Knight's Blood

by Julianne Lee

  One of the men said, “I’ve no complaint at having a fighter such as herself at my back.”

  The others, though not all of them appeared to agree, offered no complaint either.

  Lindsay nodded and decided to take her hubris one step further just to see what might happen. “Right. I’ll be relieving Jenkins of all his possessions, I think.” She glanced toward the stairs. An Reubair didn’t offer an argument, but only gazed blandly at her. She looked around for Jenkins’ two squires. “You’ll be going home. On foot. Now. I’ll find my own men to serve me and my horses.” The last thing she needed was young, resentful squires handling her stuff. The two teenagers rose in glum silence and obeyed.

  Lindsay looked around the room and the light adrenaline eased. Someone poked the burning piece of flesh from the fire and tumbled it onto the floor, where it lay, smoking and sizzling. As she calmed, and the smell of charred meat, skin, and hair permeated the keep. a realization came. Jenkins, in his unthinking arrogance, had actually done her several favors. He’d given her an excuse to kill him and had provided her with badly needed money and equipment, but — most important — he’d relieved her of the secret she’d spent so much time and energy to keep. For weeks she’d had to watch everything she said, every gesture, every movement. She’d had to bind her breasts tightly enough to restrict her breathing, and had never bathed or relieved herself without a breathless, panicky rush. Now none of that would be necessary. Now she would be able to live as a knight without living in terror of discovery. A cold smile came to her face.

  Chapter Eleven

  In a village along the coast north of Berwick, Alex noted that Trefor located and bartered for a sword appropriate to his height. It was the same size as Alex’s, tapered like Alex’s, and gilded like Alex’s. The only thing distinguishing them was that on Trefor’s the hilt guards were curved rather than straight. One up on Alex, and that gave him a weird feeling, but he ignored it. In the end all he wanted to care about was that it would serve Trefor well.

  They continued to drill and spar in the evenings, along with the rest of the company who were preparing for the coming raid into English territory. Berwick, on the Scotland side of the Borderlands, was still held by Edward II and was the place from which the assaults to the north had been launched by him and his father for the past several decades. Taking it and holding it against English will was not a possibility; Robert didn’t have the military resources to stand against an English king who demanded this bit of Scotland so close to English territory. But the harrying tactics employed by Douglas were a useful tool to make certain Edward would not attempt to march north again as he had in 1314. The Black Douglas and Alasdair an Dubhar were set to make clear to Edward he was not welcome north of the Tweed.

  The night before the assault on Berwick, as the company huddled around tiny fires built small and under tree canopy for the sake of not betraying their position, Alex watched Trefor’s face. They all knew they would be riding against English knights the next day, and Trefor seemed calm. Almost carefree. His girlfriend sat with him, and he spoke to the group of how eager he was to show the English the business end of a Scottish sword. Whenever the locals boasted like that, Alex knew they meant it. They all had reason to hate, especially James, who was always on about how much he would love to march to London and have Edward’s head on a platter. But in Trefor the talk rang hollow. Like whistling past a graveyard. The fear was in his voice and in his eyes.

  Alex didn’t have to wonder what was going through Trefor’s mind just then. He’d felt it himself just before his first combat flight over Kosovo a number of years before. Trefor was thinking of what it would be like to die. How much pain there would be. What lay beyond that pain. How it would be if there were nothing on the other side, and that had given Alex the willies more than anything else had. The locals — men from this century — had no doubt about what lay beyond, for they’d been taught all their lives exactly what awaited them. Obviously Trefor lacked that assurance. Alex had his own doubts, though he never dwelled on them. He’d learned to accept that he would one day die and there was nothing he could do about it. He’d long ago reconciled himself to a violent death, for given the life choices he’d made, the odds were pretty much against him living to an old age. With all the wounds he’d taken over the years he didn’t give the pain much thought anymore, beyond settling his focus before a fight so he would not be distracted from the task at hand. He hoped Trefor would be able to sort himself out, but knew talking to him about it would be a waste of breath. It was something each of them had to do for himself.

  Then Alex looked over at Mike, who was very quiet and pale, his mouth crumpled and thin-lipped. He appeared to have a sharper fear of what tomorrow would bring than did Trefor. Alex didn’t put the odds very high that Mike would survive, and knew he wouldn’t consider the loss a great one.

  It was shortly before dawn the next day that James Douglas’s army swept down on the township. English men of war poured from the castle to clash with the Scottish cavalrymen with ringing iron, shouts of rage, and much blood. Alex dispatched a knight in quick order, then turned to another and found himself engaged with a horseman who seemed more interested in looking busy than in killing him. In a blood rage Alex bore down on the knight, who shouted, “Hold!” and began to circle. Though he was chased he kept circling, and held his sword as if to use it. Alex couldn’t get near him, and every time his horse sidled in, the knight retreated just far enough to be out of reach. Alex grinned, for it struck him as funny in a Three Stooges sort of way, and he wondered what the deal was. His peripheral vision sharpened as he wondered whether his opponent was waiting for help, but everyone nearby was otherwise engaged. The man circled, sword raised, but he didn’t approach Alex with it. Waiting for Alex to make a move, it seemed, and Alex considered it, for he’d come to fight and in this frame of mind it was difficult to stay his hand. But instead of attacking he circled also, to see what would happen.

  “You’re Irish,” said the knight. His accent was Scottish, but that meant nothing. He was a noble, plainly of Norman descent and pledged to the English king.

  Alex blinked at the comment. Now he wondered if the wrong reply would get him attacked of a sudden. He said, “I’m a MacNeil. Not Irish, but we come from Irish kings.”

  “Irish.” The knight grinned and nodded to affirm his words. Then he nodded off toward the herds shifting and lowing in the excitement. “You know I don’t give a damn about these cattle.”

  “Good, because I do want them and I’ll kill you for them. I’ve got folks back home to feed.” And a king to impress, but he didn’t waste his breath stating what this guy surely already knew.

  “No need. You can have the beasts, and welcome to them. I’ve seen too much blood of late and have sickened of it. I know you’re going to have the cattle and horses in any case. In a short while, once the kine are on their way, you’ll be called off and I’ll give chase for a distance. But you’ll ride faster than I will, and I’ll find it not worth the trouble. My fellows and myself will fall back and return to our garrison and our fires, to boast of what little we can of this defeat.”

  “You want to lose?”

  “I want to spin out my time owed to my liege and go home in a single piece. If that makes me a coward, then I’ll be a live coward enjoying my children and my wife in my home.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Would you care to try my sword and risk your own life for naught?”

  It seemed reasonable, though surreal in the midst of a killing clash of men and metal. Alex considered abandoning this guy to find something real to do, but knew if he did he would be chased down and would then have to fight him in earnest. So he continued to circle, sword raised as if he were looking for an opening he knew would never come.

  A shout went up in the distance, and retreat was called by the Scots. The cattle had been stampeded, and everyone was off on a merry chase away from Berwick. “Very well, then,” said Alex. “Li
ve long and prosper.”

  “Same to you, countryman.”

  With a grin, Alex whirled his sword in a flashy mulinette, wheeled his mount, and spurred away. The other knight gave a shout and pursued. It was less than a horserace for a distance as Alex followed the rest of the Scots and their stampede of cattle and horses away from town, with the English knight not so hot on his heels.

  The other knight fell back, and Alex took a glance to the rear to see if any of his own men were lagging behind. To his horror, he found Trefor still back there. He reined in to a skidding halt and turned.

  But Trefor wasn’t in trouble. He was riding hard in the retreat, bearing down on the slowing Englishman who was at that moment turning. Sword raised, Trefor approached from behind. The knight found himself confronted by Trefor just as Trefor swung and caught him at the neck. The knight’s head toppled, a fountain of blood spray in the air, and dangled by a shred of muscle and a hank of mail from his coif. He wobbled crazily on his horse for a moment, the torso not yet knowing it was dead, then it collapsed and fell from its mount in a confusion of mail, flesh, and blood.

  There was no time to think or feel. With a piercing rebel yell Trefor blew past Alex at a dead gallop, still with his sword overhead. Alex turned and spurred on after him. He would think about this later. Now, while they were being chased by men who did mean to kill them, was not the time to consider what Trefor had just done. Alex rode hard with his men and focused on getting out of there alive.

  The defenders of Berwick had been well softened by the fighting and were not motivated to follow far. They fell back quickly as the Scots made their retreat. Dozens of horses had been taken, and many cattle made their way from Berwick. But they did not go north. They headed south, across the river and into England. More plunder awaited them in the rich countryside there. James Douglas and those accompanying him made camp in England that night.

  Having circled the support wagons with their shields to the outside, and butchered enough of their plunder for a hearty meal paid out to everyone present, the men indulged in a party atmosphere, eating, drinking, and bragging to each other of their exploits that day. For himself, Alex didn’t partake of anything but food. He straddled a tree root and leaned his back against the trunk, chewing thoughtfully on his supper, thinking hard about the knight Trefor had killed. He listened to the story as Trefor told it, and held his tongue when the embellishments became too wildly inaccurate and colorful for his taste. In Trefor’s telling, the knight had been bearing down on him at full speed, ready to take off his own head with a sword as long as a claymore. Alex supposed he might have thought that; perception in the heat of things was often dicey. Trefor may actually have thought he was in that sort of danger. Alex gave Trefor the benefit of the doubt and couldn’t blame him for not knowing his opponent had no intention of killing anyone. It had been a battle, after all, any armed man fair game in anyone’s book. So Alex kept shut and let Trefor brag.

  But then the talk went in an entirely unexpected direction, and Alex’s attention perked with alarm as he sucked on a crispy bit of fat from his meat. “And you,” said Trefor in a voice dripping with disdain, “you had let him go.”

  “I did what?”

  “I’d seen the two of you circling each other like dogs about to mate. Made me wonder which of you was the bitch.”

  There was no laughter at that. Silence fell over those nearby. Hector and his squires, young Gregor, James, his high-ranking men and their squires all looked at Alex to see what he would do over this accusation. Even Mike was quiet, as was Morag, who hovered in the periphery and watched.

  “Excuse me?” Alex stuffed the rest of his food into his cheek and chewed slowly, but gave Trefor only a bland look and wiped grease from his lip onto his sleeve. His dagger was at his belt, and his sword was only a few paces away. Trefor also had a knife, but Alex wasn’t sure where his sword was. He knew he could beat the guy in a fight, and it looked as if there might be one. He hoped not, but he couldn’t let Trefor get away with this.

  Trefor elaborated. “Are you always in the habit of letting guys go like that?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Like hell. I watched you chatting with him for a while before the retreat. Then he let you go. He waited until you were away before he came after you. You were practically loping. You never even tried to take him out.”

  “That’s a lie.” Alex felt his neck and face warm, the more embarrassed for the truth of Trefor’s words than that they were being said.

  “I saw it. I bet I wasn’t the only one.” Trefor glanced around at his listeners for confirmation.

  Mike narrowed his eyes at Alex and said, in the scant Middle English he’d picked up in past weeks, “I seen it. It’s not a lie.”

  Alex threw Mike a cross look, hoping nobody had understood Mike’s American accent, but it was a vain hope. The men present had heard Mike and now regarded Alex with curiosity to know what he would say to the accusation. He responded with disdain. “I expect you spent the entire time at the edges of the fray, watching the rest of us fight.”

  Now the listeners looked at Trefor. If anyone else had seen the exchange between Alex and the English knight, they certainly weren’t going to admit it now. Alex hoped they just hadn’t seen.

  Trefor continued. “Well, it’s true. They were chatting like big buddies.” The word “buddies” mixed in with his Middle English earned blank looks all around, and he said, “I mean, great friends. Like they were catching up on old times.”

  James said to Alex, “Did you know the man? I often find myself confronted by men who once knew my father. More than once I’ve been asked for mercy by those who betrayed him.”

  Alex shook his head. “I was circling, looking for an opening. He was avoiding my sword. I couldn’t get near enough to attempt him.”

  “Weren’t trying very hard, as far as I could see.”

  “I would have been a fool to swing on him.”

  “Fool... coward... whatever.”

  “Shut up, Trefor!”

  “Sir Trefor.”

  Alex stood over Trefor and switched to modern English. “Shut the hell up, you little shit. I’ll call you what I like, and don’t push your luck with me.”

  “Afraid I’ll wreck your chances with ol’ Robert?” Trefor tilted his head to address Alex, but otherwise remained lounging against his saddle.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing. Mess with me, and I’ll make you regret it. You don’t know the system. You need to tread lightly.”

  “I know the system well enough to know you screwed up.”

  “You can’t survive without me. I go down, you go down.”

  “I don’t think so. I mean, it’s not as if I stand to inherit, is it? Even if I were your heir, which you’ve made it clear I will never be, you’re not old enough to beat me to the grave by enough for it to matter. Shoot, you’re liable to outlive me. I should kick free of you now, and make my own way.”

  “Then, by all means, do so. Get the hell away from here. Try this again, and I’ll kill you.”

  “Big talk. Just like that nonsense about finding my mother.”

  “I will find her.”

  “No, you won’t. Just like you didn’t find me.”

  Alex shifted his weight in disgust. “Oh, but you so make me want to. I’m beginning to think I’m lucky to see how my son will turn out before going to the trouble of searching you down and trying to raise you. Glad to know up front what sort of little monster you’re going to turn out.”

  Trefor pressed his lips together, and his eyes blazed with a rage Alex rarely had ever seen in anyone but his own father. It felt like a sock in the gut as it sank in on a bone level that this was his son, the life he and Lindsay had created. His responsibility and his problem for as long as he lived. For a moment the world seemed to tilt, and he went breathless. Then Trefor said, “You’re never going to find her.”

  Alex swallowed hard the knot that
suddenly blocked his throat. “See if I don’t.”

  “I intend to.”

  “Meanwhile, Mordred, shut up or I’ll have to find a way to silence you. I brought you into the world, I can bloody well send you from it.”

  Trefor emitted a little bark of a laugh. “Maybe. But you know I’m right about what I saw. I don’t think very highly of that.”

  “I don’t give a damn what you think. Shut up, or I’ll have to take you out. I’ll have no other choice, and I don’t think I can be too squeamish about how I will go about it. Rules of engagement are different here. I’ve been here longer than you have, and I’ve quite let go of the twenty-first century concept of fair play. Think that over real hard.”

  Trefor went silent. Alex returned to his seat on the tree root and asked James to share his tales of the day’s battle. The earl was content to drop the subject of Alex’s performance in Berwick and to do some boasting of his own exploits. Trefor shut up and for the rest of the evening shot ugly glances at his father. Morag came to whisper in Trefor’s ear. Alex pretended to ignore them, but they bothered him just the same. He thought about Lindsay and wished mightily she were here.

  ***

  After Berwick the raiding party plunged deep into Edward’s domain. Having crossed the spot where Alex knew the modern border would be, they passed Hadrian’s Wall and pressed onward, traveling by stealth now. Alex knew, as James also surely knew, that the farther into England they struck, the more fear they would inspire in the king by their daring and the more he would be encouraged by his nobles to make peace with Robert.

  Over the next months they raided several more towns, making their way south and west as they’d done the summer before, each time bringing away an abundance of cattle, sheep, pigs, and horses at a minimal cost of men. The Scots were as fierce as their reputations had them, and the English defenders were the quicker to surrender their livestock and goods for their terror. James Douglas cut a swath through northern England, and the MacNeils went with him.