Chapter Twenty-One
The Welsh weren’t making it easy.
Tristan knew that the lackluster performance of the Welsh at the beginning of the battle had been deliberate.
It was a smart military tactic designed to lower the defenses of the enemy.
While no one’s defense had been lowered enough to make a difference, the rush at the walls with ladders had been a surprise.
Ten days after the battle started, the war was in full bloom.
He was on the section of wall where the Welsh were trying to put up several ladders.
They were becoming smarter now and positioning archers where the ladders were going up.
When the English showed their faces, the archers would let fly.
Tristan had lost two men to the most recent barrage, one of them hit in the head and the other in the eye.
That made the English very reluctant to look over the wall.
“Pat!”
Addax was heading toward Tristan, tucked down in a crouch position as he moved. Tristan went over to meet him, ducking low when a few bolts went over his head.
“How is the gatehouse holding?” he asked.
Addax glanced back at the enormous gatehouse partially masked in the mist. “The Welsh have managed to burn part of the drawbridge,” he said. “Once they can get in through the gap, they’ll go for the portcullis.”
“Then make sure there is an army of archers waiting for them,” Tristan said. “Have them start firing through the portcullis now to keep them at bay.”
Addax nodded. “We have,” he said. “Sherry is in command of the gatehouse. But he sent me to tell you that we are running low on bolts. We are collecting what we can of those that come over from the Welsh, but we may have to start restricting the use.”
Tristan grunted. “That was only a matter of time,” he said. “What about everyone else? Where are the knights?”
Addax motioned to the wall by the kitchen yard and the keep. “De Norville is on the back of the wall, facing the river,” he said. “The ground slopes too much there, so the ladders have been unable to get a foothold. De Wolfe is at the gatehouse, but I’m sending Hage to help you and Carr.”
Tristan nodded, looking over his shoulder at Carr, who was bellowing commands to the English on the wall. “He’s a good knight,” he said. “Given the current situation, the only logical decision was to release him from the vault so he can lend a hand.”
Addax nodded, his gaze on the Irish knight. “He has not said anything about Dermot or your wife since I released him,” he said. “Has he said anything to you?”
“Nay,” Tristan said. “He has behaved like a loyal knight.”
“He’s probably afraid to misbehave,” Addax said. “He’s afraid that you’ll have Sherry do to him what he did to the Irish rebel.”
Tristan looked at him. “What did he do to the Irish rebel?”
Addax shook his head in a manner that suggested Tristan had better prepare himself for the answer. “It did not take him long,” he said. “The rebel refused to speak, and spat in Sherry’s eye, which is never a good thing. Sherry was not merciful.”
“What did he do?”
“He used a method he’d learned on crusade,” Addax said reluctantly.
“We’ve all seen it, Pat. It was so terrible that de Norville vomited.
Hage witnessed it without flinching, but Sherry did it so quickly that it was as if he’d done it a thousand times before.
I know Sherry has a reputation of being a dark killer, but this… this was an impressive bit of killing.”
That gave Tristan pause. “Truly?” he said. “What happened?”
“Have you heard of the Blodorn?”
Tristan cocked his head curiously. “I have,” he said. “It’s a method of execution, the blood bird or the blood angel. It’s when a man’s ribs are broken and… God’s Bones, Addax… Did he really do that?”
“He did,” Addax said, clearing his throat to suggest just how gruesome it really was. “I’ve seen it done to men in the Levant, but never here. The ribs near a man’s spine are broken by a blade and his organs are pulled from the openings. A painful way to die, Pat.”
Tristan’s eyebrows lifted. “I would imagine so.”
“Sherry did it with surprising ease.”
“I take it the fool is dead.”
“Verily.”
“That’s what a man gets for betraying my wife and then spitting in the eye of a trained assassin.”
“I will never insult Sherry again after this.”
Tristan chuckled, hardly disagreeing with him, as grappling hooks were thrown up the wall, anchoring on the crenellations.
Soldiers were now struggling to dislodge the hooks, which were attached to rope ladders.
There was about a twelve-foot gap between the top of the ladders and top of the wall, and the Welsh were trying desperately to close that gap while the English were desperately trying to stop them.
It seemed as if the situation was tilting in the Welsh’s favor.
But not if Tristan could help it.
Addax’s story about Alexander’s ghastly punishment had given him an idea. If the Welsh knew what the English were capable of doing to those that displeased them, then it might slow them down, if not discourage them altogether.
It was worth a try.
“Send Hage down for the dead Irishman,” he told Addax. “Have him bring him up to the wall and throw him over, down on those men trying to mount the walls. The sight of someone who has been carved like that might give them second thoughts about trying to breach Wrexham.”
Addax’s eyes glimmered with approval. “Of course,” he said. “Show them what will happen to them if they are able to make it over the wall.”
“Exactly,” Tristan said. “Tell Sherry what we are doing, because if any of the Welsh make it to the top of the wall, I will have a job for him. An unsavory one.”
The implication was clear. Addax nodded swiftly and was gone, dodging men and projectiles as he went.
Once Tristan lost sight of him, he made his way to the crenellation, which was the rampart built around the wall, with intermittent gaps to allow for firing arrows or fighting.
Carr was there, trying to look at the men below without getting hit by an arrow, and Tristan joined him.
Together, they tried to gauge what was going on with the ladders and realized that there were more men down there than they originally thought.
It looked like a hive of bees, all of them swarming around the ladders as they prepared to raise them.
“They are sending one man up the ladder with the grappling hook,” Carr said, using his hands to demonstrate what he was explaining.
“An archer comes up behind him, and as soon as we look down, the archer lets the bolt fly. That chases us back so their man can get to the top of the ladder and launch the grappling hook.”
Tristan nodded, settling against the wall. “We’ve been watching it down the line,” he said. “Clearly, they have been planning this for days, so it is simply a matter of making sure they cannot climb the walls. Keep vigilant, Carr.”
“I will, my lord,” Carr said. As Tristan started to move away, he called to him.
“I… I want to thank you for releasing me. I know that you did it because there was a battle going on and you need my sword, but given what’s happened with Dermot, I did not expect that you would.
I do not blame you, of course. But I will tell you to your face that I was never involved in whatever he is mixed in. I swear that upon my oath.”
For a brief moment, Tristan’s focus moved from the battle to his father-in-law.
That’s exactly what Carr was—his wife’s father.
They were now family. Since imprisoning the man, he’d had no contact with him because he was busy with other things, but now there was a moment between them.
Just the two of them. No emotion, but simply rational men.
In fact, this was much more like the Carr he knew.
Therefore, he carefully considered his reply.
“I believe you,” he said. “I would not have released you had I thought otherwise.”
Carr seemed humbled by that. “I’m grateful,” he said.
“Mayhap this is not the time for such a discussion, but there may not be another chance. Being in the vault… I had time to think. There were two paths I could follow, and the one I’d been on was not taking me where I wanted to go.
I do not want to end up like Dermot, shunned and in the vault. ”
“What are you telling me?”
“That I’ve chosen a path to redeem my honor.”
Tristan eyed him. “Given how you’ve treated your daughter, you can understand my reluctance to accept that,” he said. “I married Andromeda, Carr. She is my wife, and I will protect her, even from you.”
Carr nodded. “I know,” he said. “But you needn’t worry about me. Since the situation with Dermot, I’ve been forced to face some unpleasant things.”
“Like what?”
“I should not have done what I did to Andromeda,” Carr replied, though it was difficult to admit it. “I do not know why I did it, only that my emotions had the better of me. But she is your responsibility now, and I understand that.”
“Exactly.” Tristan paused before continuing. “Carr, what were you so angry about when she came here? You know it was not her choice. She did not come simply to annoy you.”
Carr inhaled deeply, thoughtfully, as he pondered the question. “If you truly wish to know, I will tell you.”
“Go on.”
Carr fixed him in the eye. Those lies he was running from, something he’d never spoken of, had been heavily on his mind during his time in the vault. Now that he was released, his resolve to face them hadn’t wavered.
It was time for the old lies to be exposed.
“I left Ireland some time ago,” he said. “There was a reason for that. Aye, it was to serve the Marshal, because my clan had a treaty with him and I was part of the Irish contingent pledged to Pembroke, but there was more to it. I went willingly even though I had a wife and child.”