Warrior Knight

by Paul J Bennett

  “I suppose it is,” said Ludwig, “but I meant no offence.”

  “And I have taken none. Now tell me, what is it you think nobles are here for? Surely to rule?”

  “Of course, but on behalf of their subjects. Were not the original nobles merely village leaders?”

  “I have no idea,” said the baron. “As far as I know, there has always been the nobility. Oh, the titles may have changed over the centuries, but the fact still remains we are, as a class, fit to rule by birthright. You wouldn’t train a sheep to hunt, would you?”

  Ludwig laughed. “No, of course not.”

  “Then surely you can understand things from my point of view. We are, as nobles, the only souls capable of leading humanity.”

  “What about the Halvarians?”

  “What about them? Everyone sees them as the great enemy, but if you were to examine how they govern, I have no doubt you’d see they’re much like us. After all, it's the rule of nature.”

  “Nature?”

  “Yes," said the baron. "The strong rule the weak. Have you never heard the expression?”

  “So you’re saying commoners are weak?”

  “From a certain perspective, yes. I’m not talking about physical strength, obviously, but mental acuity. They lack the capacity for rulership. It’s not their fault, of course. They simply don’t have the education.”

  “That poses a thought-provoking idea,” said Ludwig. “If you were to raise a commoner as a noble, would they then be fit to rule?”

  “That,” said Lord Wulfram, “is a fascinating thought indeed, and one I have never contemplated. It would be interesting to see what might happen under those circumstances.”

  “They say the Therengians elected their kings.”

  “That's the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Of course, they didn’t elect their kings. A king rules by the right of his bloodline, not on the whims of his subjects.”

  “I’m only repeating what I’ve read,” said Ludwig. “I have no idea if it’s true or not.”

  “Well,” said the baron, “I think we can safely put that down to idle gossip.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Information about them is scarce, to say the least.”

  “Frankly, I‘m surprised you know as much as you do. The Therengians were eliminated hundreds of years ago.”

  “Eliminated? You mean none survived?”

  “Well, the kingdom was killed off. There are still descendants out there, even as we speak.”

  “How would we even know?” said Ludwig.

  “It’s the eyes,” said Lord Wulfram.

  “The eyes?”

  “Yes. Therengians look much like us, but they have grey eyes.”

  “You mean totally grey?”

  “Saints, no,” said the baron. “Their eyes are grey instead of brown or blue.”

  “I’ve seen grey eyes back in Verfeld, but I never connected them with Therengia.”

  “Well, it was a long time ago. There’s likely more in these parts.”

  “Why is that?” asked Ludwig.

  “Erlingen was within their borders. They say Torburg used to be one of their provincial capitals.”

  “Then why can they still be found in Hadenfeld?”

  “I can only assume it was on the fringes of Therengia at one time, but I’m not an expert in such things. I rather gather they tend to stick with their own race.”

  “Their own race?” said Ludwig. “Surely they’re Human?”

  “I would have to disagree. The very fact that their eyes are different would lend credence to the idea they are, in fact, a completely different race. In that regard, they're likely similar to Elves.”

  “What do you know of Elves?”

  “Only what I’ve read. They haven’t been seen in this part of the Continent for centuries. In any event, it matters little. Therengians, Elves—they’ve all disappeared into the annals of history. This is the age of Humans, Ludwig, never forget that. It’s people like you and me who will forge a new future. Well, maybe not me, for I shall die here, in Regnitz Keep.”

  “Your thoughts of death are a little premature,” said Ludwig. “What if the duke were to intervene?”

  “You have hope: that is commendable, but we must be realistic. The Duke of Erlingen has no interest in intervening. In fact, quite the opposite. The more we fight, the more secure he is in his own position.”

  “Are there any allies you could call on?”

  “And how would I get a message to them?”

  “I could escape and carry word to them.”

  “It is a generous offer," said the baron, "and one I greatly appreciate, but you’ve seen the army surrounding this place. You’d never get through, and if you were caught, you’d likely be executed as a traitor. After all, you still belong to the Grim Defenders.”

  “I would take that risk if it would put an end to this conflict.”

  “It might have worked had we thought of it sooner, but those who might come to my aid are weeks away at best. No, I’m afraid we must resign ourselves to our fate.”

  “Then you’re giving up?” said Ludwig.

  “Let's say I’m only facing the reality of the situation. I must accept that which I cannot change, as must you.”

  “Meaning?”

  Lord Wulfram sighed. “My life is coming to an end, Ludwig, but yours is merely beginning, of that I’m certain. When the assault comes, you must stand aside, and let the affair run its course. Once that’s done, you can return home and sort things out with your father before it’s too late. Men don’t live forever, you know.”

  “I can’t stand by and watch them kill you.”

  “You must. Any interference on your part can only result in your own death.”

  “And what of my honour?”

  Lord Wulfram smiled. “Ah, I see you’re turning my own words against me. That’s very clever. I suppose I should have expected it.”

  “You told me you considered me a man of honour.”

  “And I do. Nothing has changed that.”

  “Then allow me to intercede with Lord Gebhard on your behalf.”

  “We tried that,” said the baron, “to no avail.”

  “I could beg him to spare your life?”

  “To what end?”

  “You could accept banishment," said Ludwig. "I’m sure I could convince my father to welcome you to Verfeld.”

  “To do what? Beg for scraps?”

  “You know King Otto. Perhaps he would welcome you at his court?”

  “I knew him years ago, as a spoiled young man, nothing more. I haven’t spoken to him in decades. I can hardly show up at his door, uninvited.” Lord Wulfram paused, taking a breath. “I know you mean well, Ludwig, but it’s time to put such thoughts to rest. My fate lies in the hands of Gebhard Stein. I would not have him use threats against me to control my daughter.”

  “Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?”

  “No,” said the baron. “But you can make me a promise?”

  “Of course,” said Ludwig. “Anything.”

  “When the keep falls, see to it Rosalyn gets to safety.”

  “And where might such safety be found?”

  “A town named Adelwel. It lies in the southwest corner of Erlingen. Lord Ewald Beck rules there. He’ll take her in.”

  “I shall do all I can to honour your wishes,” promised Ludwig, “but leaving a keep during a siege will be fraught with peril. I cannot guarantee she will survive, but I will do my best.”

  “That's all I can ask.”

  25

  The Siege Continues

  Summer 1095 SR

  * * *

  A loud crack echoed up from the ground, and then a section of the curtain wall crumbled into the courtyard. Standing atop the tower, Ludwig knew it wouldn’t be long before the troops surged forward. Feeling a presence come up behind him, he turned to see Rosalyn a few paces back, but the distant cheering of the enemy drew her closer. Ludwig ret
urned his attention to the courtyard below.

  “They’re coming,” he said. “It won’t be long now.”

  “How much time have we?”

  In answer, his eyes looked skyward, examining the sun's position. “I fear they will be here before nightfall.”

  “That soon?”

  “Look at the wall,” he replied. “The cracks are widening. It won't be long before that entire wall collapses.”

  “What will my father do?”

  He beckoned her. “Look and see for yourself.”

  She leaned out of the embrasure, steadying herself against the merlon. “He has a dozen men on the northern wall,” she said. “Why?”

  “They'll be able to send their arrows into the courtyard once the enemy crosses the breach.”

  “But they’ll be trapped, surely?”

  “No,” said Ludwig. “He can run them along the wall to where it meets the keep, then down those stairs and through the front door.”

  “But won't that put them within range of the enemy?”

  “It'll be close; that much is sure, but the archers are unencumbered by armour while the attackers will still have to navigate the rubble.”

  “And what of the gatehouse?" Rosalyn asked. "Will he try a similar tactic there?”

  “I imagine he will. That structure juts out and flanks the collapsed wall. He can use that to harry them as they advance towards the breach.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  Ludwig adopted a grim smile. “I’ve always been interested in military matters, though I can’t say why.”

  “Was it the influence of your father?”

  “My father never showed the slightest interest in army tactics.”

  “But as a baron, he must command troops?”

  “Of course, but Verfeld has never been attacked, at least not in recent history. The garrison there is largely inexperienced in warfare. Oh, there might be a soldier or two who’s seen battle, but by and large, they’re a miserable lot.”

  “Miserable?" Rosalyn said. "You think them poor warriors?”

  “I think they’ve grown too used to a quiet life. The biggest challenge they’ve ever had to face is the Midwinter Feast.”

  “And when you're baron, will that change?”

  “When I’m baron?" said Ludwig. "What makes you think I’ll ever return home?”

  “I have a sense you know your duty. Now stop trying to change the subject.”

  He leaned on the parapet, considering her question. “I suppose I’d institute some form of training program. Not that I’m qualified to do that myself. I’d have to hire someone, I suppose. Someone with experience.”

  She noticed him break into a grin. “Something amusing?” she asked.

  “I was just thinking I know the perfect people for such a task.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, a couple of friends of mine.” Ludwig pointed southward. “They’re out there, somewhere.”

  “Your friends are attacking us?”

  “Yes. Strange, isn’t it?”

  “How can you remain so calm in the face of such danger?”

  “You think me calm?”

  “Yes," Rosalyn said. "You show no sign of fear.”

  “I can assure you I’m as worried as you. This is a dangerous situation we’re in, even if neither one of us will be fighting.”

  Another stone hit the wall, causing a sizeable chunk to break free and crash to the courtyard, adding to the pile of rubble.

  Rosalyn shivered. “What will happen once they secure the courtyard?”

  “I imagine Lord Gebhard will ask your father to surrender.”

  “It won’t do any good. I’m afraid Father's set on his own destruction.”

  “He’s doing it for you, Rosalyn.”

  “How could throwing away his own life possibly benefit me?”

  “He’s worried Lord Gebhard will hold his life over you, forcing you to submit to his will.” Ludwig noticed the look of shock on her face. “Does that surprise you?”

  “That he would prefer to die than see me under the heel of Lord Gebhard? I suppose it shouldn’t. He’s always put my welfare above his own, ever since mother died.”

  “What do you remember of her?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid," admitted Rosalyn. "What of you? What was your mother like?”

  “She was a tender, caring woman,” said Ludwig. “A far cry from my father.”

  “I assume he was strict?”

  “To a certain extent, yes, but that I could deal with. What I couldn’t stand was his aloofness.”

  “Surely he felt the loss of your mother as keenly as you?”

  He nodded as the old pain resurfaced. “I suppose he did, but I was too young to understand at the time.”

  “And now?”

  “I see some elements of him in your father.”

  Rosalyn chuckled. “Is that a good thing or bad?”

  “I’ll let you make that judgement. My father had a strong sense of duty, much as yours does. The main difference between them is your father truly cares about you, while mine…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

  They stood in companionable silence for a while, and then another stone struck its target. A great cloud of dust rose into the air as a large section of the wall collapsed.

  “This is it,” said Rosalyn. “The moment we’ve all been dreading. We’re doomed.” Ludwig noticed the tears forming in her eyes.

  “No,” he replied, “there’s plenty of fight left yet. Even with the courtyard in their hands, they’ll have to take the keep, and that won’t be easy.”

  “But can't they simply reduce us with the catapults?”

  “Ah, but they want you alive, remember? They won’t dare risk bringing the keep down on you, for fear you’d be killed in the collapse.”

  The roar of men echoing into the courtyard interrupted their conversation.

  “Here they come,” said Ludwig. “Watch closely, and you’ll see how a man defends his keep.”

  Lord Wulfram stood with his bowmen, waiting for the enemy to swarm through the breach. From Ludwig’s point of view, the attackers were hard to see, but he knew when they drew close, for the baron ordered his men to ready their bows.

  The archers nocked arrows, pulling back their strings in preparation for loosing off their initial volley. Ludwig held his breath as warriors appeared in the breach, picking their way through the rubble.

  A bark of command sent arrows sailing into the mass of men. Even through the dust, Ludwig could make out the carnage as warriors collapsed under the onslaught. One staggered into the courtyard, only to take an arrow to the head. Behind him, others were gathering their courage for a mad rush to overwhelm the defenders. He could well imagine their fear. Fighting a man was one thing, but running through a hail of arrows was quite another.

  A couple of them turned and fled, seeking the safety of their own lines, but the bulk let loose with a roar of challenge and then began racing across the collapsed wall, heedless of the danger.

  Ludwig admired their courage, for it took guts to rush into such danger. Another volley took down three more, and then Lord Wulfram led his men back along the wall, desperately seeking the safety of the keep.

  A few crossbowmen were in amongst the attackers, and they halted, letting loose with their bolts. One struck an archer, and the poor fellow fell into the courtyard where he lay, unmoving.

  As more of the attackers began swarming over the ruins of the wall, Ludwig wondered if they were the Grim Defenders, but the occasional glimpse of chainmail told him otherwise. He considered they might be the baron’s men, then decided Lord Gebhard would never risk losing them. That could only mean they were the Blades of Vengeance.

  Dozens of warriors now streamed into the courtyard while others were still climbing the obstacle behind them. An arrow sailed out from the gatehouse, taking one in the stomach. He screamed in agony, clutching the wound and falling to the ground, writhing.
/>   A small group of Lord Wulfram’s archers stood atop the gatehouse, buying time for their liege lord to return to the keep. Ludwig thought the effort might stall the attack, but then footmen swarmed up onto the roof of the gatehouse, cutting the bowmen down without mercy. One such attacker slew an archer with his axe then kept hacking at the corpse, splattering blood everywhere. Moments later, he lifted the decapitated head, and Ludwig, feeling his stomach heave, looked away, unable to bear witness to such a grisly act.

  “The gatehouse is theirs,” announced Rosalyn.

  Ludwig could think of nothing to say. Footsteps on stone stairs drew closer, and then four men appeared on the top of the keep, rushing to the parapets with their bows.

  One, bolder than the rest, put his foot on the embrasure and aimed at the distant courtyard, but just as he pulled the string to his ear, a crossbow bolt took him in the chest. He staggered back, then fell face down onto the stone roof, his arrow curving high into the air.

  Another warrior pushed past them to toss a brick over the parapet, where it crashed into the courtyard, doing little damage.

  Ludwig pulled Rosalyn back. “We must get you inside,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “No. My place is here.”

  The brick thrower took a bolt in the arm, twisted as he was hit, then lost his footing, toppling over the edge of the wall, his screams echoing as he fell.

  “It’s too dangerous,” he insisted. “Can't you see that?”

  “Look around you, Ludwig. There is, in truth, no safety anywhere within this keep.”

  “No, you’re wrong. The walls below will protect you from those crossbowmen. Here we are both targets. Would you risk your own life so recklessly? What would your father think?”

  She stared at him for a moment, and then a bolt narrowly missed her. “Very well,” she said. “Let's get below.”

  They veritably flew down the steps and were halfway to the next floor when Rosalyn took his hand, pulling him to the side as two more archers ran past them on their way to the top.

  “I’m sorry,” said Rosalyn. “I regret that I have put you in this position.”