Chapter Twenty #2
That was a distinct shock. Somehow, her father had been released from the vault.
She had no idea why, but she suspected it was because Tristan felt that he needed the manpower.
It was also true that Tristan believed her father had nothing to do with whatever Dermot was involved in, so there was no reason not to release him.
It was an odd sight for Andromeda to see Carr mac Murda back on the walls of Wrexham.
She thought the sight might even make her a little nervous, but ultimately, there was no reason for her to be concerned.
Her father was of no consequence anymore because she had a husband who would fully defend her from anything the man tried to do or say.
It was an entirely new world for her father now that his daughter had married his commanding officer.
For Carr, life had changed, indeed.
On a slightly misty morning on the tenth day after the siege began, Andromeda was pondering the new reality that her life had become when she began to see a frenzy of activity on the wall that included her father.
It also included Alexander, who came running along the parapet from the gatehouse.
Something was happening down below, something critical, but she had no idea what it was until she heard one word, shouted by the sentries:
“Ladders!”
As it turned out, the Welsh had been lulling the English into a false sense of security.
While the English had watched the Welsh milling around the castle moat, building an encampment and hardly engaging in warfare, hundreds of them had been able to bring up the ladders that they had been building in the woods.
Now, those ladders were front and center, coming right at Wrexham, and as the English scrambled on the walls to get the archers in place, the Welsh either walked across the moat or glided across in small skiffs, moving their ladders to the base of the walls.
There was just enough real estate between the walls and the moat that they were able to get a foothold.
The ladders were going up.
As that was going on, the English archers let loose with everything they had.
Tristan’s army began firing at the Welsh who were trying to prop up the ladders.
In preparation for this very moment, they had also been stockpiling oil, used to light the lamps, but it was also effective when small earthenware jugs filled with oil were lit and then poured or thrown onto the men below.
That seemed to be the most effective in deterring them from climbing the walls, because the burning Welsh would fall back into the moat, many of them too injured to continue.
Several of them drowned before their friends could get to them.
Very shortly, the battle for Wrexham had turned quite deadly.
In response to the English archers, the Welsh resumed firing arrows over the walls in an attempt to drive the English away from the ladders that were being propped against the walls.
On the battlements and from the tower, the crimson shield of Tristan de Royans and the scarlet lion of William Marshal were being torn to shreds by the constant bombardment.
The wounded began pouring into the great hall.
Men with bolts sticking out of them, men who had fallen from the wall, and any number of injuries now that the battle had heated up.
By noon, Andromeda could no longer remain idle.
She had to do something.
Summoning Flora and Aldis, she explained that she was going to go to the great hall through the servants’ passages to tend the wounded.
The servants offered to help, assistance that Andromeda gratefully accepted.
Aldis had her sewing kit and Andromeda had an embroidery kit, one of the man things found in the painted wardrobe, so at least they could sew any gaping wounds.
But they needed more.
“We can use wine and ale to clean the wounds,” Andromeda told the servants. “But what else do we have that can ease pain or help with healing?”
Flora shook her head. “Sir Tristan never had a physic,” she said. “Men simply healed themselves.”
Andromeda thought that sounded rather bleak. “The cook boiled a good deal of linen for bandages before the battle began,” she said. “Wine and ale will clean the wounds. And drinking it could help with the pain.”
“That may be all we have, my lady,” Flora said. “We’ve heard from the kitchen servants, the ones who are feeding the men, and they say there are more wounded than ever and the men are simply helping one another. There is no surgeon.”
Andromeda squared her shoulders. “Then we must get down there right away,” she said firmly.
“I want you to tell the cook that we are going to the great hall to help the wounded. Have him give you all of the wine and ale he can spare. If that is all we have to use, then we must take all we can. Aldis, I want you to find some servants to help us. Have them bring hot water into the great hall. We’ll need it to clean wounds and the soiled linen bandages. Hurry, now; there is no time to lose.”
Flora and Aldis went on the run. Andromeda quickly changed out of one of her nicer gowns and into one of the more durable ones that she wore when working alongside the servants.
Her hair was braided and pinned to the back of her head, keeping it out of the way, and she put on one of her linen aprons.
Then she simply looked at her reflection in her dressing table mirror.
Strange how such a short time ago she was without direction, terrified and alone, and now she was the lady of a great castle, married to a man she loved with all her heart.
She knew what her duties were as the Lady of Wrexham, and she knew what she was capable of.
In another life and another time, her birthright would have made her a queen.
She was married to the man who should have been king.
Perhaps they weren’t in the royal positions their heritages dictated, but they were the king and queen of their own wonderful little world.
It was time for Andromeda to become the queen she was born to be.
While Tristan was out there risking his life, she was going to help the men who were fighting alongside him.
She was going to make a difference.
Grabbing the embroidery kit, she headed down to the great hall.