Chapter Nine
Forcing thoughts of Diamantha’s worried expression out of his mind, Cortez focused on the situation at hand. Making his way down the leaning corridor with James and Oliver flanking him, he paused at the top of the stairs and observed the situation in the common room below.
Somehow, the room was smokier than he had remembered and it was filled to the rafters with people seeking shelter from the storm.
There was a good deal of eating going on and laughter could be heard on occasion.
The fat innkeeper was moving amongst the crowded tables with a pitcher in his hands, delivering his cheap wine into the cups of those who would pay for the privilege of drinking it.
Above the smoke and conversation, Cortez could see his brother and Drake near the entry, back in the shadows.
He made eye contact with them and Andres pointed over near the hearth.
Cortez followed his brother’s pointed direction but he noticed nothing special or unusual in the area his brother was indicating.
There were several people dressed in what looked like rags, drinking heavily and pulling apart a knuckle of sheep.
There were also a couple that looked relatively well dressed, a man and woman who appeared to be travelers seeking shelter for the night.
They kept to themselves, nearly huddled, seemingly fearful of the rabble around them. Cortez couldn’t blame them.
Then, he spied a man who was very well dressed sitting at a table that was directly in front of the hearth.
It was difficult to see clearly through the smoke, but he was sitting at a table with five men who were dressed in shabby mail.
At the table next to them, there were at least seven men, all armed with nasty-looking clubs.
Cortez could see at least three clubs on the table where the sheriff sat, branches of wood wrapped in leather and studded with nails.
These were not weapons of honor. They were crude weapons meant to inflict as much damage as possible. He leaned towards James.
“Is that the man?” he asked, pointing down to the table with the clubs on it.
James nodded. “That’s him.”
Cortez’s gaze lingered on the table. “Go rouse some of the men,” he muttered. “Tell them to come here in a hurry.”
James nodded and descended the steps, heading for the front entry and the wild rain outside.
As Cortez began to descend the stairs, slowly, Andres and Drake came out of the shadows to meet him at the base of the steps.
All the while, Cortez’s eyes never left the table with the sheriff and his henchmen.
Already, he could smell blood. He knew they hadn’t come here to socialize.
Once Cortez and his knights grouped at the bottom of the rickety stairs, Andres bellowed over to the sheriff.
“You, there,” he called. “Turn around and face me.”
The sheriff jerked around and his men immediately stood up, clubs in hand.
When the knights saw the clubs, the broadswords came out.
The sounds of tempered steel grating against leather scabbards pierced the air and tension filled the room.
The rest of the eating, drinking occupants of the inn began to scatter.
It was never a good thing when two armed groups made themselves known.
Even the innkeeper scurried back into the kitchen, away from the situation.
His fat head peered out from the doorway, watching and waiting like the rest of his patron.
Watching to see who drew the first blood.
“Who are you?” the sheriff stood up from his chair, pointing at Cortez. “By what right do you bring your army into my town?”
Cortez gazed at the man unemotionally. “Tell me your name or I will have nothing to say to you.”
The sheriff’s brow furrowed. “Not until you tell me yours first!”
“Then we are at a standoff already.”
The sheriff sighed unhappily. He put his meaty hands on his big hips. “Dornauld,” he told him through clenched teeth. “This is my town. Now tell me your name and be quick about it.”
Cortez remained calm. “I am Sir Cortez de Bretagne,” he told him. “I am garrison commander at Sherborne Castle, servant to our King Edward, and Sheriff of the Shire. I am passing through your town in my travel north. Is there anything else you wish to know?”
Dornauld faltered somewhat. He hadn’t expected a man of high standing. It made him nervous. “I have heard of you,” he said with some reluctance, eyeing Cortez. “How do I know you are truly de Bretagne?”
Cortez held up his broadsword with the de Bretagne crest etched on the hilt. “I would be more than happy to show you.”
It was a threat and they all knew it, and upon knowing who this man was, Dornauld wasn’t so sure he wanted to engage him.
“That is not necessary,” he said, trying to maintain control of the conversation. “Why are you traveling north?”
“That is my business.”
Dornauld faltered heavily this time. He glanced at the men around him, men holding studded clubs.
He didn’t want to lose face with them, especially since he promised them a fight and the possessions of the losers.
Swallowing hard, he struggled to appear as if he wasn’t intimidated. He had to make good to his men somehow.
“All great parties passing through my town must pay tribute,” he demanded. “You have many men. It will cost you twenty gold crowns to pass through my town.”
Cortez could see the man was a weakling. He sheathed his broadsword. “I will not pay,” he said, putting his hands on his hips in a rather sassy gesture. “What are you going to do about it?”
Dornauld’s face began to turn red. “If you do not pay, I will set my men upon you.”
Cortez’s mouth twitched with a smile just as several of his men began to pour in through the front and back doors.
Soon, the inn was full of men in armor, heavily armed, and Dornauld and his men were visibly unsettled.
Those holding the studded clubs lifted their weapons threateningly as Cortez’s men fanned out through the room.
“Beware, de Bretagne,” Dornauld said furiously. “I can summon hundreds of men to overwhelm your paltry troops. Beware your next move!”
Cortez was finished arguing with the idiot.
He made his way over to Dornauld with his knights flanking him.
Andres and Drake shoved a couple of Dornauld’s men out of the way when they crowded too close.
Once Cortez reached Dornauld, he slapped the man across the face so hard that Dornauld fell back on the tabletop.
Cortez was on top of him in an instant, his onyx eyes blazing.
“You are either the stupidest man I have ever come across or you truly have no idea that there are men with armies that can crush you like a spider,” he snarled.
“I have fifteen hundred men at Sherborne Castle who can be here within hours. I can give them orders to torch your dirty little town and everything you hold dear will be gone. Anger me and I may just do it. Anger me further and I will send to London for more of Edward’s men, and we will wipe your village and your family from the face of the earth. Is this in any way unclear?”
Dornauld knew the man wasn’t bluffing. He could tell by his expression. But he was used to controlling this town and everyone in it. He wasn’t used to someone dominating him. Angry, he tried to push Cortez away.
“You have no power here,” he growled. “You have….”
Cortez cut him off by another slap to the face. It was a humiliating gesture, for only women were slapped. “I have more power here than you do,” he exclaimed. “Allow me to tell you what is going to happen now.”
“You cannot…!”
Another slap shut Dornauld up. Cortez had the man around the neck.
“You and your men are going to go far, far away,” he said, his voice low.
“If I see just a hint of you, ever again, I will order my men to torch the town and I will set out after you as a hound tracks a fox. When I find you… well, you will not like it. You must trust me on that. Do you comprehend me?”
Before Dornauld could say a word, Cortez caught sight of something in his periphery that was moving towards his head and he dropped to his knees in the blink of an eye.
Dornauld, however, was not so fast. One of the sheriff’s men had evidently decided to take it upon himself to kill Cortez and the studded club that had been meant for Cortez’s skull missed Cortez completely and sailed right into Dornauld’s face.
Dornauld howled as nails pierced his forehead and eyes, and immediately the entire room deteriorated into a massive brawl.
Cortez’s men rushed in from the perimeter of the room as the knights in the center of the room began swinging their massive broadswords.
Cortez was trapped beneath his brother fighting with one of Dornauld’s men.
He crawled underneath the table to get free, unsheathing his broadsword in the same movement.
When Cortez finally came up on the opposite side of the table, it was into a skirmish between his men and a few of Dornauld’s.
The massive blade with the de Bretagne crest entered into the fray.
What Cortez didn’t see, however, was one of Dornauld’s men making a break for the stairs.
Only when James yelled at him did he realize there was a man at the top of the stairs, heading back towards the sleeping rooms.
Diamantha and Sophie were back there. Cortez had never moved so fast in his entire life.
*
Diamantha was in the process of laying out her wet hose in front of the hearth to dry when she began to hear heavy footfalls. Thinking that Cortez might be returning, she was moving towards the door when she heard a massive crash against one of the other doors out in the corridor.