The Falls of Erith (46 page)

Braxton
joined Dallas this evening upon the battlements in the stark moonlight, his
blue-green gaze moving over the muted countryside.  Dallas heard him approach,
turning to see Braxton’s weak smile.  Dallas returned the gesture as the two
settled in next to one another, their trained eyes on the moonlit land beyond.

“I
thought Geoff had the night watch,” Braxton said casually.

Dallas
grunted. “He does,” he replied. “He and de Aughton are supervising the walls.”

Braxton
grunted. “Geoff does not seem troubled to be serving with the man who nearly
killed him.”

“Geoff
is a better man than I am,” Dallas sniffed. “I am not sure I would be so
forgiving.”

Braxton
smirked to that statement. “Aye, you would. You underestimate yourself,” he
said, turning to look at him. “So why are you here if Geoff and Niclas have
everything in hand?”

“I
could not sleep.”

“Do
you miss her that much?”

Dallas
looked at him, an eyebrow raised. “Do you?”

“I
asked you first.”

Dallas
pursed his lips and shook his head, turning away.  Beside him, Braxton snorted
softly.

“I
miss her so badly that I can hardly breathe,” Dallas finally said. “Whose
foolish idea was it to send the women away?”

Braxton
continued laughing, softly. “It was yours. I hold you personally responsible
for my misery.”

Dallas
rolled his eyes. “Of course you do.”

Braxton’s
laughter faded and he folded his muscular arms across his chest. “Nonetheless,
it was the right thing to do,” he said quietly. “But it is my sense that if we
still do not find any sign of Gloucester’s army by tomorrow, we will ride to
Creekmere and retrieve the women.  If Gloucester is gone, there is no reason
for us not to return to some semblance of normalcy.”

Dallas
looked at him. “Do you truly believe they are gone?”

Braxton
inhaled deeply, thoughtfully. “There is no sign of them,” he said. “But if they
are truly gone, I would like to know why. What chased them off?”

Dallas
shrugged. “Perhaps it was the reinforcements from your father,” he said.
“Perhaps it was because they attacked us for days on end and were unable to
make headway.  Perhaps they were discouraged.”

Braxton
shook his head. “I would not believe that, not from Gloucester,” he said
firmly. “It must have been something else, something….”

He
suddenly trailed off, his gaze finding something of interest in the land beyond
the walls.  Moving swiftly to the parapet, he studied movement in the trees
about one hundred yards from Erith’s eastern wall.  There was a small river
that ran in that direction and he could see movement in the trees.  As he and
Dallas struggled to make sense of what it was, a lone body suddenly burst
through the brush and began stumbling towards the castle.

“What
in the hell is that?” Dallas wanted to know.

Braxton
watched the figure stagger and struggle, falling on the grass and then picking
itself up again.  He shook his head, feeling an odd sense of concern. As the
seconds ticked away and more soldiers joined them on the wall, watching, Norman
was suddenly beside them, having come from the south wall to see what all of
the fuss was about.  Dallas pointed at the approaching figure.

“Can
you make that out?” he asked the young man.

Norman
squinted, trying to make out the detail in the silver glare of the moon. Ever
since that day in Milnthorpe when he had protected Lady Gray from de Aughton,
Braxton had elevated Norman from his squire duties to those of a knight. He
wasn’t sworn yet but that would come.  At the moment, he was learning the
intricacies of such a position and taking to it admirably.  Braxton knew he
would have a fine knight on his hands when all was said and done.

“It
looks like someone beaten half to death,” Norman strained to catch a better
glimpse as the figure staggered to its feet once more and limped towards the
castle.  “In fact, it looks like….”

His
eyes widened and he trailed off.  Suddenly, he was bolting for the ladder that
led down to the bailey, taking it so fast that he practically fell the last six
feet to the ward below.  Braxton and Dallas bolted after him, calling his name,
wondering what had the young man so startled.  Norman was screaming for them to
open the outer portcullis, waiting until it was lifted by only a few feet
before dashing underneath it and tearing out into the landscape beyond.  

Dallas
was fast and on his heels, racing after him at top speed as they tore in the
direction of the staggering figure.  Dallas stopped yelling at Norman as they
drew close, for he could finally see what Norman saw.

It
was Edgar.

The
lad saw them coming and finally fell face first into the grass, as if his
strength had finally left him now that he had been spotted. Normal fell to his
knees beside his brother, rolling the young man over onto his back and being
greeted by a terrible sight; Edgar had been horribly beaten.  His right eye was
swollen shut, his nose broken, and he had welts and bloody cuts over every inch
of skin that was exposed.  He was a mess.

“Edgar!”
Norman breathed. “What has happened?”

Edgar
was miserable but he was struggling to stay strong.  He reached up and grabbed
his brother’s hand. “They… they took them,” he gasped.

Dallas
felt so much horror that he nearly vomited from the stress of it.  He swallowed
hard, struggling to maintain his calm. “Who?” he almost barked. “Who did they
take? Edgar, what happened?”

By
this time, Braxton had joined them, bending over Edgar to get a good look at
the lad.  He hissed when he saw all of the damage.

“Edgar,”
he said quietly, urgently. “What happened to you?”

Edgar
looked up at Braxton with his one good eye, the only father he had ever known. 
His eyes began to well with tears.

“I
am sorry,” he whispered through his swollen lips. “I tried to stop them but I
could not.”

Braxton
knelt down beside the distressed lad, putting his big hand on his dark head.
“Stop who?”

Edgar
swallowed, feeling like such a failure. He had been put in charge, after all.
It was all his fault.

“Gloucester’s
men,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “They came for Lady Gray and Lady Brooke.
They took them away.”

Dallas
bolted to his feet unsteadily, hands over his mouth as if to hold back the
shout of horror. Braxton had more control over himself, but only slightly.  His
heart was beating so hard that he was sure it was going to slam right out of
his chest.

“How
do you know they were Gloucester?” he asked, his voice quaking. “Where is Baron
Wenvoe? What happened to him?”

Edgar
opened his eye and look at him. “Baron Wenvoe let them in,” he said. “I recognized
the Gloucester tunics of yellow and blue. He let them take the women.  I heard
the baron say they could have anything for the right price.”

A
look of complete horror crossed Braxton’s face. “He said
that
?”

“Aye,
my lord. But Lady Gray and Lady Brooke did not go without a fight.  It was an
awful battle.”

Braxton’s
chest seized up as he thought of his wife doing battle against faceless,
ruthless knights. “And you?”

“I
tried to protect them, my lord. So did the other soldiers you sent to escort
them.  But Gloucester’s men were too many; they overwhelmed us.”

“Where
are my soldiers?”

“I
was the only one that survived.”

Braxton
gazed at the young man for a few painfully lingering moments before hanging his
head in total, utter desolation. He could hardly believe what he was hearing
but suddenly, it all made a great deal of sense.  Gloucester’s army pulled out
because they didn’t need to be there any longer; all of the sieges in all of
the world wouldn’t accomplish against de Nerra what the captivity of two small
women could. Wenvoe, the man he had bullied into surrendering Erith and Brooke
for a price, had betrayed him.

He
stood up, uneasily, struggling not to explode in all directions at the news. It
was the most difficult struggle of his life, made worse when he looked at
Dallas to see the man glaring daggers at him. 

“You
sent them there,” Dallas snarled. “You said Wenvoe was an ally. He sold them;
he sold them to Gloucester!”

Braxton
had never heard that tone from Dallas, ever.  His jaw flexed dangerously as he
faced off against his furious son-in-law.

“It
was not my fault that Wenvoe turned them over to Gloucester,” he replied
steadily. “But it will be the baron’s last mistake. He will rue the day he was
born, I assure you.”

That
seemed to calm Dallas somewhat and he took a few deep breaths, struggling to
calm himself further.  He ran his big hands through his long blond hair,
nervously, as if suddenly realizing how he had verbally attacked  Braxton. He
looked at the man.

“I
am sorry,” he muttered, deeply contrite and upset. “I should not have… I did
not mean to accuse you. I let Brooke go also. It was my decision as much as
yours.”

Braxton
went to the man, putting his hands on his shoulders in a fortifying, comforting
gesture, before turning back to Edgar.  Norman had his brother propped up now,
inspecting the bruises on his face.

“How
long ago did this happen, Edgar?” Braxton asked, trying to be somewhat gentle
with the battered lad.

Edgar
gazed up at him. “Four or five days ago, I think,” he shook his head. “I do not
know, exactly. They beat me and threw me into a room.  I do not know how long I
was there.”

“But
you escaped,” Braxton continued. “Did someone help you?”

Edgar
shook his head. “I just left. I walked out in the middle of the night.
Creekmere Castle isn’t watched very well.”

Braxton’s
jaw ticked as he thought on that. He looked at Dallas. 

“If
they realize that Edgar is gone, then I have a feeling they will heavily
fortify it, knowing he returned to me to tell me what had happened.” His calculating
mind began to plan the next step, keeping a rein on his sanity which would have
undoubtedly left him had he allowed himself to think on Gray’s fate. “Go back
and find my father and brothers. Meet me in the great hall. We have a battle to
plan.”

Dallas
hesitated. “Edgar said yellow and blue tunics,” he said. “That is Roger de
Clare’s colors.”

“I
know.”

“Then
he must have taken them back to Elswick Castle.”

“That
is my sense as well,” his gaze turned deadly. “They have called forth the Devil
and now, he shall appear.
I
shall appear.”

Dallas
had heard that tone before.  He knew that, indeed, Hell was on the approach.  

Hell
hath no fury like a husband betrayed.

CHAPTER
TWENTY ONE

Creekmere
Castle never stood a chance.

Braxton’s
army, mingled with the Gilderdale force, razed Creekmere in less than two
days.  Braxton brought his mangonels, the same war engines he had built for his
battle against Gloucester, and destroyed Creekmere with barrages of flaming-tar
projectiles that burned the outbuildings and killed most of Wenvoe’s men. After
burning the wood and iron portcullis into ashes and twisted remains, Braxton
entered the bailey and ordered his men to kill everything that moved.

The
rich keep was looted of all of its finery; furs, tapestries, plate and gold
pieces were all confiscated by Braxton and his men. He took back every pence of
the thirty thousand gold marks he had paid for Brooke and Erith and then some. 
The true heart of the mercenary came to pass and Braxton was ruthless in his
conquest.  Those who did not flee were put to the blade; those who resisted
were also put to the blade.  Wenvoe himself was dragged from a closet by
Dallas, who gutted the man from his throat to his groin and took great pleasure
in it. In the heat of his fury, his sense of vengeance knew no limits.  Every
stroke had Brooke’s name on it.

As
de Aughton and the soldiers from Gilderdale began systematically destroying the
walls with projectiles from the mangonels, Braxton, his brothers and father
were brutal in their conquest of the keep. When the entire thing was stripped
bare, a fire of dead bodies was lit on the bottom floor and the heavy, greasy
smoke of human corpses began billowing in great black tides from the windows.
Wenvoe himself was cut into several different pieces and put into a wagon with
his head stuck on a pike jutting from the front of the wagon.  Braxton ordered
four of his men to take the wagon to Elswick and leave it at their doorstep as
a promise of things to come if Lady de Nerra and Lady Aston were not
immediately released.  It was Braxton’s calling card.

With
Creekmere obliterated, Braxton’s next move was Elswick Castle and Roger de
Clare’s family.  He fully intended to do to Elswick what he had done to
Creekmere.   He spent a restless night watching Creekmere burn and at dawn the
next day, his seven hundred man army began to move south towards Elswick.  It
was a thirty mile journey and he knew they could easily make it in a day; he
was fully prepared to begin the siege the moment they arrived.  Even if they
handed Gray over, he was still going to burn the place in vengeance. He could
think of nothing else.  The closer he drew, the more obsessed he became.  The
more obsessed he became, the more obsessed his father and brothers became. It
was a vicious cycle.