Chapter Twenty #3
And he intended to carry them out no matter what William had said.
Berwick Castle
The fight had been a bloody one but, in the end, Cole and Julian, Addax and Essien had prevailed.
Focused on the gatehouse and making more noise than actually doing any damage, Jax wasn’t surprised when Cole suddenly appeared at the inner gatehouse, fighting Scots like a madman, tossing them into the deep moat that surrounded the castle.
He had watched, fascinated, while his sons did battle at the gatehouse until Julian broke free and raced over the bridge to the smaller gatehouse where his father was standing.
There were Scots there, manning the gatehouse, so there was a fight before Julian managed to open the man-gate in the larger gates that were bolted and sealed.
With the smaller gate open, Jax and his men poured in.
The fight was over in a relatively short amount of time.
In fact, from the time Cole left Jax and Atreus at the smaller gatehouse until Jax’s men subdued the Scots in the castle, about an hour and a half had elapsed.
The first thing Jax did was rip down the banner of MacHeth that had been flying over the battlements and raise the black and red de Velt standard.
He swore he could hear the men cheering in the distance.
With Berwick Castle in the hands of Jax de Velt, his men went about securing the castle against any counterattack. Berwick was a massive place, but they left no chamber unexplored, even down to the vault and the tunnels beneath the bedrock that led out to the river.
Everything was explored and the Scots were rounded up.
By that time, it was well into the night.
The Scots manning the castle, and they counted forty-three, were put on poles that had been cut down in the heavily wooded areas to the west of Berwick.
Jax had told The Marshal he intended to take Berwick his own way and take it he did.
The poles started going up on the road leading to the bridge like a macabre forest of dead bodies for all the world to see.
MacHeth’s son, the garrison commander, had the distinction of being nailed to a cross which was then hung from the castle walls.
All of it meant to terrorize the Scots.
Even as the castle itself was secured, the fighting continued with de Winter and Savernake taking the bulk of the casualties until de Lohr, Teviot, and de Bourne returned from the Ord Crossing.
It was a premature return, which concerned The Marshal.
After a brief conference with Christopher, he called back his forces to the city and the bridge only, allowing the Scots to leave the city and run north to their encampment.
Jax, of course, had been watching it all from the battlements of Berwick.
He’d done his job and captured the castle, and he had no intention of leaving it as he watched the English and the Scots do battle.
But when the English seemed to withdraw prematurely and the Scots flee, his curiosity was piqued.
It was piqued even more when he saw knights riding for the castle with banners flying.
Jax’s army had every aspect of Berwick secure, including the double-gatehouses, which were opened for the incoming English.
Torches were lit because a mist was rolling in from the sea, greatly diminishing visibility, and the effect of the torches against the fog was eerie.
So were the bodies of the dead Scots lining the bridge and the street leading to the castle, as The Marshal and others discovered.
They had the distinct feeling of riding into hell.
Jax was there to greet them when they thundered into the bailey.
“Excellent work, Jax,” The Marshal said as he drew his horse to a halt. “You managed to capture Berwick when I was fairly certain it was going to take you much longer. How did you do it?”
“Cole and Julian went by way of the river and managed to gain access through the river gate,” he said proudly. “There were only forty-three Scots manning the castle, so it was a short-lived battle once we breached the walls.”
William had been looking around the vast bailey of Berwick, but turned to look at Jax when he mentioned the short-lived battle. “I saw the results of that battle as we rode here,” he said. “You do realize that is going to infuriate the Scots.”
Jax smiled faintly, but it was not a pleasant gesture. “I hope so.”
The Marshal snorted, finally slapping Jax on the arm. “I would laugh with you but, unfortunately, what you have done may work terribly against us,” he said. “We have a problem. Where are Cole and the Kitara princes?”
Jax glanced at Christopher, who looked more solemn than usual. So did Teviot and David, who were with him. Alastor looked positively ashen, as did his sons. They all appeared sick.
Jax frowned. “They are securing the river gate,” he said. “I will send for them. What has happened?”
The Marshal waved him off. “Not yet,” he said. “Bring Cole here. We’ve something to do and we need him.”
Jax had no idea what was going on. Beyond Christopher and Teviot and David, he could see Peter and Alexander, Kress and Achilles, Bric and Dashiell. They were away from their armies.
That puzzled Jax greatly.
He turned to The Marshal.
“What is happening?” he hissed.
Alastor couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Before The Marshal could reply, he pushed forward, shoving men out of the way until he came to within a few inches of Jax.
“The Scots captured some of our ancillary wagons, including my surgeon’s wagon,” he said, close to tears.
“My daughters were in that wagon and now they are prisoners of the Scots. And you put their soldiers on poles for them to see? If the Scots see what you have done to their men, they will put my daughters on poles in retaliation!”
Jax scowled at the man in disbelief. “They what?” he hissed. “They have… Christ, they have Corisande?”
Alastor was white with fury, with despair. “They do,” he said, his entire body trembling. “I do not think the Scots will take kindly to what you have done to their men. If they punish my daughters for your actions, I will blame you for their deaths. Damn you to hell, de Velt!”
Christopher had to pull Alastor away from Jax, shoving him back towards his sons, who gripped their father tightly. They were all upset, saying things they didn’t mean. Alastor began weeping, low and mournful, adding to the already horrific situation.
But Jax understood. A month ago, he didn’t give a second thought to putting men and women on poles when it came to the collapse of Fountainhall. He’d done what he had always done. He did it at Berwick, too.
But now that the Scots held Cole’s intended, all of that changed.
He grabbed the nearest de Velt soldier.
“The bodies of the Scots,” he hissed. “Get them down. Get them down now. And remove the garrison commander from the wall. Get them down and bring them in here, out of sight of the Scots. Go!”
The soldier, startled and confused, nonetheless took off running.
“They’ll be down in an hour,” he said, speaking to Alastor. “With the mist rolling in, chances are no one has seen them yet. De Bourne… I did not know. Please know I would never knowingly cause danger to your daughters or your family. Not like this.”
Alastor was still weeping, but Ares was looking at Jax. He could see that the man was sincerely distressed.
“We know, my lord,” he said hoarsely. “This not your fault. But the removal of the dead is appreciated.”
Alastor was nodding as his son spoke, unable to articulate what Ares was putting into words. Wiping at his face, he struggled to compose himself as he turned to Jax and went to the man. He only meant to shake his hand but ended up putting his arms around him.
“Forgive me, old friend,” he whispered. “I did not mean it. I did not mean any of it. I adore Cole and he will soon marry my daughter. I am proud to have him. Please… forgive me.”
Jax put an arm around him, hugging him tightly.
“There is nothing to forgive,” he said. “I have three daughters of my own and not long ago, I was in this very position with one of them. A man who wanted to kill me took her hostage, so I understand your pain very well. Have faith; everything will be well again. You shall see them returned safely.”
“Who returned safely?”
The question came from Cole.
Having seen the gathering of knights ride into the bailey of Berwick as he’d returned from the river gate, he wanted to be part of the celebration of the conquest of the castle.
It was his celebration, after all. Julian, Addax, and Essien were with him, expecting a celebration but seeing something quite different.
What they came upon didn’t look like a celebration at all.
Cole’s father was embracing Alastor, who had clearly been weeping.
Cole frowned.
“Who will be returned safely?” he repeated, looking to his father. “What has happened?”
The only people who really knew about Cole and Corisande were their fathers and Corisande’s brothers, and Addax and Essien.
At least, that was the general belief among those in the know.
But what they didn’t know was that servants at The Keld had seen Corisande and Cole together, and the rumors had started.
Gossip abound, so much so that all of the Executioner Knights had heard some version of the truth, so as they stood in the bailey of Berwick, there was a good deal of sympathy in their expressions as they looked at Cole.
They knew something he didn’t, something that was going to affect him.
It was The Marshal, of all people, who finally spoke.
“Several hours ago, the Scots used the Ord Crossing to attack our rear,” he said steadily. “Some of the wagons were stolen, including de Bourne’s surgeon’s wagon. De Bourne’s daughters are now prisoners of the Scots and we must get them back. Cole, I need you for this task.”
Cole stared at him for a moment. He blinked, wiped his chin, and then spoke in a strangely tight voice. “Corisande is a prisoner of the Scots?”
“Aye.”