“But trouble soon found the area, as trouble usually finds remote areas that are at peace. Local villages were plundered. Anything found in writing tells of entire towns wiped out without a soul left. Other estates were set upon by an unknown force making its way through the land. Even those with strong defenses were not immune to tragedy. One day they would be standing, and the next they would be empty shells. A few escaped and would seek shelter in any neighboring manor. There the stories began. Mere rants for the most part, incoherent gibberish, but from what could be discerned there was a small war band making its way here and there, bringing battle to whatever or whoever’s path it crossed. The group was impossible to track or predict. Night was the only time they would be seen, and then of course it was too late.
“An excellent tactic, if you think about the time and manner of warfare of the era. Armies only fought in the day and with tactics much laid out as to be predictable. At night people and places would be caught asleep and unaware with most of the soldiers unarmed and in bed. Even if they were awake, most did not understand anything of battle in the dark. For in the dark much could be done to disorient one’s foe with illusion and diversion. Evidently, that was employed to great ends in this phantom army’s tactics. There is some written on the strange things that would happen before and during battle with the army. Battle often lends itself to wildly exaggerated events and this was multiplied because of the nighttime,” Father Lemoine went on.
“The thought is that the army was small but made up of very experienced soldiers and led by a genius of a commander trying to wipe out everything around, creating a vast land hold.”
Father Lemoine walked around the room and made his way back to stand beside the great fireplace and leaned on its mantle.
“There was a hush over the land in many directions. Refugees gathered in places where they could find shelter and safety. Lords in many directions sent letters of inquiry on every route trying to understand the tactics and predict what province would be next to fall victim to this phantom army,” Father Lemoine explained.
“The lord of this manor was like many, troubled by what he thought could be his fate if he did not prepare. The lord of the Lonely Tower was not weak; he was strong and wise in the ways of battle and had a keen intellect for tactical analysis. He pored over anything he could read about the attacks. He was not about to become a story for others to tell.” Father Lemoine looked around and smiled. “It’s funny he felt that way, and here we are.
“His name was Lord Courtshire—Randolph. Much we owe of this story to this lord, for it is because of many of his writings that we know what we do. He began drawing up plans, various plans, conceived for any probable attack that would besiege his now beautiful fortress, the Lonely Tower.
“One thing he did do was to gather soldiers from every area possible in his land, with the help of others who also wanted to put an end to the chaos that had befallen them. Soldiers of every sort came, old and young, peasants who had fallen on hard times, and those who had nowhere else to go.
“Confident of his plans, Lord Courtshire lay in wait for the inevitable. Wait and wait is what happened; night after night went by with guards looking into the darkness. Half would sleep by day and half by night, always with the other half never sleeping very long and always prepared and waiting. The one thing that never slept, though, was the forges: twenty-four hours a day the forges glowed red with fires that would smelt the metal for weapons.
“The grounds of the castle grew by many folds. The whole of the lawns and the woods around became a great encampment. New perimeter defenses were erected in the form of small stone walls; there was not a stone within miles that had not been gathered. Small trenches were dug also, and trees had been felled for wood for the weapons and the forges that made them. You would think that a great army lay just over a hillside if you were to view the area of the Lonely Tower.” Father Lemoine shook his head.
“But that’s just it. There was no army over the hillside. No mass of soldiers with the horses and wagon trains. No great machines of war either being pulled by beast or being made from the local resources. This was the unnerving part of the situation, which drove Lord Courtshire nearly out of his mind and maybe to such madness that accounts for many strange aspects of the story.
“I’m afraid this is where my telling of the tale ends,” Father Lemoine said simply. At that Jacob and Jessica both gasped.
“That’s it?”
“It can’t end there! What happened?”
Thomas Ridgeway looked at Father Donovan for some clue as to what was going on and felt sure this was all part of the drama of the story. He knew there would be more to come; he was just going to be more patient than his too-eager children.
“No, that’s not all, I assure you. But that’s all that I will tell. If you want to hear the rest of the story. I believe you will have to ask another. He is much better at telling the story than I am and knows much more of the detail. I suggest you ask him if you want the rest,” Father Lemoine said, leaving the question hanging in the air.
“Who do we ask? Are they here now?” Jacob asked pointedly. Father Lemoine looked first at Jacob and Jessica and then turned his eyes toward another attendee of the gathering and said, “Sebastian.”
The Ridgeways looked over to Sebastian with a little astonishment as he sat comfortably and quietly in his chair. This was a twist in the evening, for they thought Father Lemoine was the only storyteller here and did not expect anything from their silent friend.
Sebastian sat there, taking in the hush and waiting for them, waiting for what they were supposed to do next—ask. Thomas Ridgeway saw that his two children were too stumped by the silence and the twist to remember to ask.
“Sebastian. Would you be so kind as to finish the tale so my bothersome children will not drive me mad for the rest of our visit? I, too, would love to hear the rest of the story. Please,” Ridgeway asked.
Sebastian sat, drawing out the suspense. He never seemed to be in a hurry like most teenagers, always very sure of himself.
The fire seemed to crackle and pop just at the right times and appeared to signal Sebastian, who left his comfortable chair and approached the fireplace for inspiration. He looked into it as if peering into a crystal ball, actually seeing the past.
“The night was like any other over the past months. The day had come and gone, the sun setting without event. The soldiers went about their duties with regimen like the army they had become. We don’t know the exact count, but some say thousands now made the land around the Lonely Tower their home. Some say there were ten thousand all together—an army to be sure, but most feel this is exaggerated. I think the number is closer to correct than not.
“The weather was calm, and not a more pleasant night could be had. The moon was full and the only source of interest for all who waited and waited for something they were not sure would ever come. Rain had not come in days, and the ground was firm—good for battle. The trees were full with leaves, for the time was long before fall, so the ground was clear of noisy dry leaves—not good for warning.
“The night was drawing deep, and the calm was almost unnerving for the soldiers walking on patrol or on the walls. They were all feeling the effects of constant paranoia … or maybe it was something else. There was something wrong; they could sense it. Hands firmly gripped torches and weapons at their sides, trying to find comfort in the only reality they knew.” Sebastian spoke evenly and looked through the room.
“The birds had gone silent; the deer did not feed in the light of the full moon, and the wind seemed to lose its breath. Death seemed to have come to the land and thrown open its cloak to cover the area with the feeling of despair.
“First there were the faint noises on the outskirts of the manor, bringing with it added paranoia. What was going on out in the dark woods in the absolute stillness? Soon there were cries of warning and agony. After just a short while it would be impossible to tell one from the other.”
“Men were running into each other, scrambling to get out of the castle while trying to get themselves ready for battle. They could hear the screams and the clash that comes with conflict. The phantom army had come, confirming their worst nightmares, for none who had come face- to-face with the unknown army had survived but for a few lucky individuals.”
Sebastian moved across the room to a spot all had seen Father Lemoine venture to at the beginning of the tale and found what he was apparently searching for. He reached for a spear mounted on the wall. Sebastian took the spear down with great ease, even though it was a large weapon.
A wicked weapon the spear appeared to be, with a large wooden shaft that was worn and polished from much age. The bottom was capped with a metal piece fitted with several rings of some sort. But the top was magnificent: the spear tip was over a foot and a half in length with serrated ridges going down both sides.
“Once again, Lord Courtshire was a brilliant strategist in his own right. Even in the confusion and fear he had done several things right. Even with the edges of the perimeter in chaos, the whole of the inner defenses were preparing for the worst. Fires were being lit all over the grounds and troops were forming into ranks in precise areas designed to take the blows of an oncoming army from the woods, which were partly cleared in areas and in such a way that an army would approach from certain directions without being conscious of their decision to go that way.”
“One of the other things done right by Lord Courtshire was the fine weaponry he had bestowed upon his army. They were armed to the teeth, as they say. Armor and shields and swords were given to every man but not a single gun.”
“Not only that, but the main weapon that is said to have been used was this,” Sebastian said, looking at the grand spear he held. Almost seven feet in length, the spear reached past his head for over a foot.
“Most who know of and have studied the battle are a little perplexed by the weapon, and some believe the events to be mere myth. This is also one of the many strange points of this story that does not share common threads with most weaponry and battles of the time. Though long spears have been used in history to combat armies and to great use, this one is different. The question arises, how and why did Lord Courtshire decide on this one to be given to all of his soldiers in his army?” Sebastian looked to the listeners as he asked.
“That’s right. There supposedly were thousands of these made identical to this one. His whole army braced to fight what most would think to be a great cavalry, but how would a cavalry fight here amongst the thick woods surrounding the Lonely Tower?”
“Did he have information we are not aware of as to why this weapon would be the one to win the day? The army was rumored to not be big in size, so was it a grand mounted army?”
“Or maybe the thought was to outnumber the enemy as to be able to surround it and keep it at a distance and overwhelm the whole. Anyway, these are some of the questions we still ask.” Sebastian handed the spear to Father Lemoine to inspect it and pass it around the room.
“All things were coming to bear on the castle; the fight was coming closer. The sounds were growing, and one could feel the battle was about to reach fever pitch. That’s when the guards on the walls saw it. From out of the woods it came; soldiers from the outer perimeter were being fought back and most being laid to waste by their enemy. Their first glimpse was there in the grassy lawn past the great moat. The enemy had revealed itself at last, and Lord Courtshire was being shown the foe he had long planned to fight.”
“The enemy was, of course, nothing like he had expected, but then he did expect something different. The enemy soldiers were not clad in the armor of old or in the regal wear of armies, but rather cloaks of black with nothing much to show.”
“There was no real organization as with most armies who fight in ordered groups. There were small groups who apparently fought together, and they only wielded swords. Some did not appear to have anything at all.” Sebastian shook his head as if working through the details and reliving the confusion of the battle with the eyes of the soldiers.
“To add to the confusion, there was commotion from within the castle itself. This brought massive fear and disorientation to the soldiers on the grounds and on the castle walls. What could possibly be happening in the castle when the skirmish had just reached the lawn before the moat? But it was there nonetheless. Battle had broken out in the castle before it ever reached the outside walls themselves. Screams told the story of what was happening from inside. Lord Courtshire redirected his soldiers on two fronts now and knew that if the castle had been infiltrated somehow, the situation was dire indeed.
“Watching from the castle walls was something to behold. To see a battle among men is like a dream, not quite real. But this dream was not going too well. Soldiers were being slaughtered in a remarkable swath by the small groups of phantom soldiers. It was only the sheer numbers of defending soldiers that was saving the castle. The entire army had converged upon the Lonely Tower’s lawn from outside and inside. Soldiers were pouring out of the castle. Bridges were being laid over the moat so they might escape and regroup with the others to form a defense.”
“The enemy was swift and strong, like no ordinary soldiers could be. They fought with such abandon and grace, two things that seem an odd pair but which proved to be more deadly than anything ever before witnessed. Only when soldiers outnumbered their enemy and used their long spears did they gain the advantage,” Sebastian said as he looked at Jacob, who was admiring the great spear.
Jacob was going over the weapon like a newly found artifact discovered in an archeological excavation. Jessica watched her brother inspect the weapon, knowing he would come up with the right questions.
Father Donovan, along with the other monks, watched Sebastian with great interest as he retold the story.
Sebastian paced around the room as he collected his thoughts. He never really looked at the group as he told the story, just periodically gazed at the fire.
“The battle was pitched in all of its fury, the confusion complete. Cries came from every direction. Orders were screamed, as if anyone were listening. The scene was beyond dreamlike—a battle like no other at night. Fires were lit all around the castle to give better lighting for the soldiers’ defense, but it only served to confuse and distort. The fires threw shadows everywhere and set some soldiers ablaze. Some used the fires against the enemies as well, setting their cloaks on fire and watching them flee in terror.
“The night and the battle went on and on. It is difficult to say how much time passed: minutes seemed like hours. The outer defenses had crumbled and no one knew how. The castle had been overrun and no one knew how. Thousands of soldiers were killed by a force that couldn’t compare in size and no one knew how.
“So many died that night, it has been remembered as the night Death himself came calling on the Lonely Tower and decided that he would make this his home,” Sebastian said, his voice trailing off so very softly that those in attendance barely heard him.
The room was silent, completely taken in by the storyteller and his tale. Jacob was still not satisfied with what he thought might be the ending and was the first to speak.
“But what happened? Who won?”
“It’s not really certain who won, if there even was a winner. Both sides suffered horrific casualties. The army of Lord Courtshire was said to have lost ninety percent,” Sebastian stated.
“Tha
t would have been over nine thousand soldiers from an army of a ten thousand!” Jacob was astonished.
“Some say the figure of ten thousand soldiers is exaggerated greatly,” Sebastian said grimly.
“There weren’t even a thousand soldiers in the other army?” Jessica asked, not really believing how it could be possible.
“Some say there might not have even been five hundred. The stories are mixed from the survivors. Some say they were outnumbered at times and some say ten men were needed to fight only one. The only thing known for sure is that when the battle was over and the new day came, the pile of dead was considerable. The survivors shook their heads in disbelief at how few of the enemy they had killed. They piled the bodies up in a heap. There was no comparison to the number of their dead who lay in a great swath over the entire area of the grounds and into the woods,” Sebastian explained somberly.
“What happened to Lord Courtshire?” Jacob asked.
“There are reports that he left the castle walls to go to the battle on the lawn—that he rode out of the castle over the great moat on his warhorse, where he saw the commander of the mystery army, who calmly sat on his steed, watching.”
“Did they fight each other?” Jessica asked politely.
“Lord Courtshire was a very experienced warrior in his own right. They say he rode out and met the rider at the height of the battle when all looked lost. There he fought the commander, but Lord Courtshire was brought down by his adversary. Some say he fought valiantly but was taken by the mystery rider, while others say he was taken down with a single sword strike.”
“So they did triumph over the invading army? They fought them off and held the castle?” Jacob surmised.
saint Sebastian the Rose Page 10
