Chapter Eighteen
Atlas was so panicked, and so angry, when he saw the swarm of reivers surrounding Trastamara that he spurred his horse forward at a rapid gallop, which caused Cassius to do the same to prevent the young man from getting himself killed.
That left Damien to command the army and he gave the attack command.
Pick your targets!
The Scots, seeing the approach of an army four times their size, were forced to turn away from the walls and face the incoming troops.
Most of them were concentrated over by the gatehouse, with a secondary concentration near the drainage swales, and even though they carried weapons, they were without any shields they might carry because of the ladders, hooks, ropes, and digging implements they had been carrying.
But the incoming Trastamara army changed that very quickly as men began running for the shields they’d dumped in the tree line.
Unfortunately for them, that made them an immediate target because the Trastamara army arrived and put themselves between the Scots running for the shields and those who were still at the wall. An army split is a weakened army.
The initial clash was loud and violent.
Only half of the Trastamara army was on horseback, so those were the ones to arrive first, including Atlas and Cassius.
Broadswords were produced and the Scottish short swords were no match against a great sword.
Blood was spilled and men fell to the ground, overwhelmed by the fearsome war machine known as the English knight.
Cassius was dynamic in battle, a tribute to his de Wolfe blood, and he quickly cut down three Scots who had been caught between the wall and their shields.
Atlas, who had never faced a battle on horseback, still knew how to wield a sword properly and he did very well when faced with a Scot with a pike who nearly took his head off.
Atlas lashed out with his grandfather’s sword, cutting the man down, looking both startled and sickened that he’d just eviscerated a man.
He glanced up, saw Cassius’ encouraging smile, and that bolstered his courage.
But he was looking for one man in particular.
Atlas had come into this battle looking for Shand.
He knew the man was here, somewhere, and he was fed by the rage and embarrassed that Shand should betray his mercy as he did.
As he was searching the group of Scots, looking for any sign of Shand, Damien roared up on his charger with the bulk of the infantry.
Cass!” Damien shouted. “I’m going to move the foot soldiers in next to the walls to drive the Scots back!”
Cassius was trying to control his snapping warhorse. “We’ve got trouble near the drainage holes on the north side,” he said. “I haven’t been to the gatehouse yet, but the men at the drainage holes need to be dispersed.”
Damien waved him off. “You see to it,” he said. “I’ll move the foot soldiers into position and then head to the gatehouse. Atlas, you come with me!”
Atlas didn’t really want to. He wanted to search for Shand, but he also didn’t want to disobey Damien.
This was his first real battle as a warrior and he didn’t want to fail.
Damien and Cassius took off to their assigned tasks and as Atlas turned his horse to follow Damien, he caught sight of the man he’d been looking for.
Shand.
Bexwell stood just inside the tree line about twenty feet to Atlas’ left, watching the battle, watching the knights.
As Atlas looked at the man, he felt uncontrollable fury bubble up in his chest. He couldn’t even begin to describe it.
All he knew was that he felt anger as he’d never felt before and he dismounted his horse, taking his grandfather’s broadsword with him as he ducked into the trees.
Since Shand was watching the battle, Atlas intended to come up behind him and catch him unawares.
The hunter had sighted his prey.
With stealth, Atlas made his way through the trees, watching Shand from behind.
Someone began to shout because the English infantry was shoving men away from the wall and killing those who were still climbing on it.
The tides of war were turning against the Scots and the fighting was beginning to turn vicious.
Some men were even beginning to retreat from the English soldiers who were better armed and better prepared.
Atlas dared to take his eyes off Shand for a brief moment to see that the English troops that seemed to be fighting the most fiercely were wearing the red and white Abril tunics.
It did his heart good to see that. Finally, the pride of Abril was returning to Trastamara after the slander of de Sauque.
Atlas decided at that moment that from this day forward, he would no longer bear the name de Sauque.
He would follow his honorable Spanish ancestors, men so great that they had led the Kingdom of Sobrarbe, the great kingdom that existed before Aragon ever came into being.
Atlas would be known as an Abril forever more.
He was going to erase the name of de Sauque from Trastamara, forevermore.
But he couldn’t focus on that now. It was a powerful thought but quickly pushed aside.
Up ahead, he could see Shand with his back to him.
He couldn’t believe the man hadn’t seen him coming.
He had been so vigilant about everything else, but his failure to see Atlas sneaking up on him would be his undoing.
Atlas was going to kill him.
But all that changed when Atlas was nearly upon him and he happened to step on a stick, which snapped under his weight.
It was enough of a noise to cause Shand to spin around, sword leveled, and catch Atlas with the sharp edge right across the chest. It was a deep, nasty slice, and a heavy blow, and Atlas stumbled back, falling onto his arse as he did so.
As he fell, he looked Shand in the face only to see that there was a smile on the man’s lips.
Perhaps he hadn’t surprised Shand at all.
It seemed to him that Shand had known he was coming all along.
After that, the fight was on.
Standing on the battlements, Markus watched as the Trastamara army, with mostly de Wolfe men, went after the reivers with a vengeance.
Cassius and Damien were making short work of those trying to trench the drainage swale and those trying to scale the walls.
At that point, Markus felt rather useless simply watching, but he couldn’t chance opening the gatehouse until the battle was under control, and it wasn’t yet.
There were pockets of heavy fighting going on and until those had been quelled, he would wait to open the gate.
But that was until he saw Atlas.
He saw the young lord ride up at the head of the army, straight into the gang of Scots trying to mount the walls, but Cassius had caught up to him very quickly and it had been mostly Cassius fighting off a group of Scots who decided to move against both him and Atlas.
Atlas, however, did his best and it wasn’t bad for a lad who had never faced battle on horseback.
Most de Wolfe squires were relegated to following their knight into battle, but mostly waiting from the edges of the battle itself in case their knight needed assistance.
It was rare when they were called upon to fight, though some did simply for the experience.
Markus wasn’t sure how much battle Atlas had actually fought personally, but he did very well against men more experienced than he was.
Markus was feeling some confidence in Atlas’ ability until Cassius and Damien took off, leaving Atlas behind.
As Markus watched, the young lord started to follow Damien but swiftly came to a halt and slid off his horse.
Markus had no idea why until he happened to spy Shand standing at the edge of the trees.
Atlas was going for Shand.
Markus’ confidence dissolved in an instant.
He knew that Atlas was going to try to kill Shand, but Bexwell was a seasoned knight. He wasn’t going to let the young man get the upper hand on him. Not only that, but Atlas had what Shand wanted. Shand was apt to kill Atlas out of pure hatred.
What Atlas was doing was a very bad idea.
Fighting down panic, Markus began to run towards the tower with the drainage holes because that’s where he’d seen Cassius heading. He looked over the side of the battlements but couldn’t see his brother and when he did, Cassius was in a fight of his own and Markus didn’t want to distract him.
Markus began to run the other direction, looking for Damien or any of the senior de Wolfe sergeants, anyone who could go and head off Atlas or at least help him. But the battles below were intense, and Markus wasn’t apt to distract anyone in a fight for their lives.
He had to think fast.
Shand was right at the edge of the trees and Markus could see Atlas getting closer.
Since he couldn’t get anyone down below to help Atlas, he would have to do it himself.
It wasn’t as if he could jump off the wall, and all of the grappling hooks and ropes he could see had been tossed off, now cluttering the ground below the wall.
Damnation!
Something caught his eyes in the bailey and he turned to see a group of soldiers with bows and arrows, preparing to launch them over the wall at the next command. Markus frantically motioned them up to the wall and they came running, flying up the stairs that led to the wall walk.
Markus snatched the bow from the first man he came to, turning to focus on Shand and preparing to launch an arrow right into the man’s chest. But just as he lifted the bow and got the arrow into position, Atlas came up behind Shand and Markus saw clearly when Shand abruptly turned and cut Atlas right across the chest with the sharp edge of his sword.
After that, both men disappeared into the forest.