"And yet there have been female knights," Aldwin persisted.
"None of them amounted to anything," interjected Sir Balfour. "A waste of armour, if you ask me."
"I heard," pushed Aldwin, "that Dame Beverly Fitzwilliam bested all who opposed her."
"Where did you hear that?" asked Sir Galway, his face growing red.
"It's utter nonsense," added Sir Balfour. "A woman could never defeat a man, and as for Dame Beverly, she was nothing but a whore."
Aldwin hadn't meant for things to become so heated, but the next thing he knew, his fist slammed into the knight's face. Years of toiling at the forge had given him a superior strength, and the force of the blow was such that it knocked Balfour back on his chair, causing it to tip over, landing the knight on his back upon the floor.
The next thing the smith knew, he was surrounded by noise while fists flew everywhere. Someone grabbed his arm, trying to take him off balance, but Aldwin easily pulled his assailant from his feet. Next, he kicked out, landing a foot in Balfour's groin, causing the knight to collapse and let out a whimper as he fell to the floor.
Balfour might have been stunned, but Galway wasn't. He rose to his feet, sending a fist Aldwin's way, but the smith ducked the blow, throwing his attacker off balance. He then dropped to a crouch, grabbing one of the table legs and heaved, upending the entire thing and shoving it into his attackers.
Standing back up, Aldwin paused as he felt hands clutch his arms. He strained to pull free, but now it seemed the entire tavern had jumped into action, and several soldiers grabbed him in an attempt to restrain him.
Yelling broke out all around him, and then the hands pinning him in place suddenly released, leaving him to fall to the floor, unsure of what had transpired. He cast his eyes about only to see hordes of mice skittering along the floor and climbing up men's legs. It was almost comical, seeing the mighty Galway screaming in fear at such small animals. A hand tapped him on the shoulder, and he looked up to see Albreda.
"I see you've been busy," she said. "I think it's time we left."
He rose to his feet, watching in disbelief as knights ran about, trying to divest themselves of vermin.
Albreda dragged him out into the sunshine. "I rather suspect they'll be busy for some time," she said, "but we shouldn't linger. I thought I told you to just listen."
"I was," he defended, "but they were saying some unkind words."
Albreda paused, stopping him in his tracks, "What sort of unkind words?"
The smith blushed, "The kind of words I shouldn't like to repeat."
"About Beverly?" she asked.
"Yes," he admitted.
She continued walking, and he hurried to catch up. "Aren't you going to call off the mice?"
"I was going to," she admitted, "but based on what you just told me, I think they deserve a little more punishment, don't you? I'll let it continue for a bit longer."
They wandered down the street while townsfolk drifted toward the tavern, eager to see what the commotion was all about.
Albreda led him down an alleyway, stopping to get her bearings.
"What now?" asked Aldwin.
"We make our way out of the city. We've got what we came for."
"We did?"
"Well, I did, anyway. I found the stables that house the knight's horses."
"And?"
"And nothing, I simply talked to them. They can be quite reasonable on occasion."
"The knights?"
"No," said Albreda, "the horses. It seems the Knights of the Sword are generally not liked by their mounts."
"That's surprising," said Aldwin. "I thought they looked after them."
"Some do," offered the mage, "but the vast majority of them have servants for such things."
"Doubtless Beverly wouldn't think much of them," he offered.
"I don't either," admitted Albreda. "And might I remind you it's Dame Beverly or Lady Beverly. Have you become so accustomed to her that you forget her title?"
Aldwin blushed, "No, sorry, I forget my place."
Albreda touched his arm lightly, "Don't be ridiculous, Aldwin, I meant it in jest. You will marry her, after all. It's only right that you should call her by name. Now, come along, we must take our information to the baron."
* * *
"Shouldn't they be here by now?" asked Sir Rodney.
"Give them time," replied the baron. "It may be a while before they return."
"Are you sure it was a good idea, Lord," asked Sir Gareth, "sending a woman and the young lad into Tewsbury alone?"
"Good Gods, man," replied Fitz, "Aldwin is a grown man now, he hasn't been a young boy for years. And Albreda is...well, Albreda is Albreda, need I say more?"
Sir Rodney laughed, sounding much like a horse.
"What's so funny?" demanded Sir James.
"I haven't seen the baron so worked up about a woman since Lady Evelyn," he replied.
"She's not just a woman," replied Sir James, "she's a witch as well, remember?"
"Her power doesn't make her less of a woman," defended Sir Rodney. "I'm sure if you took the time to know her you'd appreciate her finer talents."
"Like what," asked Sir James, "needlecraft?"
"That's enough, gentlemen," said Fitz. "I would remind you that Albreda is a powerful mage and our ally. I will not have you speak ill of her."
"Is that all?" asked Sir James.
"What do you mean?" said Fitz.
"I mean, Lord, that you spend quite a lot of time in the company of Lady Albreda of late."
"What of it?"
"We mean no disrespect, Lord, but it's obvious you hold her in some affection," continued Sir James.
"And," added Sir Rodney, "it is clear she feels the same about you."
"Get to the point, man," said the baron.
Sir Rodney turned to the baron's second in command. "Sir Gareth?" he said.
Sir Gareth turned red, "I think Sir James should make the suggestion."
"That isn't what we agreed to," stuttered Sir James. "It was Rodney's idea."
"To do what?" asked the baron.
"Well," said Rodney, "we've been discussing your situation for some time."
"That's becoming quite clear," stated the baron.
"Well," he continued, "we think you should woo Lady Albreda.
"Woo her?" asked Fitz in disbelief.
"Yes," agreed Sir Gareth, "court her. It's been many years since Lady Evelyn passed away. Perhaps it's time you remarried."
"This is none of your concern," said Fitz, turning crimson.
They were interrupted by the timely arrival of Sir Heward, leading Albreda and Aldwin down the path toward them.
"My lord," called out Sir Heward, "we have returned."
"It's good to see you safe," offered the baron, "and a timely arrival it is." He glanced around at his knights before continuing, "The conversation around here was growing quite uncomfortable. What have you learned?"
"The enemy numbers are large," said Albreda. "They have at least a hundred knights, and I would estimate at least fifteen hundred foot."
"You learned all that from entering Tewsbury?" asked Sir Rodney.
"I also had some aerial scouts," she replied. "Aldwin, here, was more interested in mingling with the locals."
The baron's gaze swept over the smith, "Is that a bruise I see on your face, Aldwin?"
"It is," interjected the druid, "though I daresay the knights that he fought are in far worse shape."
"You fought a knight?" asked Sir James in disbelief.
"I did," admitted the smith.
"Why would you do that?" asked Sir Rodney.
"I was defending a woman's honour."
A smile crept over Sir Rodney's face, "You mean Lady Beverly's honour."
"I do," he admitted.
Sir Rodney trotted his horse over to the smith, extending his hand. "No one can fault you for that, young Aldwin, let me shake your hand."
The smith shook the knight
's hand in surprise.
"For Saxnor’s sake, Rodney, he's not young. He's the same age as Beverly, and she's twenty-seven."
"I know," defended Sir Rodney, "but I'm over sixty, so everyone's young to me."
"He has a point," added Sir James.
"I often wonder if having these knights arrive at Bodden is a blessing or a curse," muttered the baron. "Can we get back to the matter at hand?"
"Of course, my lord," said Sir Gareth. "How would you like us to proceed?"
"I should like to make a demonstration outside of the city. Is Valmar in command?"
"Yes," said Albreda, "his standard was flying."
"And," added Aldwin, "his name was mentioned quite a bit in the taverns. It seems his men don't think very highly of him."
"What do we know of him?" asked Sir James.
"He's vain," began Fitz.
"Can we use that against him?" asked Sir Rodney.
"I think so," the baron replied. "I intend to draw him out."
"What do you have in mind?" asked Albreda.
"That depends on how you made out," said Fitz. "Were you successful in your quest?"
"What quest?" asked Sir Rodney.
It was Albreda who answered the question, "The baron and I discussed a number of possibilities and yes, to answer your question, I did manage to find what I was looking for."
"Excellent," said the baron, rubbing his hands together. "Sir James, proceed back up the road and call the rest of the cavalry forward. We'll parade in front of the city walls, out of bow range, of course."
"And then?" asked Sir Rodney.
"And then I shall call on Valmar to parley."
"Will he do such a thing?"
"Why not?" defended the baron. "He has nothing to lose and everything to gain."
"What do you hope to achieve by this?" asked Sir James.
"I shall attempt to convince him to come out and do battle."
"Surely not," said Aldwin, "he outnumbers us to a considerable degree."
"Precisely why I think he will take the bait. He can't ignore the chance to crush me once and for all."
"And how do we prevent that from happening, Lord?" asked Sir Gareth.
"We have a little surprise in mind for the duke," replied the baron. "When we counter-attack, we only need to wound a few people. They have no healers so any injured will strain their resources."
"Counter-attack?" exclaimed Sir James. "Have you gone mad?"
"Trust me," said Fitz, "their attack will be scattered and lack cohesion. Isn't that right, Albreda?"
"It is, Richard. It is."
"Very well," said Sir James, "then we shall take up our positions."
* * *
Marshal-General Roland Valmar, Duke of Eastwood, sat in a chair, his feet propped up while his hands clutched a goblet of fine wine. He was just starting to doze off when he was rudely interrupted.
"Your Grace," the servant was saying, "you are needed at the wall."
"What nonsense is this?" he demanded.
"The enemy has sent someone to parley," the servant answered.
"Oh, he has, has he? And which enemy might that be?"
"Baron Fitzwilliam, Your Grace."
The duke sat up immediately. "Now that IS interesting," he declared. "I shall be there directly."
Shortly thereafter, he appeared at the walls of Tewsbury, resplendent in his gilded armour. He leaned forward, looking down on the two riders who sat waiting below.
"Who dare come before me?" he called out.
Much to his surprise, it was a woman's voice that answered. "I am Albreda, Mistress of the Whitewood. I come on behalf of Lord Richard Fitzwilliam, Baron of Bodden."
"Has he come to surrender?" asked the duke.
"He has come seeking battle," offered the woman. "He invites you to sally forth and settle the matter once and for all."
"Then he wastes his time," called out the duke, "for I am safely behind these walls while he skulks about the countryside. The baron must be mad, and the fact that he has sent a woman to speak with me is insulting. Tell him to send a real lord to negotiate, and I shall have words."
A new voice called forth from below, "Then perhaps, Lord, you will treat with me?"
Valmar gazed down on the knight that accompanied the woman, but his eyesight was not what it used to be. "Who is that?" he yelled at someone on the wall.
"It is Sir Heward," the man replied, "also known as 'The Axe'. His fame has travelled far."
"It has, has it? Well, it shall travel no farther this day." He raised his voice to yell down at them. "You are a dishonourable knight, Sir Heward, and have brought nothing but shame to the order."
"It is not I that has brought shame," defended the knight, "but the likes of you who serve a dishonourable king."
"That is treasonous," spat out Valmar, his voice rising.
"And rebelling against the crown isn't?" called back Heward.
"Enough of this," yelled the duke. "If the baron seeks battle then I shall be pleased to give it to him." He turned to his aides. "Mount up the knights," he commanded.
"How many, Lord?"
"All of them! I would see the rebel army destroyed this day and then victory shall be ours."
"It will take time, Lord, the men are not prepared."
Valmar turned in fury on his unfortunate aide, "Carry out my command or by Saxnor's beard I'll have your balls hanging from my belt."
The aide scurried off as Valmar fumed.
* * *
The Knights of the Sword poured forth from the gates of Tewsbury. The sun was shining, the wind mild, as more than a hundred men rode out to bring death and destruction to the enemy. The duke's orders had been simple, ride forth and destroy. This was to be no grandiose battle, no careful manoeuvring of troops, just a glorious, epic cavalry charge to crush the enemy once and for all.
Sir Charles of Haverston rode at their head. As an experienced warrior, the sight of the paltry few horsemen that the traitor baron had arrayed against them gave him a sense of relief. Barely thirty horse were lined up, and only a handful of them knights. He spurred on his horse, his men following closely behind. The thunder of the hooves pounded in his chest, and he felt the elation of the charge, his blood singing.
They drew closer, the horses now at full gallop, the enemy unprepared for the coming storm. This would be a day that would live in his memory forever! The details grew clearer the closer they drew, and Sir Charles grinned in triumph, raising his sword over his head, then something strange happened.
The knight commander's horse began veering off to the left. He struggled to control the beast, but the mighty Mercerian Charger ignored him. Digging his spurs in deep, he pulled back on the reins to correct the course, but the horse wouldn't have it.
Sir Charles spotted a woman in the enemy ranks; she sat astride a horse, waving her hands in a strange pattern. When his mount suddenly reared up, he had to ignore the woman and concentrate on maintaining his position in the saddle. He cast his eyes about to witness his men, his knights, all having the same problem. The whole charge ground to a halt as all the knights fought with their horses.
His mind couldn't register what was happening, tried to reason things out, but all he could do was stare, open-mouthed, as the well-trained Mercerian Chargers went galloping in all directions.
The thunder of hooves was replaced by a distant sound, that of the enemy advancing. Sir Charles panicked, tried to wheel his charger about to retreat, but the beast just would not cooperate. He never saw the weapon coming. One moment he was pulling back on the reins, the next his head was cleaved cleanly from his body by an axe, falling to the ground to be kicked by hooves in the onslaught that ensued.
* * *
Fitz watched the melee unfold before his eyes. "That's enough," he yelled. "Sound the recall."
Sir Gareth put the horn to his lips, the notes calling out clearly across the field.
"They're returning, Lord," said Sir Gareth. "It worked."
"Yes," admitted the baron, "we have bloodied their nose, but nothing more." He turned to Albreda, "You have done your part, Albreda, now we must do ours. It is time to retreat, pulling them out of their hiding place and luring them back to Bodden."
"Are you certain they will follow, Lord?" asked Sir Gareth.
"We shall make sure of it," he replied. "We have struck them, and they have not been able to strike back. Knights are proud people, they won't let this insult go unanswered. Ride eastward, Sir James, just as we discussed. We will leave a thin screen behind us to guard our rear. I don't imagine Valmar's men will get very far today. We have the advantage of speed, but we must remain within sight, or they will lose interest."
"You're tempting fate, my lord," warned Sir Gareth. "Should they defeat our rear guard, we would be overwhelmed."
"Then it is imperative that we remain disciplined. Give the order."
"Aye, Lord," replied Sir James.
"Richard?" called out Albreda.
"What is it?" asked the baron.
Her eyes were closed as she sat on her horse, gripping the saddle with both hands as she did so. "I can see the city. There's a massive army south of Tewsbury waiting to march. I fear it's even bigger than I predicted."
"How much bigger?" he asked.
"I would say nigh on two thousand."
"Then let us pray that our allies are successful in Redridge, for if not, we are doomed."
Nineteen
The Battle of Redridge
Spring 962 MC
"The scouts report that Redridge is in sight, General."
"Thank you, Captain Worthington. Have your men pull back until the rest of the army catches up." Gerald watched as the man rode off to relay his orders.
"How do you plan to proceed?" asked the princess.
"Revi's report was rather detailed," he replied. "It seems we will have little choice but to attack their centre."
"Won't they be expecting that?" she asked.
"Yes, but the ends of the lines are both fortified, and we can't afford the casualties a full-scale siege would bring."
"What about the tower?"
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