Chapter Six #4
Stephen didn’t ask questions. He whirled to his wife. “Stay in this chamber and bolt the door. Do not open it for anyone but me or de Lara.”
Joselyn didn’t have a chance to reply before he slammed the door. She rushed to it, throwing the bolt, wondering what the trouble was and feeling fear in her heart. Oddly enough, though, the fear was not for her.
It was for her English-bred husband.
*
The Scots had returned.
About five hundred Scots had poured in through the main gate of the city of Berwick, killing several English soldiers as they launched their sneak attack. They plowed their way through the city straight to the castle and began to lay an unorganized, if not aggressive, siege.
De Lara had been caught outside of the city walls with the vast majority of his men and very shortly found himself in a bloody battle with a few hundred angry Scots.
He had cursed himself for being stupid enough to be caught unaware.
It was apparent that the Scots had waited until de Lara, the last of the great English earls still at Berwick, was separated from the garrison inside the castle.
When the Earl of Carlisle went outside the city walls to muster his troops for the return home, the Scots had attacked.
The old adage of divide and conquer was their war cry.
The Scots were indeed a furious bunch. Smoke rose from fires near the city walls as groups of Scots began to burn the city.
They were raging like children, aimless, simply attempting to do as much damage as possible without thought to those they damaged.
As Stephen stood atop the battlements of Berwick Castle and watched, he began to understand the pattern.
Surrounded by Lane, Sir Ian and Sir Alan, they made a somber, calculating group.
“I would hazard to guess that they are planning on burning the city,” he said to Lane, standing alongside him. “They would rather burn it than see it fall into English hands.”
“It is already in English hands, my lord,” Lane said frankly.
Stephen smiled ironically. “They are so blinded by their bitterness that they will cut off their nose to spite their face and call it victory.”
Lane and the two young knights snorted in agreement, watching the smoke grow heavier near the main city gates.
Dusk was approaching and a battle by night was not something Stephen relished.
He wondered how de Lara was faring. They could hear sounds of battle in the distance but were too far away to catch sight of what was happening. Ian was reading his mind.
“Shall we take a contingent of soldiers to de Lara, my lord?” he asked. “There is no knowing how many Scots he is facing.”
Stephen shook his head. “We cannot risk a breach of the castle. We must stay locked up tight. De Lara will have to fend for himself until such time as we can gain the upper hand and send help.”
Ian nodded, the sunset reflecting in his dark eyes.
He was a very tall, very slender man with large facial features.
His counterpart, Sir Alan, was average in height but powerful.
He had a rather wide-eyed appearance as he watched the city in smoke.
Stephen passed a glance at him, suspecting the battles for Berwick were his first battles as a knight and he had not yet learned the art of viewing the blood and fear as part of the vocation. He was still young and anxious.
They began to see a flow of men moving towards them from the interior of the city.
Hundreds of Scots were advancing towards them, howling like a barbarian tide and carrying several ladders they meant to put against the walls of Berwick to gain access.
The castle itself sat upon a hill with a massive curtain wall that stretched down to the river.
Stephen could see a group of Scots moving for the river, knowing they were going to immerse themselves in the water in an attempt to get around the wall in order to gain access. The siege was growing more critical.
Calmly, he turned to Ian and Alan.
“And so it comes,” he said evenly. “Disburse your men along the walls and ensure that the postern gate is heavily guarded.
We will have a contingent of men coming from the river side, so make sure you concentrate your men on that side of the castle.
Ian, you have command of the river side of the fortress.
Alan, you have the rest of the wall. Make sure it is properly covered. I will take the gatehouse.
The knights disbanded, going about their duties.
Stephen remained on the wall of the gatehouse, watching the Scots as they charged the wall and began to put up their ladders.
His helm, having been held in one hand, was placed atop his head and the chin strap secured.
He was a knight in full battle armor, as deadly as any man who had ever walked the earth.
“Weapons!” he bellowed to the soldiers on the wall.
The troops sheathed broadswords and produced the smaller, shorter blades meant for close quarters combat. He had about five hundred men in the entire castle. Gazing at the group below, he hoped it would be enough.