Chapter Nineteen
“Nay,” Tiberius gasped when he saw the de Winter emblem, pounded into the muddy earth. “Dear God… nay!”
He screamed to the de Shera men to call them off but they couldn’t hear him over the rush of the wind and the pounding of the rain.
They were feeding on bloodlust, determined to eradicate the enemy, and they didn’t hear his frantic yelling.
Maximus however, did hear him, and he saw with horror the muddy standard that declared de Winter’s army.
He was the first one to see the de Moray standard, too, sopping with wet with the colors running.
The weather had been so bad that they hadn’t seen either of these banners until they were on top of them.
Horrified, Maximus looked around to see that his men were slaughtering the de Winter men, who seemed to be in some disarray.
The de Moray men were fighting back a bit more, an effort that increased when a big knight rushed into the skirmish.
Tiberius and Maximus recognized Garran’s horse right away. Kicking aside men, shoving and pushing, they made their way towards Garran, who seemed to be the lone knight in a sea of infantry. It seemed odd, so very odd, and Tiberius began shouting to Garran as soon as he drew near.
“Garran!” he roared. “Garran, hear me!”
Garran saw Tiberius and Maximus as they made their way towards him. He, too, began to kick through the mass of fighting men as he struggled to make his way to them.
“Stop!” Garran shouted. “The men have been instructed not to fight! Stop it or you will slaughter them all!”
Bewildered, Maximus and Tiberius began to shout to the men to stand down.
More of de Montfort’s knights heard their cries and, without question, they also began to call for the men to stand down and back off.
The storm was now wild overhead, dumping rain in buckets and creating a great swamp that men were slugging around in.
Even the chargers were getting stuck in certain spots.
As the cry to cease fighting rolled through the ranks, Gallus came riding up, utter confusion and outrage on his features.
“What in the name of Great Bleeding Christ is happening?” he demanded. “Why are you calling for a cessation?”
Tiberius pointed to the mashed de Winter standard. “This is a de Moray and de Winter army,” he said, feeling sickened. “The men have been ordered not to fight, Gallus. We are simply slaughtering them where they stand!”
Gallus was livid. “What do you mean they have been ordered not to fight?” he demanded, looking to Garran, in the slop a few feet away. “What is happening?”
Garran motioned for the de Shera brothers to follow. “Come with me,” he said. “You must come with me.”
Tiberius started to follow but Gallus was not so easy. “Why?” he bellowed across the storm. “Why must we come?”
Garran didn’t have time to explain. “You must come!” he begged. “Please!”
With that, he spurred his charger towards the east, back where the provisions wagons and surgeon were gathered.
Horses were corralled and tethered, and someone had hastily erected a tent.
Because of the random copse of trees throughout the field they were fighting on, the de Montfort army coming in from the east hadn’t been able to see the tent and the gathered wagons near the crest of the hill.
Moreover, the blinding rain had fairly well obscured everything, including all other identifying standards.
With the fighting dying down, Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius spurred their animals after Garran. The man came to a halt near the half-erected tent, bailing from his charger. He bolted into the tent and the de Shera brothers followed.
The tent was dark and cold but it provided some shelter from the storm.
There were two lit tapers throwing weak light into the darkness and as Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius entered the tent, the first thing they saw was Grayson de Winter on his back.
Davyss and Bose were next to him, and Grayson’s youngest son, Hugh, stood at his father’s feet and openly wept.
Stricken, Gallus pushed forward, getting water all over the bedroll that Grayson was laying on.
“God’s Bones,” he said, stricken by the sight. “What has happened? Uncle Grayson, what is wrong?”
Bose looked up at him. “I heard the fighting,” he said. “You attacked, did you not?”
Gallus looked at the man, baffled. “We did,” he said simply. “We did not know it was you. We assumed it was Henry’s forces, and correctly so, but we did not know it was only de Winter and de Moray men. Bose, what in the hell is happening?”
Bose sighed heavily. He looked as if he had aged ten years since the last time Gallus had seen him. Rather than answer the question, however, Bose moved his attention to Tiberius. In fact, it seemed as if Tiberius was all he could focus on for the moment.
“Douglass,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Is she well?”
Tiberius nodded. “She is, my lord. Healthy and happy.”
Bose closed his eyes briefly in thanks. “Have you married her?”
“I have.”
Bose accepted that information “Excellent,” he muttered. “Her mother will be delighted.”
Tiberius was comforted that Bose was pleased with his marriage to Douglass but he was also rather edgy as he looked about the tent, peering into dark corners.
“Where is d’Vant?” he asked. “Is he here also?”
Bose shook his head. “Nay,” he said quietly. “He went back to London to inform Henry of Edward’s defection to de Montfort. They should be a few days behind us.”
Tiberius was relieved to hear that but it did nothing to ease his sense of confusion at the entire circumstance. He looked from Bose to Grayson to Davyss and Hugh.
“I see,” he said. “But what is happening? Why was your army ordered to stand down? We charged into them before we saw any standards and I am sorry to say that you have lost men. What in the hell is going on?”
Bose lifted his head, drawing in a deep breath.
Exhausted, he scratched his dark head. “We left Wintercroft and headed north to Erith Castle shortly after you left for Isenhall,” he said.
He sounded so very weary. “We were outside of Cambridge when we picked up about two thousand French mercenaries who had recently landed to the north of Canvey Island, at the mouth of the Thames. They were traveling east on the orders of Henry. They attacked us at first until we were able to convince them that we are allies of Henry, but we suffered some injury, the results of which you see with Grayson.”
Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius were listening carefully. “Where are the French?” Gallus wanted to know. “They did not come with you?”
Bose shook his head, throwing a thumb in a southerly direction.
“Nottingham,” he said. “We convinced them to wait there for the bulk of Henry’s army coming up from the south.
But we knew that de Montfort would be riding hard for Erith and we had to come ahead to tell you that d’Vant’s information was wrong.
It is not only the ten thousand French he spoke of.
We were told, by the mercenary commanders, that there will be thousands of Teutonic and Irish mercenaries as well, more mercenaries than we believed possible.
They are coming soon, Gallus. We cannot stop them. ”
Gallus felt rather sickened by the news. “So why are you telling me?” he asked. “You are allied with Henry. He will not like that you have told me this.”
“Is de Montfort with you?”
“He is.”
“Then we will tell him together,” Bose said, sounding defeated.
“The truth of the matter is this, de Shera. I owe Henry my very life. I have supported the man under any circumstance, even to the point of being pit against my friends and former allies. But what he is doing is encouraging an invasion of England by foreign forces and this I cannot support. There will soon be more French and Irish and Teutonic men on these shores than Englishmen and it is not something I will tolerate. If only to give England back to the English, I will no longer support Henry and Grayson feels the same way. We are therefore here to join you, Gallus. Will you accept our support?”
Gallus was stunned. He never thought he would hear such words coming from de Moray and the realization was overwhelming.
But one thing was abundantly clear. Even though de Moray and de Winter were staunch supporters of the king, and ever had been, he believed de Moray without question.
This was not a trap or a ruse. This was a man realizing that England as a country was more important than a king and his foolish whims.
Bose was English and he wanted to protect his country. That fact was as clear as the rain that was falling from the sky. As the wind howled and the thunder rolled, Gallus could only think of one answer.
“With the greatest of pleasure I will accept your fealty, my lord,” he said softly. Then, his gaze moved to Grayson. “Both of you, in fact. Now, tell me what is wrong with Uncle Grayson? How can we help?”
Grayson, hearing his name, rolled his eyes open. He was extremely pale, his skin the color of paste, and his lips had a sickly, blue tinge to them. The man looked like death.
“Where is Maximus?” Grayson asked softly.
Maximus, who had been standing back with Tiberius and absorbing the stunning turn of events, took a few steps forward into the weak light of the taper.
“I am here, Uncle Grayson,” he said. “What may I do for you?”