B00B9BL6TI EBOK (8 page)

Edwin looked at the men around him as he stood in the warm, airless tent. There were about thirty of them, and all looked to be experienced warriors. What in the Lord’s name was he doing here among them?

John Marshal was speaking, pacing restlessly in front of a table upon which was a map of the city of Lincoln. Every so often he stopped to stab his finger at a point on the map, but Edwin wasn’t in the first row of men about the table and he couldn’t quite see.

‘We’ll move out later this afternoon, and will move close to Lincoln once darkness has fallen. We’ll approach from the west, where the castle wall forms the city’s outer defence. There’s a postern there, so I and one other will steal forward to try and gain entry to the castle. It will be guarded, but I am known personally to the castellan, so we should be admitted if we can get close enough without rousing the French.’

He stopped and looked about him; men were already volunteering to accompany him, but he waved them away. ‘Where is Warenne’s man?’

There was a murmur at the name, but it subsided quickly as John Marshal made a sharp gesture. His heart in his throat, Edwin stepped forward. John Marshal looked him up and down. ‘Good. You’ll be the one to come with me. Once inside the castle we may wish to try and penetrate into the city itself, so we need someone who will be able to pass as a citizen.’

Edwin managed to stammer out a ‘Yes, my lord,’ but the man was already speaking to others. ‘The rest of you will stand by, a bowshot away from the walls, and will be ready to support us once we come out. Hopefully we’ll have information which will be of use to the lord regent, so it will be imperative that we get it to him as soon as possible. It may be that we will be pursued by the French as we try to leave, so I will need you all to be ready in case we need protection. One of us at least must survive long enough to get a message back to the main host. Understood?’

All the other men nodded grimly. Edwin was amazed at how casually John Marshal was ready to dispense with his own life, as well as those of others, but nobody else was expressing surprise so he schooled his face to look neutral. Then they were being dismissed, with an injunction to be ready to move out as the sun fell to the horizon.

Once outside, Edwin found himself next to Sir Reginald, who thumped him heartily on the shoulder. Honestly, if people would just …

The knight spoke. ‘Going into the city with John Marshal, eh? How I envy you! It’ll be a fine opportunity for adventure.’

Edwin didn’t quite see it like that, so he said nothing.

Sir Reginald continued, a little wistfully. ‘How I wish I’d been chosen. Perhaps if I plead with him …’

Sir Gilbert, who had appeared silently next to them, snorted. ‘Didn’t you hear what he said? Someone to look like a townsman. One look at you and any Frenchman would know you were no such thing. Besides, there may be men in there who know you. No, Edwin is by far the best choice.’

The other knight’s face fell. ‘Well, if you must put it like that …’

‘I must. But cheer yourself; they may need to be rescued as they flee the place with hundreds of French at their heels, and there’s always the battle after that. You’re better off waiting to fight properly, not skulking around like a spy.’

Sir Reginald brightened. ‘You’re right. There’ll be plenty of fighting to keep us busy!’ He strode off, whistling.

Sir Gilbert shook his head in amusement and turned to the still-silent Edwin. ‘Besides, I think you’re much more likely to be able to get the information and then bring it out without doing anything stupid.’ He moved to speak with another knight just ahead of them, and Edwin was left wondering whether to be flattered or frightened.

The sun was touching the horizon behind them as they mounted their horses. Edwin groaned inwardly at the thought of another few miles of purgatory, but somewhat to his own surprise he swung himself into the saddle almost naturally and managed not to flinch too much. He had spent an hour with little to do but contemplate the horrors ahead, and now his innards felt so twisted that he might as well have swallowed a rope. He could feel the cold sweat pooling around him, and the dryness of his mouth. Thoughts hopped and skipped this way and that through his mind and then scattered in all directions before he could catch them. The taste of fear was sharp. He wanted nothing else but to be running in the opposite direction, to run all the way home to Conisbrough and sleep safely in his mother’s cottage, his home, but there was no escape. There was nothing to do but follow the man in front and try to keep a lid on the rising tide of panic.

He didn’t know that his two knightly friends were watching him closely as they rode a few places behind.

Sir Reginald spoke first. ‘I’m worried for him. He has no combat experience, no idea of how to fight …’

‘If all goes well, he shouldn’t need to. He’ll be there to use his mind, not his sword.’

‘But … are we right to be trusting the success of the whole campaign to one such man? A commoner, after all, and one so young.’

Sir Gilbert considered a moment before replying, looking intently at the figure riding obliviously ahead. Then he spoke firmly. ‘Commoner, yes. Inexperienced, yes. But there is something about him … he’s frightened, but when it comes down to it, he will do his duty.’

They rode on.

As they continued it became darker, and the light had almost gone completely when John Marshal signalled for the column to halt, at the edge of a copse on an upward slope. He dismounted and others followed. ‘This is where we must part company, for once we gain the flat ground on the other side of this rise we’ll be visible from the walls.’ He handed his reins to another knight whom Edwin didn’t know, but who was to be left in charge. ‘We’ll go forward on foot. Wait for us here until dawn. If we haven’t returned by the time it is full light, go back to the main host and tell the lord regent that we’ve failed. In the meantime keep watch for us, and be prepared to ride forward and defend us should the need arise.’

The other man nodded, wishing him Godspeed.

John Marshal gestured to Edwin to join him. Edwin found the reins of his horse being taken out of his hand by Sir Reginald, who whispered ‘May the Lord be with you. If He blesses us, we’ll meet again soon.’

Edwin didn’t trust himself to speak, but moved forward to stand next to John Marshal. Without further ado, he followed as the man set off silently into the darkness ahead.

Dame Nicola surveyed the castle ward by torchlight. The bombardment had come again during the day, and she was now certain that the curtain wall would come crashing down within three days, four at the most. Many of the crenellations at the top had been blasted away, smashing down into the courtyard, together with the missiles which had hit them, killing and maiming those who had been unlucky enough to get in the way.

She moved inside the keep to visit the wounded who still survived. In a small room which stank of blood and sweat a number of men lay groaning on pallets, suffering from arrow wounds or from crush injuries. There was very little that could be done for them, other than what had been already: move them out of the way of immediate harm into the strongest building and try to stop their bleeding. There was not even food to give them, although thank the Lord they still had water, else they should all have died weeks ago. Holding her torch high she moved around the room, ostensibly to dispense what comfort she might, but mainly to try and ascertain how many might survive and return to duty. She jumped as an agonised scream came from the next room, but didn’t flinch as it went on and on – another poor devil having a crushed limb removed in a futile attempt to save his life. Occasionally someone survived such surgery but most died, either within hours from the bleeding, or lingering for days before being poisoned by the festering of the stump, even if it had been cauterised. The sizzle of burning flesh accompanied by another shriek told her that this was what was happening now. The scream broke off as the man finally lost consciousness. She sighed. Another one gone – even if he survived, he would be no use for fighting.

Downcast, she paced back out of the keep. As she reached the night air, welcome after the fetid and blood-soaked space within, one of the garrison ran up to her, panting.

‘Dame Nicola!’ He stopped and gasped for breath before continuing. ‘If you please, my lady, Sir Geoffrey asks you to come up to the west wall – someone is approaching over the open ground.’

Immediately she thrust the torch at him and hurried as fast as her skirts would allow across the ward and up the steps to the west wall. Once at the top she was met by de Serland, who pointed out into the darkness of the countryside.

‘Who?’ She was curt. ‘How many?’ Could this be the long-awaited relief force, or was it some new danger from the French? She stared out over the land but could see nothing, despite the fleeting moonlight. The torch she had been carrying had ruined her night sight.

Fortunately de Serland and the man next to him had been in the darkness for longer.

‘It looks as though there are just two men, approaching on foot, my lady.’

Two? Hardly a relieving force, but presumably not an invading one either, unless this was some sort of trick. She ordered archers to the wall to cover their advance, instructing them crisply not to loose until they were sure that those approaching were enemies.

In a very short space of time six men were ranged along the wall, bows strung and at the ready, clothyard arrows with vicious hunting barbs nocked. The two figures creeping through the darkness continued to draw nearer, either unaware of the terrible and imminent death which awaited them, or unafraid of it. Before long, they were almost at the wall, where they stopped. Dame Nicola could now make out their shapes.

A whispered address came from the men outside. ‘Hail, the castle! I know there must be men watching us.’

Dame Nicola nodded to de Serland, who replied. Around him, the archers tautened their fingers on their bowstrings and flexed their arms. ‘Who are you?’

The reply was terse. ‘John Marshal, nephew to the lord regent.’

De Serland stepped back in surprise, but the man without was continuing. ‘For the love of God, open the postern! If the French see us …’

The knight wasn’t about to fall for that. ‘Open the gate? Are you mad? How do I know you are who you say you are?’

The whisper came again. ‘Summon Dame Nicola – she and I have met and she will know me. But do it quickly, for all our sakes!’

De Serland turned to Dame Nicola, a hope dawning in his eyes. She nodded. ‘I do indeed know John Marshal by sight, but I can’t tell from here. We’ll have to risk opening the gate to let them in so I can see for myself. Have men ready.’

De Serland relayed the message, and she hastened back down the steps.

Once down she moved towards the small postern which opened out on to the country. Was she about to make a catastrophic mistake? But there seemed genuinely to be only two of them, and at this stage she was willing to take any chance which might help. Besides, even if there were more of them lurking out there, the postern was so narrow that no more than one or two would be able to get through before they were all skewered with arrows.

As armed men lined up on either side, with the archers still above them, she watched as the gate was unbarred and then opened. There was a tense moment as the threat of bloody violence hung in the air, and then two men stepped warily through the open doorway. She held her breath.

As they entered they looked around them and she could see their faces. The one at the front was John Marshal.

Relief flooded through her body as she stepped forward, ordering the men to stand down and re-bar the gate. She greeted him and made as if to speak further, but discretion prevailed and she ushered him and his companion towards the keep.

Once installed in her council chamber, she invited them both to sit, along with de Serland. John Marshal looked around. ‘Your son?’

She would not permit herself the luxury of emotion. ‘Dead.’

He looked as though he was about to say something, but thankfully he stopped and just nodded – she didn’t think she would be able to stand any sympathy. She had a reputation to maintain and breaking down in public wouldn’t do it much good, so she’d better move on swiftly. She outlined their desperate situation and the lack of time available to them. John Marshal listened intently, nodding and making sharp gestures if she began to explain in too much detail, grasping immediately the importance of what she had to say.