Richard watched them flee. “These are our subjects and they are in rebellion. Whatever consequences their families suffer because of their actions are up to them, not us.” With that he turned and flung the still burning log onto the roof of a third cottage across the lane, igniting it. The second cottage, which the old man had fled from with his family, was now well consumed by the flames. It shortly toppled, throwing burning embers onto the one next to it and igniting that one as well. There was a large plume of smoke rising from the village that would have been unmistakable for leagues around.
“Assemble the guardsmen here!” Richard ordered to the brothers, indicating the field on the edge of town between them and the tree line. Richard strode purposefully across the field toward the tree line, his sword still sheathed and his head bare.
He stopped twenty yards in and shouted, “Attention, rebellious subjects of Dawning Court. I know you can hear me, and I know that you are watching your village go up in smoke. You have three options. You can surrender, submit to being arrested, and pay the penalty for your treacherous behavior; you may stand and fight like men and die like dogs as my brothers and I slaughter each and every one of you for your villainy; or you can stay hidden and watch the rest of your village burn. Your families will be arrested for complicity in this conspiracy, and then my brothers and I will hunt you down one by one like the cowardly dogs you are. Once you are dead, your families will serve the time in the dungeon that you should have served for your crimes. You have an hundred count to decide.”
With that he turned and strode unconcerned back toward the brothers. The guardsmen had fallen into a line standing shoulder to shoulder. They were a ragtag group of men dressed in mismatched pieces of leather and armor, wielding a myriad of weapons in various stages of disrepair. They were about fifty strong. For most of them this was a part time job, and they would go back to their fields, or butcher shops, or farms when this was over. About the only thing that set their appearance apart from the men they were facing was a red arm band each of them wore around his left bicep bearing the Dawning family crest. The crest depicted a helmet above a square shield with a blue stripe running from the top left to the bottom right of the shield. To the right of the stripe were two butterflies, and on the left a single one. It was all set over an elaborate plumage of blue surrounding the helmet and grey around the shield.
The brothers assembled in front of the line of guardsmen. “Remember one thing,” Henry leaned over to William quietly. “Though untrained, if these men choose to fight, they are now fighting for their very lives and will do anything necessary to maintain a grip on it.”
It was difficult to see much past the tree line, but there was definitely movement among the shadows. They were there, and they would respond. Slowly the shadows of the individuals began to emerge from the murky shadows of the trees and resolve into distinct figures as they stepped into the clearing to face the knights. They formed a line opposite the knights, clearly intending to fight rather than surrender.
William's heart stopped. There were at least a hundred of them that he could see and maybe more still lurking in the trees. They were outnumbered at least two to one. He looked to his ironclad brothers for reassurance. John and Richard were encased in full plate armor from head to toe now that Richard had donned his helmet. Thomas, the most rotund of the brothers, was protected on this occasion by his customary long shirt of chain mail with plate reinforcements sewn into it at critical places. His large girth managed this better than the restrictive suits of plate armor. Henry tended to favor a lighter suit of armor to John and Richard because of his slight build.
Though stocky, William had learned early on that strength was not going to be his edge on the battlefield. There were too many others as strong or stronger than he was, as Richard and John so clearly demonstrated. As such, William’s custom-made suit of armor was designed to maximize his mobility and let him use his speed to full advantage. His new suit of white and gold armor of interlocking plates shown in the sun this morning with pristine radiance.
Each brother wielded a unique weapon as well. John’s weapon of choice was a heavy broadsword, while Richard favored a massive Scottish claymore that ordinarily required both hands of a strong man to wield. Richard, however, seemed comfortable with it in one hand. Thomas opted for a sinister looking mace, a spiked ball connected to a chain that was attached to an eighteen-inch handle. It was a thoroughly nasty weapon that required a great deal of skill by the wielder to prevent harm to himself.
Henry was still trying to find himself. He was constantly vacillating between the heavier swords like those preferred by John and Richard, and the finer European blades like the rapier that Edward had favored for the brief period he fought side by side with his family.
As for William, he had chosen an entirely different path here, too, largely because of his mentor. His family had brought on an oriental teacher when he was just a young man. This teacher, Jurou, fought in a manner they had never before beheld. He was proficient with any standard weapon but also seemed to be able to turn any ordinary object into a weapon. He, too, was small in stature as was common to his people but was widely regarded as the most fearsome fighter in all the land roundabout.
His ways intrigued the whole family, particularly Braden, the knights’ father, who made Jurou a fixture at Court. But it was only William who had really responded to these foreign ideas. All the brothers except Henry and William were well indoctrinated into traditional combat rules by the time Jurou made his appearance, and Henry was simply more comfortable following the traditional route of study.
Jurou became a mentor to William in the absence of his father. He taught him more than just combat, he taught him about self-control and discipline. It was a direct consequence of his influence that William's armor deviated so markedly from the norm. His weapon, too, was unlike any of the other brothers’ steel. His sword of choice was a katana. It enhanced his speed over the heavier English blades, but the long, slight, curved blade was not limited like the flimsy rapier that was primarily a stabbing weapon. The katana was very strong and could be employed for both stabbing and cutting as the situation warranted.
“Well, it's time to see if that pig sticker of yours is worth anything,” Richard said to William. “I wager ten pounds it snaps off at the hilt on the first bit of metal it hits.” His brothers continued to tease him about it because a katana was a weapon not seen around Europe and certainly not on a knight or one who aspired to become a knight. His brother’s playful jabs did nothing to lighten William’s mood or quell the sickly fear that was coursing through his veins at that moment. Usually this did not bother William because he was very comfortable with this weapon, but moments before his first real battle was not the time to be undermining his confidence. It was only with a conscious effort that he was keeping his knees from trembling as he watched the enemy line form opposite them. He did not dare open his mouth to respond to the ribbing for fear that his cowardice would betray him in a trembling or cracking voice. It was pride alone that kept him from fleeing at that moment. Pride, and the recognition that he had to face this moment at some point. It was his destiny.
John pulled his mount in next to William and leaned over to him. “Remember, you are a trained, skilled warrior and these are farmers. They have likely never held a sword before today. Keep on your guard and you have nothing to fear. This is who you are, who you were meant to be, and who you will become. The blood of a thousand great warriors courses through your viens. Trust in yourself.”
William nodded mutely. He was very glad his brothers were there. He believed in their abilities, though he was not at all sure about his own.
“It does not seem that they intend to surrender,” Richard said casually, then raising his voice and calling across the distance to the other line, “This is your last chance to surrender. Expect no quarter if you insist upon a battle.”
A very large man from the other line yelled back in ever so slightly accented E
nglish, “Since we far outnumber you, we will give you one chance to surrender.” There was a smattering of nervous laughter through his line of rebels.
William squinted across the line at the speaker. He did not belong here. Nothing about him made sense. The farmers were eye level with this man’s belly. He was a veritable giant. His hair was long and black, his skin was a light brown, and he wore real armor. There was a nasty scar that ran down his left cheek that was visible even from this distance. This was no farmer. William leaned over to John to point that out, but at that moment Richard wordlessly began to close the distance between them, motioning for everyone to follow. It was again only with a concerted effort that William was able to spur his horse into advancing with the others, but advance he did.
The enemy line started toward them, albeit more hesitantly, the farmers clearly taking their direction from the giant. They did outnumber the guardsmen but nobody, no matter how foolhardy, willingly took on full knights. One did not get the title of “Knight of Dawning Court” for his lovely singing voice or enchanting wit. One got it for combat, terrible and brutal combat, and even the lowliest serf knew that. Nevertheless, there were only a few knights and the rest were ordinary farmers the same as them. So if they could just dispatch the knights, the rest should fall easily.
Richard led out with a measured pace intended to draw the rebels away from the tree line. He did not want them fleeing back into the trees at the first clash and have to spend the next week rooting them out. Richard brought his horse up and casually pulled his massive sword from its sheath and held it aloft. The brothers and guardsmen all followed suit. Then as one they yelled, “For God and country!” except for Richard, who shouted, “For glory!” and jabbed his gilded spurs into his warhorse’s side. His mount leapt forward and charged the rebel line.
The unmounted guardsmen‘s line broke as they sprinted to catch up to the knights, and soon the battle was well joined. Richard, John, and Thomas began to cut their way through the ranks of ill-prepared farmers like explorers through a thick jungle: cleaving enemy weapons in twain, piercing the makeshift armor, and smashing the bones underneath the antique shields.
William tried to clear his mind of the fear and emotions of the moment in order to let the training take over. It wasn't easy to close out all the distractions, but he tried. He came upon the first of the farmers who had just turned to take a swing at John as John rode by. The farmer was wearing virtually no armor and had left his left flank completely exposed.
William swung his blade in an underhand arc and pierced the farmer’s side. The farmer’s body crumpled instantly as his major organs were skewered. As William wrenched his sword free he slammed his boot into the unprotected head of another man standing a few feet away. The peasant dropped to his knees in surprise and pain.
William reversed the momentum of his katana to swing it around and down in a strong overhand swing toward the same unprotected head. His blade connected with the top of the rebel’s head as he was just regaining his feet. His eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed and blood ran through his hair.
William paused for a moment as the rush of the moment passed and the magnitude of what he had just done sunk in. He did not feel proud or happy, as he always imagined, but disturbed and slightly nauseous as he contemplated the farmers’ bodies on the ground around his horse, one dead and the other dying. Did the punishment meted out to them fit the crime, he wondered? Of course, they would have killed him if he had given them the chance. Was what they were fighting for worth their lives? What were they fighting for? How strange no one bothered to ask.
***
Charles watched in disbelief as the knights of Dawning Court rode through the line of his friends, turned, and made another pass into his ranks. He had lived on the Dawnings’ land all his life and had a certain pride in the exploits of Braden Dawning. He used to watch the Dawning boys in tournaments with amazement, dreaming that one day he would be called on to fight alongside them. He could not imagine how they ever came to be facing him and his family on opposite sides of the line.
Being a lowly villein on the Dawnings’ land was all Charles had ever known and all he had ever wanted. He had been content enough with his little family and his life until the foreigner that now stood at their head had appeared and started filling their heads with stories about the luxury the Dawnings lived in; about the abuse they heaped upon those beneath them and how their children, as villeins, were doomed to be subjects of the Dawnings forever. They would never have a better life.
Charles was not convinced, but his brother had been and persuaded Charles to go along on a few raids of Dawning supply trains. No one had been hurt and it all seemed like childish fun at first, but somehow now they were being cut down by the very people he had long admired. This could not be right. This was just a misunderstanding.
Charles turned to his brother not far from where he was and called to him. He had to bring him back to reality. Together they might be able to put a stop to this. He located his brother just in time to see a young man that he did not recognize ride into their line a few paces behind the others. He was strangely dressed, but the Dawning coat of arms was clearly visible on his armor. His bare head revealed that he was only a boy. This was way out of hand. Charles got his brother’s attention just as this Dawning boy cut one of the others down. Charles’ brother was still looking at him, trying to understand his message when the young Dawning kicked him in the head.
Charles watched his brother stumble and fall. As he tried to stand to defend himself, the Dawning boy brought his sword down on his unprotected head.
Charles knew instantly his brother was dead. His disbelief turned to horror at what he had just seen. The Dawning boy stopped to survey what he had done and Charles' shock turned to rage. It was his fault his own brother lay dead instead of this child. Had Charles not distracted him when he did—Charles cried out in anguish and charged the back of the Dawning boy.
The Dawning boy twisted around in his saddle and spotted Charles charging him with his massive cleaver raised over his head. The boy saw what was coming but could not wheel his mount fast enough to defend himself properly.
Charles aimed his blow at the kidney, but instead of soft flesh, his cleaver found only the hard leather of the back of his saddle as the young Dawning rolled off of the horse just in time to avoid the blow. Charles' cleaver whizzed by William’s retreating foot, cut through the back of the saddle, and into his horse’s flesh. With a loud whinny, his horse galloped off the field.
In one smooth motion the youth hit the ground and rolled to regain his feet. He came up facing Charles. They stood rooted in place for a few moments, sizing each other up. Charles suddenly felt somewhat foolish in his green hunter’s outfit. It was evident from the boy’s elaborate armor and weapons that no expense had been spared in training and equipping him. There were obviously very powerful people interested in his safe return. Almost everyone interested in Charles's return was on the field with him at that moment. He suddenly sensed that this fight was much bigger than some farmers’ living conditions. He realized at that moment that he was merely a pawn in a bigger game that he did not understand. He knew he could not win. Even if they managed to vanquish these knights, the same powers that trained and equipped this young man would pour their wrath out upon any that were to do him harm.
Nevertheless, he had no choice but to fight or be killed now. Still, Charles did not know what to make of this young warrior. Though Charles was half again the boy’s size, he knew this young man had far more combat training than he did. But what options did he have? This same boy had moments before murdered his only brother. Charles took a hesitant step forward to test the young warrior’s reaction. That seemed a safe enough move. It was not.
Instead of backing away defensively as Charles had expected, the young man swung his back leg out and kicked the exposed side of Charles' weight-bearing thigh with his iron-covered right shin.
Charles had been so int
ently watching the Dawning’s sword that he had not seen it coming until it was too late. He exclaimed in surprise and pain as his leg buckled involuntarily beneath him. The boy’s sword was instantly there to finish the job. With his other foot he kicked Charles in the side of the head, dropping the man to the turf to finish bleeding out from his gaping neck wound.
***
William gazed down at the twitching body and felt nauseous. There was no glory here. Cutting down a bunch of foolish peasants is something for which he would never be proud.
He heard the rapid footsteps at his back. He sidestepped the blow that dropped just to his left but was taken between the shoulder blades by this latest charging enemy. The force of the collision snapped his head back and sent him sprawling in the dirt. A voice in his head shrieked that he had lost control of the situation and he had to regain his feet immediately before this ogre was on him again. William rolled completely over his shoulders in a series of rolls that he hoped would remove him from danger. He swung his katana in a wide arc blindly as he was trying to break loose from the glimpses of the rebel fast approaching. William knew he was incredibly vulnerable right now but hoped the wild, unpredictable sword swings would keep his opponent at bay. He could only imagine Jurou's expression if he were watching this pathetic display. Nevertheless, the blow that should have been his undoing did not come. William rolled a final time and leapt to his feet. Standing not far from him was a massive, menacing form. William held his weapon at the ready as a slight wave of dizziness passed over him. It was only then that he recognized the form of Thomas, who was standing over the crumpled heap of his assailant, his ugly mace smattered with blood.
“Taking a rest so early in the battle, are you, little brother?” Thomas grinned at him. “We'll have no gold bricking here.” He caught the blow of a nasty looking club on his shield and smashed his mace back at his assailant.
The Knights Dawning (The Crusades Series) Page 14
