Knight Tenebrae

by Julianne Lee

  Sir Hector and Sir Roger joined their men to those forces and they encamped, prepared to wait out the English just out of range of the alert archers on the battlements of the castle.

  * * *

  For the next two days of gazing at stone walls, the standoff—unmoving and stale—stirred something in Alex he’d not felt since Kosovo. Men came and went from the Scottish camp, some patrolling, some foraging the countryside for provisions, others merely hanging out or sparring with each other to keep busy and sharpen battle skills. Alex could see the camp settling into a sort of permanence that felt strange this close to an enemy. A complacency he found dangerous.

  It gave him a maddening need to do something. Nearly anything would suit, but his military training took his mind in directions that would win the conflict. Thoughts tumbled, searching, working out scenarios, prodding for the answer. There were no orders from above, other than to sit and wait, so he spent his time thinking. And watching the gate from the rocky slope below. And thinking some more, plundering his memory of battles he’d studied at the Academy.

  When Alex called for his horse, Lindsay hurried to comply and soon rode up with the steed in tow. As he mounted, Hector approached and said, “Where might you be off to, Ailig?”

  “Just to have a look-see.”

  Hector smiled, amused by Alex’s strange mixture of modern and Middle English. “Take care the archers don’t skewer you.”

  Alex smiled and saluted, then wheeled away to kick his mount to canter with Lindsay following on her rounsey. He rode down to the valley floor and began circling the hill, weaving in and out between broken stone dikes, at a distance he figured was sufficient to keep him out of range of the bowmen lining the crenellated battlement of the castle high above. Along the northwest side, he slowed to a walk. The castle rock was steep here. Cliffs, from which the battlement rose as if part of the hill.

  “What are you looking for?”

  Deep in thought, he’d forgotten Lindsay was there. He absently replied, “Dunno yet.” His courser tossed its head and danced to be let run. The inactivity of the past few days was showing in the animal, so Alex let it return to a canter. Lindsay urged her own mount to keep up. A short distance farther along, he pulled up again to examine the cliffs where they became a little less steep.

  “What are you hoping to find?”

  Continuing to stare upward, he said, “A way in. Or a way out. A sally port, maybe. Or a garderobe.”

  “What’s a garderobe?”

  “It’s a latrine. Sometimes they hang over the side of the wall, and sometimes there will be a poop chute at the foot of a tower. But I don’t see any.”

  “I should think they’d be well disguised, being openings and like that.”

  “Yeah, they would. And I should think our guys would know what to look for and have checked it out thoroughly. But I’m giving it a shot myself anyway. Fresh eyes, you know.”

  “Ah.” She went silent as he fell back into his concentration.

  It was a fair distance around the foot of the hill, and Alex continued to examine the steep ground away from Sir Edward’s besiegers. Every so often an archer atop the battlements loosed an arrow, and boys on the valley floor raced each other to retrieve it, then hurried away before a hail of more arrows. They brought to mind ball boys in a tennis tournament, running in, snatching the arrow, then turning and running like hell to beat the aim of the archers, never slowing for a second, for that second could be fatal. Alex figured the kids—all less than ten years or so—were selling the ammunition to the Scottish side. The archers didn’t seem terribly worried about running out of them; Alex was even more convinced they were obtaining supplies from somewhere.

  He could see by the disturbed ground where the arrows’ range ended, and he rode right up next to that line. Then he ignored the archers, and began checking out the rocky hill on which the battlement stood. It was almost entirely granite. On this side a sheer cliff dropped halfway, then came a steep, rocky, tree-covered descent to the valley floor. Some spots weren’t as steep as—

  An arrow whooshed downward, pierced the sleeve of Alex’s hauberk, and lodged in the underside of his left arm. A bolt of pain shot to his shoulder, and with an angry shout he wheeled his horse and galloped away from the castle. Well out of range now, he wheeled back to stand, and shouted vulgarisms at the archers above. He was certain they were laughing at him, and that made him angrier.

  Lindsay came to examine his wound, and he lifted his arm for her to see better. She said, “Can you take off the chain mail?”

  “Not here. Can you get it out?”

  She poked at it, and that made him clench his teeth. Then, without reply. she broke the fletching from the arrow and yanked the shaft through.

  “Ow!” Alex jerked away, but the deed was done. “Dang, what’re you trying to do, woman?” His horse stepped away, and he urged the animal back with his knees.

  “Get the arrow out, as you requested, my liege. And, see,” she held up the broken pieces, “here it is.”

  Alex glowered at her, then held up the arm to look. “How bad is it bleeding?”

  “Hmm. Not terribly, I think.” She lifted it to see better. “Can you move it?”

  Alex demonstrated. “I think it’s only nicked the muscle. Hurts like a sonofabitch. Damn, I didn’t think arrows could pierce chain mail.”

  “I thought you knew.”

  Alex’s head tilted and his voice took on an edge. “Oh. Hey, thanks for the warning.”

  She let go of his arm and set her hands on her hips. “I thought you...we were out of range. Surely you don’t think I would risk your life on purpose. As I hope you would not risk mine. As I said, I thought you knew.”

  He had little to say to that. Then he looked at his arm again, and up at the castle. It didn’t jive. “Look at all those archers.”

  Lindsay looked. “Right. What of it?”

  “That’s an awful lot of archers guarding a battlement on a hill that steep and inaccessible. Why do they think they’re vulnerable on this side?”

  “I think they’re all just having fun, trying to pick off these boys.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Alex was searching hard the hillside.

  Lindsay turned to stare in the direction of the hill. “Perhaps they’re posted just on principle?”

  Alex shook his head. “There aren’t nearly this many on the western side. These guys should be taking their amusement with potshots at the earthworks out front. I think they’re guarding a backdoor.”

  Alex examined the forests. Very still, he gazed at the scene, looking for anything that might seem out of place. Nothing moved below the castle. He continued to search, and stared at the cliffs, and the spots where they seemed a bit less steep.

  And there was a line. A very thin, faint trail. It came from the lip of the cliff and traced ever so faintly down among a tumble of rocks and brush. Then it disappeared among the trees on the lower slope. He turned away, as if giving up on the search.

  “I’ve found something,” he said. Lindsay looked, but looked to him again when he told her not to stare. “It’s a trail. Not worn, but like dots. Steps cut into the rock. Small, almost invisible. Come.” He turned his horse and continued on his way around the castle rock, making his way back to the camp slowly, as if he were still looking for his way into the castle.

  Finished with his circuit, he had Lindsay take the horses while he went directly to Edward Bruce who stood by the earthworks at the top of the castle hill, nearest the portcullis. Before he could approach, though, two high-ranking knights in silk surcoats blocked his way and demanded to know his business. They appeared amused to mess with him, and one was the knight who had accosted Alex his first day in Robert’s service. Seven years older, hut Alex recognized him.

  “I need to speak to the king’s brother. I think I may have found the route they’ll take for sallies against us.” He’d brought Lindsay, but didn’t seem to need her for this conversation.

 
“Where is it?” The sneering, silk-clad knight crossed his arms over his chest.

  Alex pressed his lips together. Where he came from, chain of command was nearly inviolate. Protocol was followed, and any deviation was treated as infraction, or at least frowned on by all concerned. But here things were more fluid. Most of the men were not only looking out strictly for themselves but also were expected to be that way. Landless and in debt, Alex was one of the lowest-ranking knights in this cavalry, and knew if he spoke to anyone but Edward about his discovery he would be left out of any action—and therefore out of any plunder to be had—resulting from the intelligence. Letting this guy get between himself and his commander would be the equivalent of having a fellow officer steal his paycheck. He said, “I must talk to Sir Edward.”

  The knights narrowed their eyes at him. The one with the sneer said, “I think you may come back tomorrow.”

  Alex muttered to the ground in modern English, “Great. I’m talking to the Wizard of Oz.” Then he addressed Edward’s man again and lied. “You won’t find it. I have information from a local man. Furthermore, I know where their pickets...guards are. They’ll kill you before you will find anything.”

  The shadow that crossed the man’s eyes told Alex the knight surely would have spent the rest of the day looking for the sally port himself. There was a long silence, then Alex looked around as if he gave a damn who might be listening and said, “If Sir Edward should learn there was a delay in receiving this knowledge...” He shrugged and let the threat hang in the air.

  The knight shifted his weight and finally said, “Very well.” The two stepped aside and allowed Alex to approach Edward and bow.

  “Sir, may I have a word?”

  The king’s brother had been engaged in light conversation with Kirkpatrick, and readily interrupted it for this diversion. “Who are you?” His tone was one of idle curiosity.

  “Alasdair MacNeil, sir.” Alex straightened to attention by force of habit. “I’ve found their sally port. That is...I’ve found the trail they will take from it when they will attack us. Give me men, and I’ll assure nothing gets in or out for the duration of this siege.”

  “You’ve found their egress, you say?”

  “Aye. And I’m certain they think it’s secret. Also, the trail is well protected by archers.”

  “Then how do you propose to make the route secure without losing all your men to these archers?”

  Kirkpatrick chuckled, and the urge to punch his lights out was maddening. Rather than explain his plan, which would have involved confessing to the study of seven centuries of war tactics that hadn’t happened yet, Alex said simply, “By stealth. Trust me, sir. Let me have a contingent of ten knights and I give you my solemn oath I’ll hold the ground or die trying.”

  Edward thought about that for only a moment, then said, “Very well. Pick five knights and as many squires. You may go.”

  Only five knights? Nevertheless, Alex nodded as his mind turned with adjusting his plan to new numbers. “Aye, sir.” He took a step back to salute, but remembered to bow instead, then turned on his heel and withdrew to begin recruiting.

  Hector, when he heard of the mission, recommended one of his own knights: a lanky, blond cousin named Cullan MacNeil, who seemed eager for action yet centered and experienced enough not to bounce on the balls of his feet like the younger MacNeil knight who also volunteered.

  In spite of efforts to contain the intelligence, word of the mission spread quickly and John Kirkpatrick came to Alex and asked to go.

  Alex stopped dead in his tracks, stood and stared at him, his eyes hooded and jaw clenched. The welts on his belly were now itchy scabs on their way to healing, but the memory of the pain and humiliation inflicted by the Kirkpatricks was still fresh. “No.” He turned to continue on his way, but John held his arm and stopped him. Alex pulled away from the man’s grasp.

  “Ailig, you must understand, he’d have turned the chain on me, had I interfered.”

  Alex turned again, but John insisted and grabbed his arm. “Furthermore,” John blocked his path. “Furthermore, Ailig. you shouldn’t have left the way you did. It was highly suspicious, and you can’t blame Roger for being angry. Even if you did not turn traitor, neither should you have left. You’re pledged to His Majesty.”

  “I had no choice. I was needed elsewhere by my foster family. I couldn’t forget the Pawlowskis any more than I could betray the king.”

  John nodded. “I believe you. And I understand, as I hope you understand my hands were as tied as yours that day. But now, allow me to pledge loyalty to you and go with you tonight.”

  Alex considered that. A pledge from John would be a good thing, especially in the long run. He nodded. “All right, then, bring your best squire and leave your shields behind.” John gave him a querying glance, and Alex elaborated. “Brightly colored and designed to be seen from a distance. Not the best thing for a stealth mission.”

  John nodded.

  Alex continued on his way.

  Also tapped were two of Edward’s men along with five squires, and the contingent gathered after dark that night at the edge of the trees on the western side of the castle rock. Alex was pleased to have these volunteers, but when Lindsay presented herself he told her to return to their tent.

  “Why?”

  “Don’t question my order. Just do it.”

  “Why?”

  Stock still in the darkness, his anger rose and he was reminded she was an untrained civilian and had no business wanting to fight. He took her by the upper arm and hauled her far enough away from the group to speak in low-voiced modern English. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Going with you.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Her voice was a low growl. “You can’t stop me.”

  He wanted to shake sense into her, but held his temper and funneled his anger into his command voice. “Yes, I can stop you.”

  “Why do you want to?”

  Alex opened his mouth to reply, and only then did he realize he had no answer he wanted to admit just then. His desire was to keep her safe, but saying so would be a mistake, for she surely would react badly. There was no chance of telling her what was on his mind.

  Lindsay continued, and spared him from lying. “If you send me back, it will become obvious to the others there is something different about me. Something wrong. There will be whispers that I’m not up to snuff as a squire. There may even be talk of cowardice, and that would destroy me here. I’ve got to be treated like a young man, Alex. You’ve got to stop thinking of me as a woman. Start thinking of me as a fellow soldier.”

  But she wasn’t a fellow soldier. She was a girl in a dirty flight suit, leather-and-horn armor, and an elastic bandage. Never mind she was an attractive female and the only other person currently on the planet who could possibly understand his past, the bottom line was she wasn’t trained to fight. Wasn’t trained to think like a soldier, and he knew that lack would get her killed. Or somebody else killed.

  But she was right. If he kept her from putting herself at risk, the men would perceive her as a coward and treat her with contempt. It could make life hell for both of them, for she was his squire, under his tutelage, so everything about her reflected on him. Wanting badly to insist she return to camp, he nevertheless acquiesced. “All right. Come, then.”

  Under cover of darkness, Lindsay and the others followed Alex on foot. Carrying swords and maces, moving slowly and silently near the trees at the foot of the hill, they circled to the spot on the far side where Alex had seen the faint trail. They approached in utter silence, daggers and swords at the ready in anticipation of encountering Englishmen, but there were none here. Up close now, he found the track among the trees below the cliff. Above, silhouetted against the night sky, were shifting shadows of men along the battlement. Well hidden in shadow despite the clear sky and moon overhead, Alex’s detail settled.

  The vigil was long and boring. Bugs crawled around in Alex�
��s clothing, and he wondered whether they were ones he could shake out, or he’d acquired lice. It wouldn’t have surprised him if he had; sleeping on the ground as he had been, he figured it was inevitable he’d be picking nits out of his skivvies by summer’s end. Fleas and ticks, too. He scratched discreetly, flexed his aching, throbbing, wounded arm, and waited.

  John, lying nearby, whispered to Alex under his breath, “Ailig. I must ask.”

  Alex grunted for John to proceed with his question.

  “How old is your squire? I was given to believe he would be a knight by now, after seven years away. But he seems little changed.”

  “Your memory is faulty, friend. Lindsay is nineteen, just turned. When you saw him last, he was twelve years old and newly made squire. He’s still small, but will have his final growth soon, I’m sure. His father was a large man.”

  John nodded, and seemed to accept Alex’s smoke-and-mirrors explanation. The night continued.

  In the predawn, John whispered, “It’s time we returned to camp, so we aren’t caught by daybreak.”

  “Most of us will stay here. John, you and your boy go to the encampment to sleep, and return after nightfall. Each of the five of you will take turns sleeping in camp, and your squires will stay with you. Lindsay, you go back for some food, and bring it to us tonight after dark. The rest of us will sleep here through the day.”

  “Ailig—”

  “Silence, John. If they hear us topside they’ll know we’re down here. We don’t want that. Go. You, too, Lindsay.”

  She hesitated, and he hoped she wasn’t about to give him more guff, but then she obeyed and moved down toward the valley floor to make her way back to Edward’s camp. John signaled his squire and they departed also.