Chapter Two
Braxton’s first impression of the massive and imposing Castle Erith was that it had once been a beautiful place that had aged very badly. It appeared to be a few hundred years old with its mossy stones and degenerating facade, but he knew that it was not as old as it looked.
The castle had been built by King John during the early part of the last century to seduce a northern baron for his support.
When the allegiance had fallen apart and the castle abandoned, it had eventually fallen into the hands of Simon de Montfort during his relationship with Henry III.
As Braxton and his men rode upon the massive, crumbling walls, he drew in the view of what had once been, for a short time, a mighty place.
The castle had been named Erith after the waterfalls three miles to the north, the very falls that had almost claimed Brooke’s life.
The fortress possessed the unusual feature of concentric walls; a shorter outer wall encircled a taller inner wall with five towers built into it.
The place was oddly shaped, too, with five sides to it.
Passing through the non-existent outer gate and an equally rotted inner gate, the ward was fairly small and there was a single keep to the northwest side, soaring three stories to the sky.
Other than the keep, the ward was fairly devoid of structures but for haphazard stables built against the western wall.
There were a few servants milling about, dressed in rags, terrified of the army now entering their domain.
Although the entire picture was a sobering sight, Braxton did not voice his opinion to the lady.
It would not due to insult his hostess. He positioned his men near the outer gates and placed his five massive provisions wagons up against the outer wall.
Each wagon had its own force of men to protect the contents.
He made sure to settle his men and wagons before helping the lady off his charger.
“Your men may make themselves comfortable where they will,” Gray told him. “I am afraid the keep is not big enough for all of them, though some may find shelter in the great hall if they wish.”
“Your hospitality is very much appreciated, my lady,” he said. “I will have my men bring the meat around to the kitchen.”
“The kitchen is to the rear of the keep.”
He nodded his thanks and she excused herself along with her daughter.
Braxton’s gaze lingered on her shapely form as she made her way across the bailey and up the rotted wooden stairs into the keep.
He thought it rather comical how Brooke kept pausing to look at him and Gray kept shoving her daughter onward.
“Any orders, my lord?”
A voice from behind broke him from his thoughts. His next in command and the man who had saved young Brooke’s life, Dallas, had asked the question. Braxton thought a moment before replying.
“Make sure the men are properly settled and the wagons guarded. And have someone bring that buck around to the kitchens.”
Dallas moved smartly to do his lord’s bidding.
He was young, quiet, immensely strong and capable.
He was also quite handsome with shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes, sending many a maiden’s heart fluttering.
But he was more focused on his duties than on women at this point in his life, something that worked well in Braxton’s favor.
As Dallas began barking orders, the men moved towards the inner wall to set up camp within its shadow.
With a final glance at the entrance to the keep, Braxton gathered the reins of his black charger and moved off after his men.
They were a hard-core bunch, used to travel, and therefore quite efficient when it came to setting up camp.
Braxton had two squires, orphaned brothers, who would tend to his personal set up.
One of them, the younger brother called Edgar, took Braxton’s charger and led the animal away to feed it.
Braxton alternately watched his men settle in and observed the keep.
“The men will set up camp as directed, my lord,” came a voice. “Are there any further orders?”
The inquiry came from Sir Graehm de Leron, another of Braxton’s knights. Graehm’s question lingered in Braxton’s mind as his blue-green eyes roved the inner wall of Erith. Ideas were beginning to take hold.
“There might be,” he said after a moment. Then he started to walk. “I shall return.”
Braxton crossed the compound, leaving Graehm staring curiously after him.
The stables were several yards before him, ramshackle but serviceable.
There were a couple of horses, three goats and a cow.
He was moderately surprised to see livestock in such a poverty-stricken castle.
The four big chargers that belonged to Braxton and his knights were being watered by the squires and made the other animals nervous. He could hear the bleats of fear.
Braxton inspected the stable supports and studied the roof.
It was thatched adequately, and had obviously been repaired many times.
He moved on, finding his way around behind the keep and into the kitchen area.
There was a fairly large garden off to his left and an exterior oven built into the wall several feet to the right of the garden.
There were at least four kitchen servants going about their tasks, all women, and two of those were tied up tending the buck that his men had just delivered.
It was a heavy thing and the old women were having trouble handling the weight, but they managed.
There was a ground floor entrance to the keep from the kitchen.
It opened into the bottom story of the structure, divided into two rooms, which were used for stores.
A ladder led up to a trap door in the ceiling, which presumably led to the hall above.
Peering inside the gloomy, cool storeroom, Braxton could see that what little they had was neatly stacked and carefully covered.
It was becoming clear to him why Lady Gray had seemed so reluctant to offer a meal to him and his men; it was apparent they barely had enough for themselves.
Now they would have to, literally, feed an army.
With that thought, he went back to where his men were camped.
A couple of fires were already started in the shadows of the outer wall. Braxton found Dallas, Graehm and Geoff standing together and talking quietly between them. He motioned his men to him, away from the others.
“My lord?” Dallas asked in response to Braxton’s furrowed expression.
Braxton threw a thumb in the direction of the keep. “I believe we’ve made a mistake in coming here,” he said. “Do any of you notice anything unusual about this place?”
The knights looked at each other. “Other than the fact it is crumbling around us?” Graehm asked.
“These people can hardly afford to feed us,” Braxton lowered his voice. “From the looks of it, they can barely feed themselves. Our presence here is burdensome and presumptive.”
His knights still weren’t sure what he was driving at. “Should we leave, my lord?” Geoff asked tentatively.
Braxton’s pale gaze drifted across the wall over their heads. “Nay,” he said after a moment. “But we will make our stay here worth their while.”
“What do you mean?” Graehm asked.
Braxton crooked a finger and his men gathered close.
*
Constance Gray de Montfort had been a beauty in her time.
A slight woman with graying blond hair piled high on her head, the family resemblance to her daughter and granddaughter was apparent.
She was a cool woman, bluntly so, bred from the high nobility of England.
Though her circumstances had been reduced to poverty over the years, she still retained a haughty manner and a piercing gaze that could drill holes through walls.
As Constance gazed out of the lancet window facing the section of the bailey where the mercenary army was settling in, her mind was working in a thousand different directions.
If nothing else, Constance had learned over the years to be very resourceful to ensure her family’s survival.
And she had learned not to discount any opportunity.
“What do we know of this knight?” she asked her daughter.
Gray was seated on the only chair in the room, mending in her hands.
Once her father’s solar, it was now a sad reflection of its glorious past. Anything of value had been stripped and sold, even things of sentimental value.
But Gray had long gotten over the sorrow that selling her father’s items had provoked.
“His name is Braxton de Nerra,” Gray said as she struggled with an uncooperative piece of thread. “He told Brooke that he is a knight bannerette. Beyond that, I do not know.”
Constance’s cool gaze lingered on the men in the distance. “A knight bannerette,” she snorted softly. “Hardly a man of noble breeding. Why on earth did you not refute your daughter when she offered him shelter and sup?”
Gray was used to her mother’s disapproval at her actions.
That was normal. “I told you; it would have been rude to do so. The man had just saved Brooke’s life and I felt as if we had to do something to thank him.
Moreover, they have brought their own food.
It is not as if we shall be feeding them from our stores.
We shall even eat meat. Do you know how long it has been since we have eaten meat? ”
Constance turned away from the window, pulling her tattered shawl more tightly around her thin shoulders. “I shall not join you for sup,” she said imperiously. “I will take my meal in my room.”
Gray did not look up from her mending. “Though we rarely have visitors, Mother, you have always taught me that the true mark of nobility is impeccable manners. It would be unmannerly of you not to at least greet our guest.”
“You’ll not lecture me,” Constance snapped softly. “I know more of nobility and manners than you could ever hope to.”
“Then you will attend us.”
“I shall do as I please.”