Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Wellesbourne nodded. “I seem to recall my father speaking of them,” he said. “The lady is right; they are warlike.”

  “Tertium is a Latin word. Why would they call themselves that?”

  Wellesbourne shook his head. “The Romans were all around here hundreds of years ago,” he said. “Mayhap it was a name given to them by the Romans. Or it could even be a name given to them by the church; who knows? I’ve not heard why.”

  It didn’t really matter but Gaetan found it curious nonetheless. However, the fact that they were warlike concerned him. “If we are near their lands, mayhap we had better leave quickly,” he said. Then, he looked to Ghislaine. “You mentioned after we left Evesham that we were a day’s ride from Tenebris.”

  Ghislaine nodded. “It is to the north. If we continue north on this road, surely it will lead to something I will recognize, for I do not recognize anything around us at the moment.”

  Gaetan looked at her, his face very close to hers as he held her. The mere sight of that dirty porcelain-beauty face was enough to set his heart aflutter. He was more relieved than he could express that they’d found her but he wouldn’t dream of verbalizing that relief. At the moment, he was focused on getting them out of an area that was evidently either on or near disputed lands.

  But his concern came too late. As he and his men turned and headed through the trees to the rest of the horses that were grazing on the side of the road, a piercing, singing sound suddenly burst overhead.

  Gaetan knew that sound all too well and so did his men. It was the sound of a flying projectile, an arrow, and his warrior training kicked in. He fell to his knees, dumping Ghislaine onto the ground, and covered her with his body as two arrows hit the ground within very close vicinity. Several more sang overhead and all of the knights went to the ground, trying to protect themselves.

  But it was a short flurry. When the arrows stopped flying, Gaetan leapt to his feet and pulled Ghislaine up with him, fully intending to make it to his broadsword, which was sheathed on his saddle. Around him, he could see his men unsheathing swords and daggers that were on their bodies, preparing for a fight, as the trees suddenly came alive with people.

  But it wasn’t an organized army; dirty savages began to advance on them in groups, bows with arrows reloaded, pointing directly at them. Gaetan was handicapped with an injured woman to protect and he pushed her to the ground even as he stood up. He didn’t want her making herself a target for any further arrows that might come flying at them.

  Quickly, Gaetan assessed the situation; arrows seemed to be their weapon of choice because he didn’t see any swords. But every man had a bow and arrow, and each knight under his command had at least five or six of them aimed straight at him. If those arrows let loose, it would take them all down. There would be no way to fight it.

  Very quickly, he could see that they were in an extremely dire situation.

  Gaetan had been a commander for many years and, as Normandy’s Warwolfe, it was recognized that he was the very best. Being a great commander meant that he knew when the odds were insurmountable and resistance was futile. This, unfortunately, was one of those times. They were cornered, all of them, and there was nothing they could do about it.

  All they could do was surrender and pray the enemy would show mercy.

  Jaw ticking with the sickening realization, he slowly lifted his hands to show that he had no weapons.

  “Drop the swords,” he told his men, steadily. “Put them away unless you want to die in a hail of arrows.”

  Du Reims, de Lara, de Winter, and de Reyne obeyed immediately. De Russe, de Moray, St. Hèver, and Wellesbourne were slower to respond. They were the battle beasts, men who refused to surrender even when it was the wise thing to do. Gaetan could see that they refused to relinquish and he barked at them.

  “Drop your weapons!” he snapped.

  Aramis dropped his, reluctantly, but the other three refused. The tension was growing as Gaetan had to give them the command yet again.

  “I will not tell you again,” he growled. “If I make it over to you, I’ll break your bloody arms. The lady is without protection and every moment you refuse to lower your weapons jeopardizes her life. Now, drop your swords!”

  After a moment’s hesitation, the remaining three surrendered, but they were exceedingly unhappy about it. Once the weapons were all down, there was a sense of relief on Gaetan’s part but also a sense of apprehension. Now, they would discover just how much mercy their attackers were willing to give.

  Seated at Gaetan’s feet, Ghislaine was looking at the men coming out of the trees with great trepidation. Having never had any contact with the Tertium, she didn’t know if this was that tribe, but she suspected they might be. She watched warily as one man pushed through the others; he was dressed in what looked like a leather vest and he wore no trousers, but what looked like a short skirt made of leather strips. He was fair-haired and older, with some gray in his cropped hair. He had no bow and, in fact, looked as if he wasn’t carrying any weapon at all. As a horde of his men kept the nine knights, one priest, and one lady at bay, he walked right up to Téo.

  There didn’t seem to be any hostility in his expression, merely curiosity. He was evidently quite interested in the mail and other things Téo was wearing. Téo stood stock-still as the man touched the mail, ran a finger over it, and even sniffed it. Then his gaze moved down to the broadsword at Téo’s feet. Téo had dropped it as ordered, but the man lifted it from the ground, holding it up, inspecting it from one end to the other. He seemed to like the weapon a great deal. As he was inspecting the hilt, Camulos wandered over to the man, wagging his tail.

  The man eyed the very big dog, lowering the weapon at it as if to kill him. In a panic, Ghislaine shouted.

  “You will not harm that dog!” she cried, struggling to her feet and wincing with her painful leg. “Cam! Come here!”

  Tail still wagging, the dog rushed over to her and she grabbed it, holding it fearfully as the man looked at her as if only just noticing her. With the sword still in hand, he followed the path of the dog straight to Ghislaine.

  Gaetan was still standing next to her and his body tensed as the man was lured to Ghislaine. He didn’t want to end up with ten arrows stuck in his body, but he didn’t like the interest the man was showing in Ghislaine. His protective instincts took over; he had no idea what the man’s intentions were but he knew what his intentions were. They were in a horribly precarious position but Gaetan had to take the chance – if the man got close enough, he was going to grab him. Surely the native men would lower their weapons if their leader was in danger.

  At least, Gaetan hoped so. Either that, or they were all going to end up with a dozen arrows in them, like human pin cushions. He hoped it didn’t come to that.

  He bided his time.

  The man came right up on Ghislaine as she stood there holding the dog. He looked her up and down, clearly appreciating what he saw. Gaetan watched the situation, his heart pounding in his ears, waiting for his moment to strike.

  It wasn’t long in coming.

  When the man reached out to touch Ghislaine’s dark hair, Gaetan reached out and snatched the man by the arm, yanking him against him and throwing a massive arm across his throat. By his actions and the position of his arm, his intentions were obvious and the man grabbed hold of Gaetan’s arm, bracing himself so he wouldn’t be strangled. But Gaetan barred his teeth at the men with the bows, showing in action and in body language that he was ready to kill.

  In an instant, the tables had turned and the hunted now became the hunter.

  Gaetan was brilliant that way.

  “To me,” he barked to his men. “Back away and get to your horses. Go!”

  In his grip, the man in the leather skirt called to his men. “Vestra arma summittere!”

  Lower your weapons!

  Gaetan understood the words; it was Latin, but strangely and heavily accented. He’d never heard anything like it. He spoke to the man
whose neck he was about to crush.

  “Non intellegis me sermonibus?” Do you understand my words?

  The man in his grip nodded his head, but hesitantly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. As Gaetan’s knights began backing away, seeing that they now had the opportunity to flee, Gaetan continued to hold the tribal leader by the neck. But it wasn’t purely out of rage; he found that he was somewhat curious about this tribe, a seemingly very rustic group of people here in the wilds of Mercia. He was also quite curious with the man’s dress. It wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen before.

  As he’d once told Ghislaine, it was always wise to know the language of the enemy. It was even wiser to know their ways. If Gaetan was going to conquer this land, then he wanted to know about it.

  “Who are you?” he asked in Latin. “Who are your people?”

  The man didn’t say anything for a moment, perhaps trying to decipher Gaetan’s pure Latin against the garbled tongue he spoke.

  “Legio Tertium,” he said. “This is our land.”

  Gaetan’s brow furrowed. “Legio Tertium?” he repeated, more to himself. Then, he translated. “Third Legion?”

  The man in his grip nodded. “You are on our lands. You do not belong here.”

  Gaetan could see that Téo and de Lara were standing nearby, listening. He wasn’t sure who else was listening other than Ghislaine, who was standing in front of him, looking rather pale and pained. He assumed it was because they’d all had a good fright.

  “We came here by accident,” Gaetan said. “We came to find the lady, but mean you no harm. We were just leaving when your men attacked.”

  The man in his grip was looking at Gaetan’s men suspiciously. “You brought your weapons.”

  “Of course we did. Why wouldn’t we?”

  “You have come to kill us!”

  Gaetan shook his head. “What I do now, I do in defense of my men and of the lady,” he said. “I would not have taken you hostage but you gave me no choice. You moved against us first.”

  The man was clearly flustered. “If you promise no harm will come to us, then let me go and I shall let you leave in peace.”

  Gaetan didn’t know the man and he surely didn’t trust him. “You will forgive me for not agreeing to that term,” he said. “I have no guarantee that you will not kill us.”

  The man was incensed. “I could have killed you from the trees but I did not,” he said. “That should show you my truthfulness.”

  He had a point but Gaetan was still reluctant. “I believe you,” he said. “But you will forgive me for being cautious. Your men are less likely to shoot me down while you are in my grasp.”

  Standing a few feet in front of him, Ghislaine understood what was being said for the most part, but not all of it. The man had a very strange accent and his Latin wasn’t conventional. She looked at Gaetan.

  “I wonder if he speaks my language?” she asked.

  The man immediately looked at her. “I do,” he said. “My people know the language of trading. It is how we purchase goods with the Saxonice. They are too lazy to know our language, so we were forced to learn theirs.”

  Surprised, Ghislaine took another look at him. He wasn’t unhandsome but he was rather short, at least compared to Gaetan and his men. Still, he was a strong man and seemingly very agile. She studied his queer manner of dress.

  “Why did you shoot your arrows at us?” she asked. “Why did you not simply come out and speak to us? We meant you no harm.”

  The man eyed her. “When armed men enter our lands, we assume they are a threat,” he said. “We were on a patrol when we saw these men. We must defend what is ours.”

  Ghislaine pondered his words. “A patrol?”

  “We must protect our borders.”

  Ghislaine already knew that about them. Truth be told, she was quite curious about this reclusive tribe. “You have engaged my brother in battle before,” she said. “This is Mercia, his territory, yet you do not swear fealty to him.”

  The man’s brow furrowed. “Who is your brother?”

  “Edwin of Mercia.”

  That brought a reaction. “Nigrum Aeduini,” he muttered with disgust. “Black Edwin is your brother?”

  Ghislaine nodded. “I am Ghislaine of Mercia.”

  “Then you are The Beautiful Maid.”

  Ghislaine looked a bit uncomfortable with her evident notoriety. She glanced at Gaetan, nervously, before replying. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because Edwin has two sisters. You are not Edith, who is married to Harold Godwinson.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Because I saw her once, from afar.”

  “You have battled Harold before.”

  The man nodded with perhaps a twinkle in his eye. “I have battled many Saxons before.”

  That was the truth. Since there was no denying her identity, Ghislaine eyed the man. “Now that you know who I am, what is your name?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Antillius Decimus Shericus,” he said. “These are my people and this is my land. It has been since the time of old, when the legions conquered this land.”

  “Are you their leader?”

  Antillius nodded. “I am, as was my father before me, and his father before him,” he said. Still addressing her, his gaze moved sideways to see the other knights standing around. “Who are these men you have brought with you, Lady Ghislaine?”

  Ghislaine wasn’t sure she should tell him. She looked to Gaetan, who was gazing back at her quite emotionlessly. He wasn’t giving her any hint of what he wanted her to say. Her nervousness seemed to grow and she could feel her hands shaking. In fact, everything was shaking and she was feeling the need to sit down again because the world was starting to rock.

  Camulos decided to pick that moment to move away from her. He had been standing in front of her as she held on to him, but when he moved away, everyone could see the massive bloodstain on her right leg, seeping through the bandages, the torn trousers, and her cote. It was even smeared on the dog. Ghislaine could see Gaetan’s dismayed expression as he looked at her leg and she quickly looked at it, too, seeing what everyone else was seeing. Blood was everywhere. With a gasp, she suddenly toppled onto her arse.

  Everyone went running.

  Gaetan dropped his arm from Antillius’ neck and rushed to her about the time Aramis and Téo and Lance de Reyne made it to her side. They were the closest. Blood was running everywhere and Gaetan ripped at her dirty cote, tearing a strip of material from the hem to wrap around her thigh to stem the blood.

  “Bandages!” he bellowed to anyone who would listen. “Bring me bandages!”

  Arrows, standoffs, and territorial tribes seemed to be forgotten as Ghislaine’s bloodied leg took all of the focus. Even Antillius, now quite free, went to stand over Gaetan’s shoulder as he and his men worked furiously to stop the bleeding.

  “What has happened?” Antillius asked, genuinely concerned. “Why is she bleeding so? Did our arrows strike her?”

  Gaetan was tying a tourniquet around Ghislaine’s thigh to slow the flow of blood. “Nay,” he said, grunting as he pulled it tight. “She was struck in a battle a few days ago and the wound became filled with poison. An apothecary cleaned out the poison, but that was only yesterday. The wound has not healed and the lady must have torn the stitches.”

  It was clear she was bleeding heavily. Without proper care, she might not survive. Antillius tapped Gaetan on the shoulder.

  “Bring her,” he said. “Quickly. There is no time to waste. I have a physician who will tend her.”

  Gaetan was clearly hesitant. “If we can stop the bleeding….”

  Antillius cut him off. “Will you take such a chance?” he asked, urgency in his tone. “Come with me if you want her to live. Hurry.”

  Gaetan looked at the men around him; Aramis, Lance, Téo, and even Jathan had joined them. They had failed her once trying to heal the wound and because of that, Gaetan was fearful to t
ry again. He didn’t want her life in his hands when he wasn’t a healer. He knew battlefield medicine, but so did every other knight. Yet, it wasn’t something he did on a regular basis because he employed several physics for his men. He genuinely felt as if he had failed her the first time. Now, he was torn.

  “Taking her back to Worcester will take an hour or two, at least,” Aramis said, cutting into his thoughts. “She is bleeding heavily, Gaetan. She has torn her stitches wide open.”

  Gaetan found himself looking at the wound as Aramis peeled away the bloodied bandages. It was messy to say the least.

  “There are those hunting us at Worcester,” Lance put in. “They could capture us when we enter the city limits. We may not even have the chance to return her to the apothecary.”

  That was a very real possibility. Gaetan didn’t want to return to Worcester only to be captured by the mob and separated from Ghislaine. Feeling cornered and as if he had very little choice, he turned to Antillius.

  “How far is your physician?” he asked.

  Antillius pointed towards the east. “Not far,” he assured him. “Bandage the leg as tightly as you can and bring her. I will send my men ahead to tell our physician to be ready.”

  Gaetan nodded reluctantly. Then, his attention shifted to Ghislaine, who was now lying flat on her back and staring up at the sky above. She was so very pale. Leaning over her, he put an enormous palm on her forehead.

  “We must take you to someone who can repair your stitches, Mousie,” he said softly. “All of this activity has torn them. That is why you are bleeding.”

  Ghislaine’s gaze turned to him and Gaetan was struck, once again, by the faith in her eyes. She trusted him, no matter what the circumstances; she didn’t even have to put it into words. He knew simply by looking at her.

  “I am sorry to have caused so much trouble,” she said softly.

  He smiled at her, lifting a hand to kiss it gently. “I was a fool to have ever left you at the apothecary. It is my fault.”