Prologue #2
Daveigh was behind him. His squad of men had joined up with Bric a short time before.
Daveigh was younger than Bric by about ten years, but a strong and wise liege, a fine tribute to the House of de Winter.
Daveigh Alexandre de Winter, Baron Cressingham and the Earl of Ardmore as part of his wife’s Irish dowry, was a broad man with big shoulders, dark hair, and muddy brown eyes.
Those eyes were fixed on the tow-headed lad at Bric’s feet, bleeding out into the muddy gutters of Lincoln.
“He tried to kill you,” he said, slapping Bric on the arm. “There is no shame in protecting yourself, no matter what the age of your opponent. It is the rebels who should be ashamed for sending a child against seasoned soldiers.”
Bric shook his head unhappily, having difficulty moving past the dead child. The death of men, and sometimes even women, didn’t bother him, but there was a secret about Bric MacRohan – he had a soft spot for children and animals. Therefore, the sight of a dead youth disturbed him greatly.
“I should have looked first,” he said regretfully. “I should have punched him in the face. He might have lost teeth, but at least he would have retained his life.”
Daveigh eyed him. “Any hesitation on your part and he would have cut your head off,” he said pointedly. “Put aside your regrets, MacRohan. There is no time for such things in battle.”
Words of wisdom from Daveigh. As the group as a whole moved out, heading towards the castle, they could hear the great horns of de Lohr as the siege engines and battering rams were being brought through the west gate, in pieces, to be reassembled for the siege on the castle. Bric’s ears perked up.
“They must have the west side secure,” he said to Daveigh.
Then, he looked around, as they were still in the south section of the city.
“We’ve secured this portion of the city, my lord.
I’ll put some men on the gatehouse to the south and when the bulk of the army arrives, I’ll staff it with a hundred of our men to ensure it stays in our control. ”
Daveigh nodded, pleased that their morning of hell was now seeing some relief. “Good enough,” he agreed. “If de Lohr is sounding the horns, then he wants every able-bodied man to help him move in the war machines. Mayhap, I should take some of our men and move in their direction.”
Bric nodded. “I’ll take twenty men with me to the south gatehouse,” he said, “but before I do, I shall sweep to the east once more to make sure they don’t need our assistance.”
“Who is off to the east?”
“Savernake, I believe. They were meeting with heavy resistance, last I saw.”
“Then go. I will see you at the castle.”
With that, they split off, Daveigh taking his thirty men with him, and Bric taking the remaining twenty.
One of those men was Pearce de Dere, with a nasty gash on his shoulder where his mail had been mangled by a club.
As they headed east on streets that were now quiet with the dead or the dying, Pearce spoke beside him.
“I’ve never seen anything like this in my life,” he said. “I’ve never seen a city under siege like this.”
Bric’s eyes were scanning the streets, the alleys, and the homes, making sure no more children with blades were going to come running out at him.
“It was a bold move for William Marshal to subdue the city like this, but a brilliant move all the same,” he said. “In truth, I wasn’t sure it was wise with so few men, but it was positively brilliant. We were able to catch them off guard.”
Pearce held up his gloved hand, gingerly touching his wounded shoulder. “It was exhilarating,” he grinned. “Well worth the injury.”
Bric glanced at the mangled shoulder. “You look like a cat has torn you to shreds.”
Pearce wriggled his eyebrows. “I’ve been torn by cats before,” he winked, most definitely meaning the human and not the feline variety. “It is well worth the blood they draw.”
“You’d better not let your wife hear you say that.”
Pearce laughed. He was a glib man in the best of times, a bit of a rogue who’d married a year ago to a woman who had become pregnant.
At least, she said she’d been pregnant, but conveniently lost the child before her belly grew.
Pearce was convinced she’d tricked him into marriage, so he didn’t feel badly about carousing with other females.
It was something Bric didn’t pay much attention to; a man’s life was his own to live as he saw fit, he believed.
But watching Pearce’s marriage had, in fact, made him more than wary of marriage in general.
“She’s heard me say it before,” Pearce said. “Moreover, what do I care what she thinks? The little minx is getting what she deserved. She thought she could force my loyalty through marriage? She was wrong. I am like a cloud, Bric. Nothing can hold me down. I am not meant to be tied to an anchor.”
Bric grunted. “No man is.”
Before Pearce could reply, they rounded a corner and came face to face with a massive brawl involving Savernake and a few de Lohr men.
Bric didn’t hesitate; he rushed in, throwing punches or lifting his sword when necessary.
In fact, he saw his dear friend, Dashiell du Reims, in a brutal fight with at least three men and Bric jumped into the brawl with both feet and both fists.
Using his enormous booted feet to kick and disable, and his hands to choke or destroy, he helped Dashiell fight off the ruffians, disabling all three of them until they lay sprawled at their feet.
Breathing heavily, Dashiell tilted his helm back and wiped his forehead. Auburn-haired, handsome, and with a big mustache that was iconic to the man, he grinned at Bric.
“Like old times, eh, Bric?” he said. “This is not the first time you’ve saved my life.”
Like most seasoned men, Dashiell and Bric had a long relationship and had fought many battles together, but the one in particular that Dashiell was referring to had been a nasty skirmish last year when Bric had killed a man who was trying to kill Dashiell.
It had been in the heat of battle, and Dashiell’s enemy was hoping it would look as if it had simply been an accident born of battle. But Bric had been there, and he’d prevented a terrible man from killing one of the truly good men in England.
Bric and Dashiell were bonded that way, but Bric didn’t like to be reminded of it. What he’d done, he’d done for the love of his friend and nothing more. He was embarrassed at the recognition for saving a friend.
It was the honorable knight in him.
“I think we’ve saved each other’s lives many times over, Dash,” he said briskly. “And I’ll be thanking you to never say it again.”
Dashiell fought off a smile. “You and I always seem to have a great deal of fun when we fight. Why is that?”
Bric snorted. “We are men of fine taste and good breeding,” he said. “If we weren’t doing this, what else would we do with our time?”
Dashiell patted him on the shoulder, taking a moment to catch his breath as the brawl dwindled around them. “I would not know,” he said. “We could take up a hobby, I suppose.”
“Fighting is a hobby.”
“Is it? I hadn’t thought of it that way. But I think my wife would like it if I found something else to do with my time. She doesn’t like it when I go off like this to enjoy my hobby with friends.”
Bric made a face. “Women have no sense of fun.”
Dashiell chuckled. “I suppose they have a different idea of fun,” he said. “When you marry, you shall see.”
“I don’t plan to marry.”
Dashiell settled his helm back onto his head. “I thought that way, once,” he said. “I was wrong.”
Bric’s silver eyes flashed. “You were weak, Dash,” he said. “You let that lovely slip of a woman bewitch you. Now she doesn’t like how you spend your time, fighting alongside your friends. ’Tis wrong for a woman to influence a man, I say. And you let her.”
Dashiell winked at him. “You’re bloody right I let her,” he said. “When you meet a slip of a woman who bewitches you, you shall understand.”
“Bite your tongue, man.”
Dashiell couldn’t stop the grin now. “I have a cousin who might be perfect for you,” he teased. “She is quite pretty. And, her father is wealthy.”
Bric rolled his eyes. “I don’t care if he owns the bloody royal jewels. My response is still the same.”
“Then you are a fool, man.”
“And you are an arse’s hole, Dash.”
Dashiell burst into soft laughter, amused by Bric’s animated response.
Ever since Dashiell married last year, Bric had been increasingly turning his nose up at the suggestion of a union.
With his friends getting married, or already married and having children, Bric MacRohan was quickly becoming something of a rarity in his bachelorhood – the more men married around him, the more devout he became to his bachelor life.
That was why most of Bric’s close friends, like Dashiell, found it greatly amusing to taunt the man about marriage because it was nearly the only subject that got a rise out of the usually collected knight.
Knights had to exploit weaknesses where they could find them.
In the distance, they could hear the de Lohr horns blowing again, drawing men to the castle as the siege of Lincoln Castle was about to start in earnest. The gates of the city were being secured and the rebels were either being captured or driven out.
As Dashiell patted Bric affectionately on the cheek and headed off with his men to rendezvous with the rest of the Savernake contingent, Bric headed off to the south gate to secure it with de Winter men.
When the southern end of the city was finally secure, Bric moved to join the rest of the de Winter army that arrived from the west gate, taking charge of them as the battle for Lincoln Castle began in earnest.
As the sun set over the city of Lincoln and the siege engines, now reassembled, began to hurl flaming material over the walls of Lincoln Castle, Bric lost himself in the battle, and in his duties, remembering the glory of the day and completely forgetting about his conversation with Dashiell.
He especially forgot about the offer from Dashiell about his wealthy cousin, because it meant nothing to him.
In hindsight, it had been a mistake. Those comments by Dashiell would come back to haunt him.
In truth, they would change his life.