by Dan Davis
I got my sword up to deflect the strike. And I moved aside to get out from under that wild, brutal blow.
But I was slow and my arm was weak. Little John’s blade knocked mine aside. His sword missed my head but cut into my body, smashing my collarbone and driving me to my knees.
A strike that like, with that kind of force, while it might not sever a vital vein or organ, can be enough to kill a man outright. The shock of the blow will travel through your bones, through the centre of your body, jar your brain inside your skull. The power of it can shut off the flow of your life like twisting a tap.
I knew it was bad. Looking up at his red, furious face as he yanked the sword out of my body, I could see just how he would hack it back down into my neck the second time. It was curious how I had time to think. I had time to rue being killed by an untrained brute after having defeated so many skilled knights in my life. A bailiff, of all people, a man who wielded a blade with all the finesse of a butcher. His grip was all wrong. His edge alignment was appalling.
And yet I could not move. I was done. Defeated.
John dropped his sword and stiffened. His face twisted and he jerked and clutched his chest. He twisted and fell to the side, his mouth opening and closing, trying to see behind him. He staggered a few steps, wailing like a skewered boar and he crashed to his side in a clatter of iron and bone.
It was Eva. She had run him through the arse with one blade, striking up beneath the hauberk that was far too short for him. Then she had seen a long rent in the side of his mail and stabbed her second blade up under his ribcage and into his chest. The hilts of her blades stuck out of his arse and his ribs.
She helped me up. The poor woman was covered in blood from head to toe, shivering in her undershirt and bare legs. She shook from exhaustion and excitation.
“Drink some blood,” she snarled in my face and she snatched up John’s dropped blade. She stood guard over me while I staggered to a headless body next to us.
William’s men — seeing John fall seeing Eva’s power and me rising — retreated from us.
I sucked a mouthful of spurting blood from one of the big veins of the body near me, lifting it with my right arm. My left shoulder was barely attached to my body. A piece of long, tattered skin found its way into my mouth and I almost vomited it back up. But I kept drinking. I needed it, all I could get. Even then, I felt like I was dying.
The scream from the courtyard was chilling. I dropped the body and with Eva’s help, ran round the bushes into the space between the gate and the hall.
The prisoners had mostly all escaped from the hall. Some lay dead, others were being held or beaten by William’s men.
But in the centre was the man himself.
The Green Knight, the Lord of Eden. My brother. William.
His eyes were wild, he was angrier than I had ever seen him. His fists were bloodied and swollen. His mouth and jaw were red with fresh blood.
There were dead all about him.
He held Marian by the hair.
“Come here,” William snarled at an old man, who limped over to William, tears running down his face. “Here, Geoffrey.”
“Please, not my daughter, please,” the old said.
It was Sir Geoffrey of Norton. Aged, thin, his hair almost gone and what remained was white and brittle. But it was he. A man I had drunk with, fought with when we were young. I was astonished that Marian’s father yet lived. He and his soldiers had been ambushed so long before that no man in his right mind had believed him so. Yet there he was, begging for Marian’s life.
Of course, that was why Marian had dawdled so long. That was why she had been helping a decrepit prisoner instead of fleeing for her life. She had found her father, finally, against all hope.
There was movement among the fallen. Swein crawled through the bodies of soldier and slave alike toward William. But he was ten yards away and heading for nowhere but the grave. The lad was drenched in blood, pale and moving far too slow. Even if he reached William, there was nothing he could do.
Eva steeled herself to attack but she could barely hold herself upright. Her teeth were chattering in her head. I was leaning on her but she was holding to me also
The blood I had drunk was working in me but still my left side was useless. The blow had cleaved through me deeply and there was no way I could use my left arm. I could not even feel it, it hung by my side like a leg of lamb on a butcher’s hook. I needed more blood, more time.
“You shall watch what happens to those who defy the Lord of Eden,” William shouted in Marian’s ear. Still holding on to her hair, he stepped forward and ran his sword through her father’s throat.
Sir Geoffrey jerked as the blade gouged out his neck and the old men fell.
Marian screamed as William threw her upon her father’s body.
“Do you see?” William shouted at her then he addressed his men. “Take all their heads and we shall stick them upon the walls of Nottingham Castle. We will show England what it means to be the sons of Adam. John, where are you, you great fool?”
“Brother,” I shouted. “Little John is dead.”
His head snapped round to me.
“And,” I continued. “Now it is your turn.”
I finished in a fit of coughing. Blood spattered from my mouth. My wounds were greater than I had thought.
“Brother?” William said. “You are no brother of mine. I would have given you a place in our new world. Instead, you wreak this pointless havoc. What a waste.”
He grabbed up Marian again, forced her to her knees and held his sword across the back of her neck. She knelt among the bodies of men that William had killed to reach her and her father.
Eva stalked forward and I took a step with her but my legs gave way. I needed blood.
“Stop,” William said. “Eva, my dear, you are one of us, now. And if you take another step, I shall remove your friend’s head. Richard, I will very much enjoy peeling off chunks of your flesh. I wonder how long you could live without skin. We shall find out together.”
Eva turned to me, looking over her shoulder. “Drink my blood,” she whispered. “Then kill him.”
I shook my head. She was shaking all over. To take her blood would surely kill her and William would kill Marian anyway before I could reach her.
William’s men gathered, their bravery regained.
“Return all the escaped blood slaves to their pens,” William commanded and they moved to obey. “Close the gates, and then form groups to round up the ones in the wood.”
From nearby, bowstrings twanged, the air split to the whooshing sound of iron in flight. Arrows smacked thudded into William’s men. A dozen. One after the other. Thrashing and cracking, splitting flesh. A half dozen men fell, others scattered away from the gateway and the wall.
William shouted, pointed at the wall of Eden.
Swein’s archers had scaled that wall from the outside and shot down into William’s men. After that first volley, they loosed another, and another, each man shooting as fast as he could. The wet thud of iron splitting clothes and skin and flesh sounded, again and again.
From the open gateway, a group of four archers ran forward, drew back their bows and shot as one, straight across the courtyard toward William.
My shout of warning got no further than a strangled cry as my own blood filled my throat. I wanted to warn them that they would hit Marian.
Four arrows plunged into his chest, knocking him back and down.
At once, Marian crawled away to her father.
Eva turned to me, a triumphant smile on her bloodied face.
William could never be killed by arrows, I tried to tell her but all that came out was blood.
Jocelyn rode through the gate on his magnificent bay courser, the brown coat shimmering. Jocelyn was fully armoured, the long shield covering his left side, his lance in hand.
William leapt up, ripping the arrows from his chest, spurts of blood and lumps of flesh coming with them. He lift
ed one of the bodies at his feet as if it were a leg of lamb, bent his head to it and drank.
More arrows thumped into William’s men. Those who could move fled for shelter. Those felled by the arrows suffered more shafts shot into them.
William snatched up a shield and stalked toward Marian. I supposed he knew that his best chance of escape lay in taking her hostage, using her as another shield while he rode for freedom.
I struggled to my feet and lurched toward him. I was in no state to run and I knew William would reach Marian before I could get to her.
Jocelyn knew it too. As soon as the arrows hit he had raked his spurs back and his courser leapt forward. It was a magnificent charge to behold from across the courtyard. The horse was well trained and perfectly attuned to the rider. Jocelyn’s form was faultless, his lance point under the finest control. Beast and man charging as a single entity, existing purely as a means to drive an iron point into a small target with the greatest possible force.
William stopped before he reached Marian. At first, he was shocked. But amusement spread across William’s lips as he turned to Jocelyn’s charge.
I shouted a warning but before the blood was out of my mouth, William had leapt to the side, raised his shield to deflect the lance and swung his sword low at the horse’s legs.
Although he was a mere mortal and could not match William’s speed, Jocelyn had anticipated just such an evasion and had already moved the tip of his lance to where he expected William to be.
The lance caught the Lord of Eden low in the chest. It spitted him through, knocking William down as if a giant had swatted him, the iron point driving right through the skin, the bone and out the other side, the ash shaft pushing through and through William’s body.
William, though, contorted with rage and twisted as he fell. The shaft knocked Jocelyn from the saddle. Jocelyn fell, hard and William snapped the lance shaft at arm’s length, then pushed the remainder through his body, reaching back to draw the final splintered part out.
Jocelyn rolled to his feet, dazed and placed himself between Marian and William, drawing his sword.
I staggered toward William as he slashed the throat of Jocelyn’s beautiful horse and shoved it aside. William darted forward, smashed Jocelyn’s sword thrust aside with his bare arm and picked up Jocelyn in his armour by the throat, wrapping both hands around his neck.
I screamed, blood spraying from my mouth, as William snapped Jocelyn’s neck.
He tossed Jocelyn’s body aside like a ragdoll just as I reached them. Thrusting at full stretch, I ran William through the side of the body and William jerked away, blood pouring from his chest and his side. The weight of his body slid off my blade and I stalked after him. William was afraid. He backed away across the courtyard, bent over his wounds. Arrows thumped down around us and I was aware that I was between the archers and William, blocking their shots but I meant to kill him myself. I was going to peel off his skin. I was going to make him suffer. I would take his eyes. I wished I could tell him but I could not speak. My vision faded and I knew I had to catch him before I succumbed.
Shouting behind me. I glanced over my shoulder in time to see Little John, lumbering forward like a dying bull, hack Eva down as if she was not there, his sword cutting into the side of her head. She had her sword up to block the blow but his strength and fury were too much and she fell. Her body hit the cobbles hard. I prayed she would hold on to life until I could reach her.
John, the monster that he was, had recovered from Eva’s fatal blow. Someone had drawn the blade from him and the giant was coming to kill us all.
I turned back for William, reeling, unsteady on my feet. A horse charged right by me in a clatter of hooves and a roar of anger from the rider.
Anselm, defending Marian from John, rode his sorrel rouncey at the giant. Dear, brave Anselm sat perfectly in his saddle and held his sword straight, in line with his arm, to pierce the man’s huge head. But Little John roared, moved like lightning and smashed his sword into the rouncey’s face before Anselm’s point could reach him. The beast reared, throwing Anselm down onto the cobbles. His horse trod on him, crushing his chest and falling on him, legs kicking.
Little John stomped past Anselm and lumbered toward me, his blade high over his head, arrows sticking out all over his body, his face and neck covered in the blood he had drunk to heal his wounds. He was roaring with fury, spitting curses in a shower of blood.
I charged him. Using everything I had left, I stabbed my blade straight through the rusty mail at his chest, snapping the rings and breaking my sword blade in his heart. He fell to one knee and I smashed his face into pulp with my bare hands, breaking my knuckles, lacerating my skin. I ripped off Little John’s helm, tore up a loose cobblestone and caved his skull in until his head was tatters and shards and a quivering liquid mass.
“William,” I said, dragging myself to my feet. “Where is William?”
My injuries caught up with me at that moment and ground rose up to crash into my face. The world faded into darkness.
It was Marian who saved us. Despite losing her father and almost losing her own life despite the horrors of the carnage around her, she knew what to do. She was a sharp young woman and knew from travelling with Tuck, from the rumours about me and of course, Swein had told her about my drinking of blood. She knew well enough what I and her friend needed. God bless Lady Marian, for she cajoled the archers to give us blood from the men I had slain. Those poor archers later told me how they held a severed arm over my gaping mouth and squeezed the blood into me. It was only a few moments after that I came back to myself.
“Where is William?” I was saying the words before I was fully conscious. Marian had already left me to see to the other wounded.
“He ran, Sir Richard,” an archer said, his face grim. “Don’t worry, sir, we’ll track him for you. Here, drink a bit more of this blood, my lord. Tom’s getting you a fresh leg to drink from.”
Eden was a bloody mess. The survivors were dazed and those that could continued to flee from the carnage out into the wood where they gathered together for safety.
“Jocelyn,” I cried, recalling the horror of his charge. The archers helped me over to my man.
Jocelyn lay on his back in the centre of the courtyard. I gently pulled Marian aside from him. I removed his helm to give him my blood.
His eyes were already unseeing, his skin growing cold, his neck twisted unnaturally. I dripped my blood into his mouth anyway and reached under his coif to massage his throat. He was too far gone to swallow. He was beyond saving.
I sat back. I knew I should have felt anger at William and at myself but all I felt was a great sadness. Tears flowed down my face but I felt numb, as I usually did. The feeling was too great to be felt until later when the weight of his death truly hurt me. For months and even years after, I would turn to an empty room and begin to address him only to remember that he had fallen there in Eden. He had been my son, my sworn knight and my closest friend.
“I am sorry,” I said to his lifeless eyes. “I am so sorry, son.”
He had given his life to protect Marian and so doing had saved the rest of us, too. Marian threw herself upon his chest and wept, telling him he was a true knight. The truest, bravest knight who ever lived. He would have liked that.
I left Marian weeping for Jocelyn and went to find the others.
Swein lived. Though the young man was wounded, the cuts were not deep and two of his archers dragged him into a sitting upright and got a cup of ale into him.
“Will I lose my arm?” he asked, his face grey. “Please, I need my arm. I have to draw a bow. I have to.”
“I suppose you are right,” I said. “You are no good with the sword. Drink my blood, heal yourself.”
He did not want any part of it but Swein wanted to live even more. He was young and full of life and he was unwilling to trade his future for his principles, such as they were.
Swein drank and healed completely.
&nbs
p; Next, I ran to Eva. The poor woman had been hacked down with such force that her skull was cracked front to back along one side. Her hair was hacked off on one side, the remains stuck to the scalp by the shining dark ichor. I lifted her up from the blood-drenched cobbles. Her skin was white where it was not covered in blood. Yet she breathed. Her eyes flickered when I called her name and tilted her head. Faithful Swein brought blood from the fallen and I poured it into Eva’s mouth. She coughed and swallowed it down. She fought her way back from death once more.
“What happened?” She coughed and grasped me, her fingers like iron.
I was relieved she did not remember the blow that had felled her. Recalling one death is bad enough. Near to us across the courtyard, Swein and Marian called for my help.
“Recover your strength,” I urged Eva. “I must see to Anselm.”
A pair of Wealden archers rolled the dead horse off Anselm’s body and dragged him out from under it. They called me over, weeping in desperation.
“Please save him,” Marian said, wiping her tears and many others pleaded for him, also.
The young squire struggled for breath through his crushed chest. But before he took his last breath, I trickled my blood into his mouth.
Like Swein, Anselm did not want it and he squeezed his lips shut.
“This will heal you,” I said to him. “It will not change you into one of them.”
Sadly, I was not entirely correct about that. I was giving out my blood left and right, thinking simply to save my friends and sworn men. But I have no thought of the consequences that ingesting my blood might have. A seemingly permanent side effect that I did not discover until later.
But in the courtyard that day, Anselm recovered from his grievous wounds instead of succumbing to them.
Everyone recovered but poor Jocelyn. I would have his body taken back to Ashbury to be buried. He would have made a good lord, I think and a good husband. But it was not to be.