They are moving,” he boomed to his brother. “Do we ride?”

  Gallus lifted his sword. “Signal all infantry and knights,” he bellowed to the standard bearers who were behind the first row of infantry. “Charge them!”

  The standard bearers spurred their horses, riding in front of the lines, two men heading south while one headed north, signaling the men to move. And move they did. Holding back a secondary, smaller line of infantry, the majority of de Montfort’s troops charged Henry’s army, who were moving rather slowly across the field. Once they saw the charge of knights and infantry coming at them, however, everything changed. They ran right at them.

  The clash was deafening when the two armies collided. The Lords of Thunder charged in full-force with Tiberius being the first one to cut down an enemy knight bearing Teutonic-designed armor. More than that, de Montfort’s men saw very quickly that a good portion of Henry’s troops were not English. By the design of their weapons, tunic, and mail, it was clear that they were either French or Teutonic. Foreign enemy troops on English soil simply made Gallus, Maximus, and the rest of them extremely angry. Then, it became a bloodba
th.

  William de Wolfe, astride his big, black charger, had gone after a group of foreign soldiers with a vengeance. Scott and Troy rode with their father, cutting down men and battling two big, enemy knights with fairly expensive armor. When an enemy knight managed to unseat Troy, Scott and William closed in on him and between the two of them, nearly gutted the man. He fell to the ground, dead, as Troy remounted his steed and took the dead knight’s animal as a prize. But the fighting didn’t end there.

  Maddoc du Bois was a man who had inherited his father’s fighting skill. He also carried dual swords like his father used to, and his father had been famous for them. Maddoc managed to direct his horse with knee pressure alone, a very exacting skill, while the dual blades sailed through the air with deadly purpose, severing limbs and heads on occasion. Stefan, fighting alongside his father, managed to kill a pair of mercenaries that were trying to yank his father from his steed – one man, he used his sword on but the other man had the misfortune of having his head nearly ripped off when Stefan grabbed the man by the hair. It was a brutal battle as the du Bois men made short work of the mercenaries they encountered.

  Maximus was in heavy fighting near the center of the battle. He was encountering both mercenary and de Winter troops and trying very hard not to kill the de Winter men. The sun had clouded over again and rain was beginning to fall and, at one point, he thought he caught a glimpse of a knight on horseback who then disappeared behind a group of mounted soldiers. He didn’t think too much about it although he couldn’t help wondering where Davyss and even Garran were in all of this, because he was positive they were here. He just hadn’t seen them yet.

  What Maximus didn’t know, however, was that someone with ill intent, had him in his sights.

  The Thunder Warrior was his target.

  Kellen had been watching for Maximus ever since he had heard that the Lords of Thunder had arrived in de Montfort’s camp. He knew the man would stay close to de Montfort, and he had, but now in the midst of a battle, Maximus was somewhat on his own. Tiberius and Gallus were fighting near him, as was usual with the de Shera brothers, but de Montfort was back in the trees with the second line of soldiers, letting his seasoned, battle commanders do most of the heavy fighting.

  While Gallus and Tiberius engaged soldier after soldier, Maximus was going for the kill. He had a nasty-looking sword with a jagged edge that he used to slice men’s heads from their bodies. There were already several headless bodies around, a tribute to the man’s strength and skill. But Kellen wasn’t concerned with that. He was simply concerned with making his way to Maximus and killing him in battle.

  Death in battle was expected and Kellen was certain he could kill Maximus undetected. There were hundreds of men around but no one was paying attention to him and, certainly, Maximus and his brothers and friends were busy with their own private battles. Therefore, Kellen was certain he could accomplish what he had set out to do. With a crossbow in his grip, he began to make his move towards Maximus.

  There was no other way, of course. He’d tried everything to keep Courtly away from the man but she was acting more and more foolish. He’d tried to send her home but she had run off, directly to Maximus, Kellen was sure. He was equally sure that his daughter was completely under de Shera’s spell. She was more than likely his whore. He’d tried so hard to prevent it but, in the end, the lure of Maximus has just been too strong for his weak-willed daughter.

  Now, Kellen would take away her weakness. He would take away Maximus and then things would return to the way they were before the introduction of Maximus de Shera. Kellen would make sure of it.

  Maximus has lost track of how many men he had killed, but he knew he was up in the dozens at this point. Infantry was simply no match against a mounted knight. Additionally, he had seen Bose de Moray on the outskirts of the battle, fighting against a group of Fitzgeoffrey men, and Maximus saw quite clearly when Garran intervened and helped his father chase off those he hadn’t killed. It did Maximus’ heart good to see Garran, whole and healthy, and shortly thereafter, he saw Davyss fighting off a group of Fitzalan troops.

  Davyss’ distinctive sword, named Lespada, the sword of his ancestors, gleamed in the weak light as the clouds gathered and the rain fell. Davyss was a fearsome fighter and after Maximus dispatched a particularly aggressive Frenchman, he paused a moment to watch Davyss in action. The man was impressive to watch. But his appreciation turned to concern when a Fitzalan man leapt onto the back of Davyss’ horse and grabbed Davyss around the neck.

  The knight was at a distinct disadvantage from the way the man had grabbed him and Maximus knew that if he didn’t do something, Davyss would be in real trouble. Removing a razor-sharp dagger from the folds of his armor, Maximus charged through the sea of fighting men, close enough to pull his horse to a halt and launch the dagger straight at the Fitzalan soldier.

  The result was instantaneous. At about twenty feet, Maximus had planted the dagger into the neck of the soldier and the man fell back, toppling off the horse and landing heavily on the ground. Davyss, regaining his balance, turned around with shock to see the man on the ground and a very fine knife hilt sticking out of his neck. It was not the knife of a foot soldier. Lifting his eyes, Davyss saw Maximus several feet away.

  When their gazes met, Maximus simply lifted a hand to Davyss and turned back around, returning to his corner of the battle, and Davyss knew at that moment that he owed Maximus his life. The Thunder Warrior had used that fine dagger with great skill to save him. More than that, it was a friend saving a friend no matter what side they fought on. It would always be that way. With a faint smile, he resumed his battle.

  Back in the midst of his fighting, Maximus was busy with a pair of de Winter soldiers who were trying to pull him off his warhorse. The black and white jennet was very nasty in battle and gave one of the men a serious bite wound. The horse had also managed to head-butt another man to the ground and proceeded to trample him. As Maximus kicked a man in the head and engaged another in a fairly dangerous sword battle, he had no idea that Kellen was coming up behind him. He had no idea that the man had his crossbow trained on him but hadn’t had a clear shot at him because of the mad boil of men between them. When Maximus pitched forward to slug a man in the head who was grabbing for his horse’s reins, Kellen let his arrow fly a little too late and the arrow sailed over Maximus’ head.

  Frustrated, Kellen reloaded and moved closer, but Maximus was still unaware. He was too busy fighting more French mercenaries that were now ganging up on him. As he used his feet, fists, and sword to fight them off, the thunder of hooves could be heard and Maximus looked up to see Bose de Moray bearing down on him. The man had a crossbow aimed right at him and as Maximus lifted his sword to fend the man off and hopefully deflect the arrow, Bose let the arrow fly.

  Maximus threw himself sideways in the saddle to avoid being struck and the arrow sailed right past him, missing him by a fairly wide berth. It did, however, hit something behind Maximus because he heard the grunt as the arrowhead impacted flesh and bone. Turning briefly to see who had been hit, Maximus was startled to see Kellen laying on the ground behind him, an arrow in his throat. A crossbow was still clutched in his hand even though his life was rapidly slipping away as blood gurgled up out of his mouth. Maximus stared at the man a moment before turning his astonished gaze to de Moray.

  Bose was several feet away with his crossbow lowered. He pointed a gloved finger at Kellen. “I watched him as he tried to kill you once,” he told Maximus. “He shot an arrow at you but missed and he was reloading. I was not going to let him have a second shot at you.”

  With that, he reined his horse around and thundered off, back into the midst of the fighting. Stunned, Maximus didn’t have time to dwell on Kellen. There was still too much fighting going on around him and he found himself swept up in the wave of battle, the surge of hand to hand combat where it was either kill or be killed. He didn’t intend to be killed. His wife was already going to have to suffer t
hrough the death of her father now. Maximus wouldn’t let her suffer through his death as well. Thanks to de Moray, she wouldn’t have to.

  The fighting went on into the night.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Oxford

  “Do you think they might return today?”

  Courtly asked the question. Four days after Maximus, Gallus, and Tiberius had left for Warborough, Courtly and Jeniver were sitting in the common room of The One-Eyed Raven, a platter of bread and cheese and small apples between them, but neither one of them felt much like eating. It was mid-morning and the common room was fairly full of smelly and loud people, all of them eating or drinking or both.

  But the ladies weren’t paying much attention to what was going on around them. They were focused on their missing husbands, the battle at Warborough, and a messenger that had arrived from Isenhall late last night. The news he bore had not been good. This morning, their depression on the situation in general ran rampant.

  “It is difficult to say when they will return,” Jeniver said, picking at her bread. “It is difficult to say just how long a battle will last. If they were fortunate, they chased Henry off straight away, but if they were not fortunate, then it is probably still going on.”

  Courtly sighed faintly. “But it has been four days,” she said softly. “Surely the messenger we sent to Maximus regarding my father has found him. Surely Maximus knows by now.”

  Jeniver glanced at her friend, seeing how worried she was. There was much turmoil and strife going on in their world these days. “I am sure he knows,” she assured her. “I am sure Maximus is safe, or at least as safe as he can be in battle. You needn’t worry so much.”

  It was a silly thing to say. They were both greatly worried and both trying to pretend that they weren’t. Courtly’s thoughts lingered on Maximus and on her father for a few moments before she happened to catch sight of the Isenhall messenger. The man was eating ravenously, having ridden very hard for five days to reach Oxford to deliver his news. Courtly thoughts shifted from those of her husband to the information the messenger bore, something that had compounded their strain and anxiety ten-fold. It was news they had been expecting yet dreading it just the same.