Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
By morning, they had already captured three of Giroux’s men.
They were bound and gagged and back with the horses while Philippe’s men held a complex cascade of positions that allowed them to triangulate an effective attack on any enemy who stepped out of bounds.
Philippe was working on the idea that the only one with any brains down there was Giroux and that the rest of them were hired dolts that may have been able to hold up a sword but were not military-trained. From the looks of it, he was right.
During the night, they had rearranged themselves along the path the rebels seemed to use to relieve themselves.
While Giroux slept, they took out the first. The man barely balked in his surprise and sleepiness.
He was easily stilled and removed by the quick coordination of Philippe’s own men.
Just as they reconfigured themselves, the next one was out and went down just as easily. And then the next.
It was the fourth man who was going to give them trouble, and Philippe knew it as soon as he saw him shuffling into the trees.
The sun was just coming up by then and the man was fully awake.
Philippe had hoped to make more progress and get five or six of them throughout the night.
He was now sure that their plan was about to be figured out.
Just then the man stepped into the range of Franc and Auguste.
Philippe watched from the tree where he had himself banked as they leapt at the man from both sides.
The brute turned to run but saw Claude with an arrow aimed at his heart.
He raised his hands, but not before he let out a balk that signaled his position.
That earned him a quick left hook from Auguste before the other two gagged and subdued him.
Philippe turned expectantly to the camp, where he watched Giroux pace the clearing and call the man’s name.
Once. Twice. Then, with new realization coming into his posture, Giroux swung around and called the three other names in apparent recognition of their absence.
That was it, Philippe thought. Their time was up.
Philippe dropped to the ground and announced the second part of the plan with rapid signals.
The men spread out to surround the camp as best they could while Philippe himself went to charge right down the center of it.
The rebels were fed and rested but also half asleep.
On the other hand, Philippe’s men were keyed up and eager for action.
Whatever happened, outnumbered or not, Philippe knew his boys would fight with their hearts as well as their bodies.
He took a breath. And then he ran.
The sky in the East had lightened from purple to pale blue, but the shadows were still working in their favor.
Philippe ducked a few trees, his feet pounding hard over the earth.
For the first time in nearly a week, he made himself known as the war cry coming from his throat drew attention away from his circling men.
He swept through the brush, jumped a fallen log, and crashed into their camp.
As expected, many of the men were still rolling frantically from their bedrolls looking for their weapons.
Philippe dodged one man not fully risen and struck another on the side of the head with the hilt of his sword, knocking him clean out, but it was Giroux standing at the fire who had his attention.
They locked eyes, and Giroux drew his sword.
Philippe, coming fast, had to duck one last feeble attack from a wobbly man before reaching his target.
He swung his blade hard at Giroux, with all the power from the charge and the frustration from the wait coming out in one mighty blow.
Giroux took the shock of the attack against the strong of his blade and swung powerfully from above.
The clang of their swords reverberated through the quiet forest and signaled his own men to attack.
Suddenly, a chorus of shouts and whistles hailed down on them as his men descended from their positions onto the now-alert rebels.
Giroux pushed Philippe off and looked around to assess the situation, while men from either side paired up and attacked each other.
Before lunging again, Philippe called out to him, “I have waited the better part of this week to catch sight of the man you call leader,” he said as they squared off, swords out.
“But I believe you are waiting, just like us.” Then he raised his sword again.
“Before I take you apart, I give you one last chance to reveal him for your own safety.”
“I will not betray him,” Giroux responded.
Philippe nodded. “Then you will be my prisoner.”
“Don’t be so sure, Monsieur.” Giroux swung again as he spoke.
Philippe dodged the blade, but Giroux caught him hard with a foot to his shin.
Philippe stumbled back and Giroux leapt forward to swing at him again.
Philippe felt twitching in his muscles, a strange combination of adrenaline and lack of calories, but he wouldn’t go down so easily.
He caught Giroux’s hacking steel from above and managed to push the man off once more.
Giroux was on his feet again with his blunt blade at the ready in seconds.
He danced around two more of Giroux’s strikes, taking quick stock of his men.
Though they had come out strong, he knew that their small burst of energy could not be maintained.
Auguste had been engaged by two hulking brutes, blood had soaked through Claude’s shirt, Daniel had already lost his sword and was fighting with a dagger while Bernard had taken a hard fall before getting up to fight again.
But none of them were down and that encouraged Philippe.
He turned back to Giroux and, with two quick steps, lunged right towards the man’s trunk.
Giroux narrowly jumped aside and came back at Philippe with immense strength.
Philippe took the blow against the weak of his blade and felt the shock of it shoot through his muscles.
Giroux was a beast and fought aggressively.
His thick sword was made for slashing and splitting wounds into its victims, while Philippe’s sword was military grade and served best when there was distance between the opponents.
Philippe was losing his strength. He struggled to keep Giroux at a distance.
In the few minutes since the encounter had begun, the sun had crept higher into the air.
Now morning shadows flickered across the scene.
Suddenly, Philippe thought of how little time he had left to fulfill his promise and get back to Alex, causing strength to rocket back through his limbs.
Giroux rained blows down on him, but Philippe was still able to get a violent kick into Giroux’s middle, causing the large man to stumble back and double over.
Just then, Philippe felt another man grab onto him from the behind.
Philippe slammed an elbow into the man’s gut in an attempt to break away.
But the man’s grip on Philippe was too strong, and together they crashed to the ground.
Philippe dropped his sword to wrestle the man off of him.
All around Philippe, the well-timed and controlled back and forth of the swordfights had deteriorated into confused mêlée attacks as men from both sides lost their main weapons and resorted to fists and daggers.
Philippe maneuvered himself on top of the man and pounded his face with a hard, closed fist, causing blood to spurt from his nose.
He hit him again and the man slumped to the side.
Philippe reached to grab his sword when a boot crunched down on his hand.
Philippe winced as he looked up to see Giroux standing above him.
Not outdone yet, Philippe reached up with his free hand and pulled Giroux down on top of him.
Philippe had lost his sword, but the surprise of the fall caused Giroux to lose his own weapon.
They were both off balance, but equal now, and Philippe did a quick catalog of his weapons.
Two daggers in his belt and a smaller blade inside his boot.
He and Giroux continued to struggle, the fight heavy and desperate, having devolved to close-in weapons and fists.
It would now be a battle of will. One of them would lose, and it would happen before the sun had a chance to make it all the way into the sky.