†
The service was conducted in a modest brick structure. Old wooden pews had been brought up from the basement and put back in position. The place was warm with the glow of candles. Nearly every seat was taken.
Gray John welcomed him with a smile and a warm embrace. “I hope you can forgive my quick temper. Stonegate owes you more than you know.”
Don assured him the matter was forgotten and accepted the compliment, noticing how much Gray John had aged. His hair and beard were greyer than ever, and a few extra wrinkles crinkled around his soft hazel eyes.
“I see great promise in you, Donald…now please be seated and we shall begin the service.”
More than a few familiar faces were there. Samuel sat in the front row next to Philip. Thomas of Longmont was next to him. Don saw Colin seated next to Deborah. Wesley Fletcher and his family sat with the rest. He looked for Rachel and saw her near the back, wearing a long black dress as though she was still in mourning. But her face reflected a different story. It was soft and lovely.
Chapter 33
†
Philip’s Sacrifice
A sword! A sword is drawn for slaughter,
polished to consume, to flash like lightning.
Ezekiel 21: 28b HCSB
Don reluctantly agreed to bring Colin, Rowan, Crispin, and Philip with him. It was the second day after the church service in Stonegate. He saw no further need for a bodyguard, but they insisted, and they were pleasant travelling companions. He planned to join Rachel and Carla for lunch, so they headed for Westerly. Don left his armor at home, wearing only his broadsword. Philip wore his sword, also. The others were dressed in full armor, though they left their war spears behind. Colin took his bow and Crispin took his crossbow.
The day was gorgeous. They rode by fields ripe with harvest. A cherry orchard still had some ripe fruit. How did the enemy miss it? There was an autumn crispness in the air. The land seemed softer, at peace, and the smoke and smells of warfare were fading.
As they neared Westerly-stead, Philip pointed ahead to a low ridge. “What’s that?” he asked. “It looks like Raiders.”
Colin spoke with a note of urgency. “They might be Raiders, to be sure.” He turned to Don. “You are not armed. We will go investigate.”
“Very well,” said Don. “Go ahead. But be careful of a trap. Philip and I will go on to warn Rachel’s household.”
The gate stood open. The elderly retainer sat on a low stool, his spear leaning against the wall. He stood with a smile and motioned them to enter.
Don and Philip rode up to the house and saw a glimpse of someone in the garden, next to the house. They dismounted and tied their horses to the whitewashed picket fence. Victory nudged Snap with her nose as they stood, tails switching flies.
Rachel and Carla stood on a newly cropped lawn under a shade tree. They wore colorful frocks as if ready for a garden party. Don saw a glimpse of Howard’s scowling face, as he vanished back into the house. “Rachel, Carla,” said Don. “We saw Raiders on the ridge. At least, they looked like them. We wanted to make sure you’re safe.”
“We haven’t had any trouble,” said Rachel. “But our hired hands are in the fields. They are probably unarmed.”
“Rachel, you should close the gate,” said Carla. “I think I should go warn my family.” She walked toward a table where a covered basket waited.
They heard a commotion and a choked cry. They turned to look toward the sound. A large black horse came trotting through the gate. A burly man in full armor was astride him. His broadsword was unsheathed and bloody. Don recognized him instantly. It was Balek Brown.
Don realized that leaving his armor had been a mistake. He drew his sword, hoping to delay him. “Run!” he shouted to the women. “Philip, you go with them.”
Brown was in no hurry. He dismounted by the fence and hung his shield on the pommel. “I won’t need a shield to finish you, Lore-man,” he said, smiling without mirth. “Too bad you left your mail behind. Not even a padded tunic. You made it too easy for me.”
“A patrol is on the way,” said Don. “All I have to do is delay you for a few minutes.”
“Then I had better make this fast,” said Brown. With two quick steps, he reached the fence and vaulted over. The weight of his armor seemed not to slow him. Too late, Don realized that he should have met him at the fence, but that opportunity was gone.
Brown stepped forward and aimed a vicious cut at Don’s leg. Don jumped back, but his counter-stroke was too slow, and Brown contemptuously batted his blade aside. “You fight like an old woman,” he said.
Don realized that he had one advantage. Without his heavy mail, he could move more quickly. Perhaps he could fight on the defensive long enough to wear Brown down.
He noticed that the larger man was walking with a limp. “Your knee is still stiff, I see,” he said, trying to cause him to lose his temper. “I thought you had learned your lesson.”
“I will pay you back for that,” Brown answered. “Payment will be in full.”
Brown cut at his head, but he managed to parry it. The blades rang like a bell. Brown kicked at him, but he dodged away. Recovering, Brown tried a horizontal cut, aimed at his hip. Holding his sword with both hands, Don parried again, point down, then whirled his blade and hit Brown on the left shoulder. Yet the mail was only scratched. If he hit me like that, the fight would be over. This thin tunic is no protection.
Don backed away, and Brown paused. “Too bad you won’t be alive to see what I have planned for your women,” he said. Then he continued stalking, as Don retreated, circling so he would not be trapped in a corner of the garden.
With a cry, Howard charged out of the house, sword aloft. Like Don, he had no armor. He aimed a wild swing at Brown, who parried it with ease, then aimed a counter-stroke. Howard partially blocked it, but the tip hit his thigh. Blood welled out, and Howard looked down for an instant. Brown’s sword came back in a recovery and caught the hilt of Howard’s sword. It was torn from his hand and went spinning away. But before he could give a killing blow, Don attacked, aiming for Brown’s neck. Brown ducked, and Don’s blade hit his helm, knocking it from his head.
“You should have fastened your chin strap,” said Don. From the edge of his vision, he saw Howard fall, both hands grasping his wound. Brown aimed a murderous overhand blow, as if to split Don like firewood. Don leaped backward and tried to bat the sword aside, but Brown was too strong for that. The sharp tip sliced his tunic and he felt a sting on his left breast. A warm wetness crept downwards, sticking the cloth to his chest.
They circled again, trading cuts and parries. Don’s arms began to tire, and he was breathing with an effort. Yet Brown seemed as fresh as ever. “You did make it interesting, Lore-man,” he said. “Your sword-craft has improved. But it’s time to end this.”
Then, to Don’s horror, he saw Philip coming down the back steps, sword in hand. “No, Phillip!” shouted Don. “Stay back.”
“Thanks for the warning,” said Brown.
But Philip did not charge in blindly. He stayed just out of the reach of Brown’s sword, as if waiting for something. Brown started to attack the boy, but had to turn back to defend himself from Don’s cut. As he did so, Philip darted in and aimed a two-handed blow at the back of Brown’s knee. The blow was good, but he exposed himself to Brown’s counter-stroke. Brown made a choked cry and cut down viciously. His blade hit Philip at the junction of the neck and shoulder and clove deep.
But Brown had also dropped his guard, and the Stonegate sword, with all Don’s strength behind it, hit him on the side of the neck. The sound was that of a meat cleaver chopping a side of beef. Brown’s eyes rolled up and he dropped his sword. He remained upright for a moment, then his knees buckled, and he fell on his face.
Don leaped to Philip’s side and took h
im in his arms. Philip spoke in a whisper. “Is he dead?” he asked. Drops of blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth.
“He’s finished,” said Don. “I could not have done it without you.” He pulled the boy’s tunic aside to expose the wound and saw that it had to be fatal. His blood was pouring out, and a crimson pool already stained the trampled grass. Don tore off a piece of his tunic and stuffed it into the wound.
“I remember her face now,” said Philip. “I see it clearly. She’s smiling.”
“Who?” asked Don.
“My mother.”
†
Suddenly, Don became aware of Rachel and Carla. They were standing next to him, bows in their hands with arrows on the strings, as if stunned by how suddenly the fight had ended. Carla went to help Howard, and Rachel came to Philip’s side.
“Is he…” she whispered, kneeling as she laid down the bow.
Don looked down at the pale face and realized that the lad’s soft breathing had stopped. He could hardly speak. It was as if his vocal cords were frozen. “He’s gone,” he whispered, finally.
†
“You’re bleeding,” said Rachel. “Let me see.” She pulled open Don’s ripped tunic and saw that the gash was shallow, though blood continued to flow. She went to get cloths and water.
The wound on Howard’s leg was deep, but a compression bandage stopped the bleeding. Howard looked at Don. “You saved my life—our lives,” he said. He looked at Rachel, who was shaken, but composed.
“Philip deserves the credit, Howard,” said Don. “He gave his life for us.”
Then the garden was filled with people. Colin, Rowan, and Crispin had arrived. They explained that the Raiders had fled and were mortified that Balek Brown had managed to get past them. Don and Rachel explained what had happened, and they sent Crispin to Stonegate to fetch a healer for Howard.
Colin announced that the elderly gatekeeper was dead. He and Crispin went to attend to him, but Rowan knelt beside the still form of his young friend. He let out a shuddering sob and covered his face with his hands. Rachel fetched another basin of water and began washing Don’s chest.
Before anyone could interfere, Rowan stood, drew his sword, and struck off Balek Brown’s head. “Everyone knows he threatened to do that to you, Lord Donald,” he said. His tone was harsh and hot. “Let his threats fall upon him.”
They murmured in protest, yet Rowan was unrepentant. “The False Prophet wanted a head. He will receive one, except not the one he expects.” Then he reached down and drew a golden chain from the body. He showed it to Don. “Look, it has a ring on it.”
Don examined the silver band and realized that it was the prize he himself had won a year before and had given to Rachel. “That belongs to me,” he said. “Thank you, Rowan.” He dropped it in the basin of water to cleanse it, then slipped it into his pouch.
They moved Howard into the house and tried to make him comfortable. They tenderly brought the two bodies inside, as well, and placed them side by side in the cool pantry. They realized that they needed to make funeral arrangements. Rachel announced that she wanted Philip to be buried next to her parents in the family plot. “He died defending my home, and here is where he should lie,” she insisted. Don sent Colin and Rowan to Stonegate with the tragic news and to invite anyone who knew Philip to come to a wake at Westerly-stead, that very night, with a graveside service in the morning.
“What about your gatekeeper?” asked Don.
“We will honor Kent also,” said Rachel. She spoke decisively. “He, too, gave his life for us.”
Thad arrived before noon on a lathered horse, accompanied by Crispin. Thad immediately took over Howard’s care. He soon had the wound cleaned and was deftly suturing it. “No major blood vessels were cut,” he said. “You were fortunate, young man.”
Crispin spoke to Don and Rachel. “Amber and her parents, and everyone from Owl Hollow are coming behind us. They found a couple of carriages. I also told Samuel.”
“What did Samuel say?” asked Don.
“He said little,” answered Crispin, “but it seemed to me that he aged ten years in a few minutes.”
The wake for Philip and Kent drew sad-faced folk from surrounding farms. They brought food in covered dishes. The Fletchers from Steamboat; Betsy, Kelly, Stanley, and Lyn from Owl Hollow; and Deborah all came early to begin preparations. Before the night was over, many from Blade Troop had also arrived. Don had the feeling that many had not had the chance to mourn their fallen comrades, so this last loss touched them all the more deeply.
Someone brought a taro and Deborah and Colin performed several duets, singing the songs of the faith, as the long night drew on.
“When my spirit, clothed immortal,
Wings its flight to realms of day,
This my song through endless ages:
Jesus led me all the way”
Samuel was moved and said many times, “I should never have let the boy come with us.” Don felt much the same way. But he had a chance to talk with Rachel for nearly an hour, and she helped him see that love could transform an unfair tragedy into a meaningful victory.
“What is hard, Rachel,” Don said, “is that he was maybe the last one to die and die so young. He hated war and the loss of life, even enemy life.”
“I saw the whole thing, Don,” said Rachel. “I tried to stop him, too. But Philip knew exactly what he was doing. He offered himself as a sacrifice. Balek Brown meant to kill us all.”
The crowd had grown to over one hundred when the two were tenderly laid to rest the next morning. Lore-master Duncan gave the eulogy reminding the gathering of the words of Jesus Christ, “In My Father’s house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you, that where I am you might be also.”
The honor guard stood in full armor, and gunners fired three volleys from their muskets, as was the ancient custom. The beautiful bugle call was painful and sweet. Don’s tears at last could flow.
As they gathered to comfort one another, it became a time of parting, as many Haven troops prepared to return to their homes. Samuel’s face seemed to cheer for a moment as they told each other of Philip and what he had meant to them. “It reminds me of an old poem,” he said.
“What was that?” asked Rachel. Her cheeks were still wet.
“It was about a knight, perhaps too innocent and clean for this wicked world,” said Samuel. “It went:
‘My good blade carves the casques of men,
My tough lance thrusteth sure,
My strength is as the strength of ten
Because my heart is pure.’”
Chapter 34
†
A Wedding
Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.
Genesis 2:24 KJV
Sitting up against some large fluffy cushions in the lounge chair, Rachel looked the perfect picture of loveliness. Although she was a little pale from shock, her relief at having escaped certain death was obvious.
“Come sit with me Don…I need to thank you…for everything,” she whispered, her voice husky from the trauma of witnessing death. “Thank you for saving me, for saving Howard…for saving us.”
Tears began to fall down her cheeks, as Don joined her on the couch. Sitting close, he whispered gently in her ear, “No, thank you, Rachel…thank you for not rejecting me.”
“I know now that it was wrong to hold you responsible for my parents’ deaths. It wasn’t your fault. The lore-master told me everything one night, but I was in such grief that nothing made any sense. Carla also asked me not to blame you and to forgive you. When I saw you, I knew I had no other choice but to forgive you. I just did not know how to say it. I’m sorry I did not say something so
oner. I felt awkward and bad that I’d been blaming you for so long.”
Donald could hardly believe what he was hearing. Rachel had forgiven him…now they had a chance at being happy, being together, being married. Remembering the ring she had worn on the chain, he gently took Rachel’s hand as he looked into her eyes.
He withdrew the ring from the pouch. “Rachel, you wore this once. Will you wear my ring again…on your finger? Will you marry me?”
A look of joy came over Rachel’s countenance, followed by a look of confusion.
“Don,” she said, slowly, “Before I answer that question, I need to know something. I know I saw you at church…does this mean you are a Christian now?”
Don paused before answering and cleared his throat. “Dear Rachel, Samuel is a Christian and my best friend. Through my time spent travelling with him, I learned about the true faith. Samuel and Philip taught me from the Holy Book, and we studied together, listening to God’s word. Becoming a true Christian is what I truly want, since I believe that it is God, and only God, who has been directing my destiny all along. Duncan has accepted me into the church, and I have been chosen to live in the way of the true faith.”
“Oh, Don,” sighed Rachel, squeezing his hand affectionately, “That is all I wanted to hear and know. The days of being a secret Christian are over, and I could never marry an unbeliever.”
“Does that mean the answer is yes?” asked Don. “That you will marry me?”
Throwing her arms around Donald’s neck with intense passion, Rachel whispered, “Yes, yes— oh yes!”
Taking her hand gently from the embrace around his shoulders, Don took the ring from the chain and slipped it onto her finger. “Well, here’s to a grand wedding,” he said, tears of joy springing into his eyes.
The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2) Page 38
