Epic Knights of Legend and Steel

Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Brae Castle (Pele Tower), 11 Miles northwest of Caerlaverock

Outpost for the Clan Douglas

“W e had heard that Caerlaverock fell tae the Sassenach ,” a man with dark, dirty hair and a bushy beard spoke. “We could have been no help tae ye, Maxwell. We were told that Edward brought thousands tae the siege. We didna have the numbers tae fight them.”

On the bottom floor of Brae’s small tower, several large and dirty clansmen crowded into the low-ceilinged room. It smelled of dirt and smoke, and of old meat that had been left to burn. The room was incredibly close and moist and a few of the men moved towards the single tiny window in the room simply to gain some air.

Such were the cramped conditions of what were known as pele towers, outposts mostly along the Scots border that were meant to watch for, and occasionally launch an attack against, the English. The Sassenach. The mere word brought the embers of hatred into the room, threatening to spark at any moment.

“Their numbers were overwhelming,” another man said. He had short, red hair and a surprisingly hairless face. He was younger, not un-handsome, but it was clear that he was undernourished and exhausted. His hands and knuckles were bloodied and raw. “We held Caerlaverock as long as we could before we surrendered tae Edward. It belongs tae him now. Ye have Sassenach less than a day’s ride from here.”

That wasn’t a pleasing thought and the men in the room grunted and muttered, eyeing the two refugees from the fall of Caerlaverock as if they’d permitted something completely terrible to happen. Along with exhausted red-haired man stood another man with dirty blond hair that stuck up like a haystack.

“We fought as best we could,” he said to the group as if defending himself. “Edward had thousands of men. We had sixty!”

The young man was becoming agitated and the dark-haired man with the dirty beard put up his hands to prevent the agitation from spreading. When discussing Edward among Scots, vitriol was quick to spread.

“No one is blaming ye, young Robert Maxwell,” he said. “We dunna blame ye or yer brother. But ye’ve come here tae tell me that the Sassenach are nearby and that is not something we are eager tae hear.”

Robert looked at his brother, John. The eldest son of their father, also John Maxwell, who was the brother to the Lord of Caerlaverock Eustace Maxwell, John was as overwhelmed with the defeat of Caerlaverock as Robert was. Even though they were young men, they had seen many battles, but what Edward brought to Caerlaverock had been truly something to behold. They were still reeling. When Robert looked at him, expectantly, John didn’t hesitate to speak his mind. He was feeling scrutinized, even condemned, for what had happened at Caerlaverock. The Douglas’ could be a judgmental group and he was unhappy that his uncle, Eustace, had sent him to deliver the message of both defeat and hope to the Douglas.

“Ye wouldna been able tae hold it any better than we did had ye been there,” John said, speaking directly to Arn Douglas, son of one of the Black Douglases who filled the Galloway lands this far south. Arn had a dirty beard and dirty hair but a surprisingly reasonable mind. It was that aspect John focused on. “There were too many of them, I tell ye. It would have taken a great army tae hold them off. But the fall of Caerlaverock is not all I came tae tell ye; we have a bit of hope tae give.”

Arn was only mildly interested; he wasn’t sure what hope young John Maxwell could give and even his men, including his younger brother, William, showed a great deal of apathy towards the statement. William, standing near his brother, near the small hearth that was spitting more smoke into the chamber than heat, spoke up.

“What hope?” he demanded. “Did ye come tae ask for help regaining what ye lost? I dunna call that hope. I call it foolishness.”

John wasn’t particularly fond of William Douglas, mostly because the man was arrogant and rash where his brother was not. He didn’t like dealing with him. Therefore, he kept his attention on Arn.

“Before the Sassenach army closed in on Caerlaverock, me Uncle Eustace received a missive from France,” he said. “Ye’ll recall that me grand-uncle, Argyle, was married tae a Frenchwoman. Mabelle was her name.”

Arn waved him off. “I dunna remember Argyle,” he said. “Ye have many grand-uncles and uncles, Johnny. I canna remember all of them.”

John nodded patiently. “That is true,” he agreed. “But Uncle Argyle is special. He has been dead many years, but Mabelle is still alive. She lives in France and her daughter, who is me cousin, is married tae the Earl of East Anglia, Christian du Reims.”

Arn lost some of his apathy at that moment. “East Anglia?” he repeated, looking at his brother as if now suddenly trying to recall if he’d ever heard such a thing about the Clan Maxwell and Eustace Maxwell’s uncles. When William shrugged in response, Arn returned his attention to John. “I dunna ken if I’ve ever heard such a thing. What are ye telling me?”

John pointed a finger at Arn for emphasis. “It is the hope I’ve been telling ye of,” he said. “Lady Mabelle has been in contact with Uncle Eustace. Sometimes she has information on the Sassenach plans and she has been helping us. Ye recall the Sassenach ambush in the spring outside of Lockerbie?”

Arn nodded. “Of course I do,” he said. “Eustace knew the bastards were coming and we were able tae fight them off.”

John nodded. “Mabelle sent Uncle Eustace that information.”

Arn hadn’t known that. He was increasingly interested in the French connection. “Eustace never revealed his source,” he said. “Has she sent ye more information, then?”

John continued to nod. “Before Edward attacked Caerlaverock, she sent us a message,” he said. “She told Uncle Eustace that her granddaughter is marrying intae the House of de Winter.”

Arn was still very concerned with what he was being told but he wasn’t quite sure what John was driving at. “I ken that name,” he said. “They are great warriors. They fight for the Crown.”

John nodded. “Aye,” he said. “Lady Mabelle says her granddaughter will help us with what information she can. She’s married intae the de Winter family tae spy on them.”

Arn lifted his eyebrows in response. He had to admit that he was somewhat impressed by the news. “But why should the Frenchwoman help us?” he wanted to know. “This is the first I have heard of this Lady Mabelle, the wife of your grand-uncle Argyle. Eustace has kept this information close tae him.”

John had a knowing expression on his weary features. “She has been helping me da and Uncle Eustace for some time now,” he said. “She is very rich with old French money. Ye know ’tis old French money because Uncle Argyle was never a man of much wealth. Uncle Eustace said that Argyle married the Frenchwoman because he loved her. She must have loved him, too, because she’s still helping our cause. She hates the English as much as we do.”

Arn was increasingly impressed by what he was being told. “She must hate them if she would sacrifice her own granddaughter by marrying her intae a Sassenach family simply tae spy on them,” he said. “But why would she hate them so much? What’s her motive, lad?”

John raked his fingers through his short, red hair, a weary gesture. “Because Edward killed Uncle Argyle in battle years ago,” he said. “Mabelle has been hatin’ the Sassenach for many years, more than most. If she can destroy them, she will.”

It made sense to Arn and to every man in the room. An old Frenchwoman avenging her Scots husband . Aye, every man in the room understood that motive implicitly and because they understood that motive so well, it instantly made the news John was delivering more trustworthy. Revenge was something every man in the chamber had experienced in their lives at one time or another.

“So she has been waiting tae plant a spy close tae the king?” Arn asked, wondering on the woman’s plans that seemed to have taken a long time to come to fruition. “She marries her granddaughter tae a warlord close tae Edward and forces the girl tae spy?”

“Mayhap she isn’t forced at all. Mayhap she hates the Sassenach like her grandmother does.”

“’Tis possible,” Arn said. “But if she’s the daughter of East Anglia, then she’s Sassenach by birth.”

That threw a bit of suspicion into the conversation, about this mysterious granddaughter who was English by birth yet seemed to be spying on her own countrymen. John simply shrugged at the speculation.

“Uncle Eustace believes Lady Mabelle, so if ye doubt his faith, ye’ll have to tell him yerself,” he said, watching the expression of doubt flicker on Arn’s face. He knew the man would not contest the powerful Eustace Maxwell. “He says he’ll share her information with ye if ye vow to support him in fighting the Sassenach and help him regain Caerlaverock. What information Lady Mabelle sends us could affect us all, Arn. Uncle Eustace wants tae make sure he has yer support if he shares the information with ye.”

Arn pushed aside any doubts he had; he reasoned that the lure of potentially life-changing knowledge from the Maxwell spy outweighed any suspicions he might have. “Tae ken what the Sassenach are up tae straight from the House of de Winter,” he said, speculating on the quality of the information they might receive, “we could meet Edward at every turn. We could have a fighting chance.”

“That is what Uncle Eustace thinks.”

Arn pondered what he’d been told a moment longer before looking to William. His big, bad-tempered brother was seemingly interested as well. Any intelligence they could have fed to them from the heart of Edward’s service was more than they could have ever hoped for. A spy in the House of de Winter . Was it really possible? John seemed to think so, or at least Eustace Maxwell seemed to think so. Whether or not that spy was born English, perhaps her loyalty was stronger to her French and Scots family. Based on that confidence, Arn was willing to place some trust in it.

“Very well, Johnny,” Arn finally said, glancing around to the group of Douglas men crammed into the small, stuffy chamber. “Tell Eustace we’ll fight with him. But the moment he isna forthcoming about the information from the Frenchwoman….”

John cut him off. “He said he would share it with ye,” he said. “Uncle Eustace has never gone back on his word.”

“Nay, he hasna.”

There wasn’t anything more to say. Eyeing Arn, then William, and then the rest of the dirty Douglas warriors, John pulled his brother from the chamber. They emerged into the sunset, knowing it was too late for them to travel this night. The rest of the defeated army from Caerlaverock had moved east to Castle Creca, a small but secure Maxwell property, and John knew those men were well ahead of them by now. There was no use in trying to catch up. Therefore, he decided quickly, at the setting of the sun, that he and Robert would spend the night in the barn before setting out in the morning. They’d take turns sleeping so one could always be on watch, fearful that the Douglas might turn on them somehow. With the Douglas, that was always the fear.

When morning dawned misty and cold, John and Robert set off on foot to catch up to the rest of their clan, men heading east, but they were men who had a secret weapon against the Sassenach king that was so determined to claim their country for his own.

The Scots had a dagger pointed straight at Edward’s heart and the man didn’t even know it.

It was a de Winter dagger.