Wiping at her eyes, she struggled to compose herself. She wasn’t weak by nature but the past few days had repeatedly crushed her. She was laboring to get hold of herself. She had to find out what the knights had done with her sister and make arrangements from there.
Someone had brought her things up during the night; she noticed two large trunks and a variety of loose items stacked neatly against the wall. Wiping at her eyes again, she made her way to the trunks with the intention of finding something to bury her sister in. But she passed by the lancet window on her way to the trunks and a waft of smoke caught her attention.
A glance out of the window caused her to do a double-take; from her perch on the third floor of the keep, which was situated on a motte, or large hill, in the center of the bailey, she was several dozen feet above ground level. From there, she could see the walls of Harbottle and the green fields beyond. Only the fields were covered with men and as she watched in shock, she could see two large siege towers being rolled towards the walls. Dozens of men were towing them. Arrows flew over the walls, some flaming, some not, and the men upon the walls of Harbottle were doing their best to fight off the siege. But she could see that the siege towers being rolled into position would soon change all of that.
Toby forced her grief aside in favor of the current situation. She was, frankly, terrified, but she managed to keep her wits as she went in search of her shoes. Her long hair was hanging limp and uncombed and she grabbed a scarf from one of her trunks, tying her hair back and out of her way. Yanking on her shoes, she bailed from the chamber.
The deadly stairs were tricky to navigate but she did so ably. Once on the second floor, the great hall loomed to her left and she stopped in horror at what she was witnessing; more than two dozen men were strewn about across the floor with a myriad of battle wounds. Some were screaming; some were simply lying still. Toby swallowed the bile in her throat as she witnessed the rivers of blood on the floor, pieces of limbs and flesh strewn about. It was ghastly. She could see the majordomo and an old male servant struggling to render aid, but it was clear they were overwhelmed. Although Toby had never worked on an injured man in her life, she knew she was about to have her first taste of it. She could not simply stand by while people suffered; all else in her mind, her own grief and suffering, would have to wait.
Toby walked up to the majordomo as he hacked at a man’s nearly-severed limb in an attempt to amputate it. When the limb broke free, he caught a glimpse of Toby’s shoes and looked up to her with a start.
“Lady,” he barked. “What are you doing here?”
Toby was struggling not to become ill at the sight of so much gore. “I am here to help. Tell me what I can do.”
Wallace shook his head. “Go back to your room. This is no place for you.”
“If you will not tell me what I can do then I will just figure it out for myself,” she snapped. “I can just as easily walk to the next man and do what I can.”
Wallace glared at her. “Battle is not for womenfolk.”
Toby growled with exasperation. “Good lord, man, I shall not be the first woman who has ever tended battle wounded. You have more than you can handle. Why must you argue with me?”
The old man’s glare intensified and he stood up, hoping to scowl her to death. But Toby stood her ground. She wasn’t one to be bullied. Finally, Wallace indicated the man whose arm he had just amputated above the elbow.
“I assume you can sew?” he asked irritably.
“Of course I can.”
“Then sew up this arm so the man will not bleed to death,” he gestured to a dirty length of gut and big bone needle on the ground. “Get to work.”
Toby was sickened by the suggestion but she was not going to shy away; she had asked to help and he was going to give her a very dirty chore in punishment. Yet there was no way she would admit she could not do it. Without another word, she sat next to the unconscious man, collected the gut, and went to work.
Wallace pretended that he wasn’t watching her but he really was. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, struggling with the bleeding flesh and he felt wicked pleasure in making her suffer. He knew she would not be able to handle it and he took fiendish satisfaction in knowing that she would more than likely give up. Then he would send her back to her chamber and be rid of her. But as he waited for the inevitable to occur, a funny thing happened.
Toby didn’t give up. She struggled with the hacked limb but managed to sew up the end moderately well. The old servant, taking some pity on her, brought wine for her to clean the wounds with and all of the extra rags he could find. There wasn’t much by way of medicine but he brought her what he could. It took Toby some time to realize that it was the same old servant that had given Ailsa bread with honey. The next time the old man brought her some boiled rags, she smiled gratefully at him.
Toby didn’t even ask Wallace what more she could do; there were so many wounded in the hall that she simply moved to the next man and began working. It became easier with time to forget her squeamishness, but still, with each new gory injury, she had to steel herself again and again. She began to wonder where Stephen was, given that he was a Hospitaller, but she suspected his fighting abilities were needed more than his healing. It was evident, as time passed and more wounded were brought in, that the battle was intensifying.
Toby lost count of the men she had worked on. Some had nothing more than a big gash that needed sewing, but some came in with their torsos split open and guts falling out. Those were the worst. Wallace usually tended those as they came in the door, sparing Toby the horror of it, so she focused on the men she thought she might be able to help. The blood on her hands turned black, staining her nails and coagulating on her surcoat, but still, she pressed on.
She was bent over a man with an arrow imbedded in his shoulder when she noticed a pair of massive boots standing very close to her. She glanced over; from the boots to the legs to the heavy mail and armor, to finally the head. Kenneth was standing over her, an enormous man in full battle protection. Toby sat back on her heels, brushing stray hair from her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Sir Kenneth,” she said. “Are you injured? Do you require help?”
He shook his head, his ice-blue eyes fixed on her. “I brought in an injured man,” he regarded her a moment. “Why are you here?”
She stood up to face him. “Because there is a battle going on and these men need help.”
Kenneth’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before turning away. But Toby reached out a hand to stop him. “Where are Tate and Stephen and the king?”
“In the heat of battle.”
“Is everyone all right?”
“So far.”
“But I saw towers from my window being moved towards the walls. Has the fortress been breached?”
“We managed to burn down the first one that came close enough,” he replied. “The second tower is still a threat.”
She didn’t know what else to say. As she turned back to her patient, Kenneth started back across the hall when the entry door suddenly burst open and a soldier raced in.
“The wall has been breached!” he shouted.
Kenneth swiftly turned to Wallace, who was several feet away. “Drop what you are doing and get your weapon,” he commanded. As the wild man raced to do his bidding, Kenneth swung in Toby’s direction. “Bolt this door after we leave. We will burn the stairs in our wake so they enemy cannot breach the keep. But bolt the damn door and do not open it for anyone. Do you understand?”
Toby realized she was shaking as she nodded her head firmly. Dropping what was in her hands, she raced to the entry as Kenneth, and eventually Wallace, ran through it. The old servant was beside her and together, they managed to get the heavy wooden bar across the doorway to secure it. They dropped in the iron pin to lock it. Panting, and terrified, Toby turned to the little old man.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Althel, my lady,” he replied.
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She nodded in acknowledgement. “Althel, we must do all we can to secure this floor. Will you help me?”
He nodded eagerly. “The only windows are in the solar. The rest of them are high in the gallery or on the top floor.”
“Is there any way to secure the windows in the solar?”
Althel nodded. “There are shutters.”
“Then we must close them.”
She followed Althel into the solar where there were indeed shutters that flanked the two small lancet windows that opened onto the bailey. Before they secured the first window, Toby dared to look out at the chaos in the bailey; men were pouring over the wall from the siege tower they had managed to prop against it. There was heavy fighting upon the battlements and she could hear violent clashes of sword against sword. Off to the right, high on the wall near the gate tower, she could see a big knight in combat with several soldiers and assumed it was Stephen. But her eyes were searching for Tate.
She didn’t have long to search; she spied him on the wall right where the siege engine was lodged, battling the men who were pouring in from the tower. She could tell it was him because she recognized the armor. As she watched, he deftly threw men off the wall or used his skill to cut them down and cast them aside. Tate fought as if he would never tire; his dragon-hilted broadsword was both a weapon and a battering ram as he either shoved or gored the men coming at him. The longer she watched, the more she understood why the man was called Dragonblade; he fought with power rarely seen in mortal man. The only way to describe it was magical.
“My lady,” Althel was hovering at her side. “We must close this shutter.”
Toby nodded, though her eyes were still riveted to Tate. But smoke was starting to drift in the window and she knew it was because Kenneth had set fire to the stairs leading into the keep. With a final look at Tate battling valiantly on the wall, she slammed the shutters closed and Althel slid the bolt into place.
The two of them made their way back into the hall to continue tending the wounded, but not before Toby laid out a hasty plan for their situation. It would seem that with Wallace outside fighting, she was suddenly in charge.
“Where are the stores kept?” she asked the old servant.
The man motioned her over to a small alcove just off the great hall. There was a trap door which he opened, pointing down into the musty depths.
“Down there,” he said. “There is no way in there except for this door. The well is down there, too.”
Toby nodded shortly. “Good,” she said. “We will need to finish tending these men and then see what we can do about feeding them. Do you know what is down there?”
Althel nodded. “Two barrels of flour, six wheels of cheese, some dried apples and some other dried stores. Late summer harvests, mostly.”
“It will be put to use. Are there any weapons about?”
“Weapons, my lady?”
“Aye; in case the keep is breached.”
“Wallace keeps some weapons in the small room upstairs, next to the master’s chamber. He does not trust them in the armory. He says they disappear.”
Toby nodded, her gaze roaming the room, trying to think if there was anything she had left out. For the moment, they had weapons, fire and food. She knew they could survive for a little while at any rate.
“Then let us get about helping these men,” she said quietly, turning to look at the crowd in the room. “The rest is up to Sir Tate.”
Althel nodded as he and Toby parted company; she went to start on the men near the entry door while Althel went to the group positioned near the hearth. The smell of smoke was growing heavier in the hall as the wooden stairs outside the entry door were fully engulfed, but inside the hall, Toby felt relatively safe. She tried not to worry for Tate, doing battle in the bailey. She’d already lost so much in the past few days; to lose him, too, would only diminish her more. She wasn’t sure if she could take another death. She couldn’t even think about it.
All they could do now was wait.
The battle went on well into the day. Dusk approached and still, the battle raged on. Toby knew that because she could still hear the fighting outside the solar windows. So far, no one had made a move to breach the keep but she was terrified to look outside, terrified to see what was going on. Terrified that she would see dead knights and terrified that one of them would be Tate.
Eventually, all of the men in the hall were tended. Some of them had died along the way. The dead had been grouped into a bunch tucked into a corner, far from the hearth and its radiant heat. Toby wasn’t sure how long they would be shut up with the bodies and she didn’t want the heat hastening the rotting process.
It had been dirty, hard work. Toby was exhausted but strangely, feeling stronger than she had in days. Her body seemed to be recovering from her bout with illness and the crescent shaped wounds on her wrist that her mother had given her were healing nicely. When she looked at the scabs, it seemed as if they had happened years ago. So much had taken place since then.
Since there were no women at Harbottle, the male servants had learned to do the cooking long ago. Althel had prepared a thin soup of boiled rabbit bones, some beans and dried carrots that he and Toby had been feeding to the men who were conscious. Toby noticed, as she moved from man to man, how young many of them were. All were vassals of Tate, most having been born on his lands. A few of the older men were retainers sworn to Tate from other parts of England, seasoned men that trained the younger. Toby finished feeding Tate’s men, her mind lingering increasingly on Tate and his progress outside.
When dusk finally settled into night and the hall grew dark except for the fire in the hearth, Toby moved to the darkened solar and listened to the sounds of the battle outside. It was an eerie sensation listening to the sounds of fighting intermingled with the cries of the wounded. She had never even been remotely close to a battle, living a simple and uncomplicated life at Forestburn. This had been a swift education in the realities of life. Toby huddled on the floor against the wall, her legs drawn up against her chest and her arms wrapped around her knees for warmth as she listened to the sounds of the struggle.
As time passed and she continued to sit, it seemed as if the sounds of battle were drawing nearer. She could hear shouts, cries, and clangs as metal met metal. The sounds drew closer still. Afraid that somehow the enemy had found a way to breach the keep, she moved quickly from the solar and up the treacherous stairs, finding the smaller chamber that Althel had told her was used for weapons storage. A pile of staffs lay upon the ground, some with broken tips and some with very sharp tips. Two large swords sat propped against a wall. As she fingered through the pile of staffs, she suddenly heard a loud crash on the floor below.
Startled, she grabbed a staff with a very sharp point and hastened down the stairs. By the time she reached the bottom, she could see a man in mail climbing through a solar window. The shutters lay in pieces on the ground, having been shattered by the morning star that the soldier was carrying in one hand. Without delay, Toby leveled the staff and charged at the man with all her might.
The soldier wasn’t quite through the window and unable to defend himself as she rammed the spear tip into his shoulder. He screamed and lost his grip on the windowsill, tumbling two stories to the bailey below. Terrified, Toby jammed the staff at the next man on the ladder and stabbed him in the eye. He fell back on his comrades and the entire line of soldiers climbing the ladder tumbled to the ground.
Toby was in survival mode; nothing mattered but preserving her life and the lives of the men inside the keep. She grabbed the edge of the ladder and struggled to push it away, only to notice that below her, Tate had a hold of the ladder and yanked so hard that he almost pulled her from the window. The ladder crashed and splintered. Toby looked down at Tate just as he looked up at her. Their eyes met and Toby felt a strong sense of joy at seeing him alive.
“Are you all right?” she yelled down at him.
He gazed up at her, the visor of h
is helm lifted, and smiled wearily. “Now that I have seen you, I can move mountains,” he called up to her. “Are you well?”
Exhausted but elated, she met his smile. Her cheeks were flushed with fear, giving her a delightfully rosy appearance. “I am fine,” she replied. “Are we winning this battle, then?”
He gestured towards the gates, now breached and burning. “Warkworth has been sighted on the horizon. We should be done with this in short time.”
Toby felt a distinct sense of relief at the news. “Where is your squire?” she wanted to know.
“Safe,” was all he said. Then he blew a kiss at her. “Go back inside. It should not be long now.”
She nodded, but not before saying what was foremost on her mind. “Please take care.”
He winked at her and trudged off, slugging a man in the face that came at him. Toby watched him slog off across the bailey, now muddy with blood from all of the wounded men. It was a grim and horrible sight. She watched him until he disappeared behind a group of fighting men before pulling herself inside and settling, once more, against the solar wall. But the staff was in her hand, waiting for the next fool to try and breach her sanctuary. She wasn’t going to let it go without a fight.
Chapter Nine
Hamlin de Roche’s forces had been forced to regroup when reinforcements from Warkworth arrived. De Roche recognized the colors and knew that they were outnumbered by the fresh army. His men had been fighting almost a full day and night. He may have been a ruthless man, but he was not stupid. He knew when to quit. As soon as Warkworth drew near, he gave the order to retreat and his men fled to the south.
Warkworth gave chase for several miles, managing to kill a good many of them as they fled. The fresh army simply overwhelmed them. But soon enough, they drew back as de Roche’s army continued on. After several more miles of running, they finally regrouped near the small town of Hesleyside.
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