“Yield,” she demanded.
Defeated, the knight nodded. “I yield,” he said, removing his helmet.
Two men had yielded, and the third was still rolling around in misery on the ground. She turned to face Prince Alfred.
“Your Highnesses,” she said, bowing deeply at the waist.
Alfred's eyes were wide, while Henry looked quite pleased with himself. “Pay up, brother dear,” said Henry. “I told you she was good.”
“Fine,” Alfred sulkily agreed. He beckoned to a servant, who brought over a pouch of coins. He carefully counted them out, while his brother looked on in interest. With the bag in hand, Henry passed the coins to his servant and then turned to face Beverly.
“I do command you,” he said in a loud voice, “to travel to the Village of Uxley, where you will take up the duties of a knight in service to my sister, Princess Anna of Merceria. Do you accept these duties?”
It was, of course, a mere formality, for no one could refuse such an order, but her father's plan had worked wonderfully.
“I do so accept this duty,” she said, bowing deeply.
“Then you leave for Uxley first thing in the morning. Take the road through Burrstoke, it’s faster, and the cold weather is due soon.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” she said.
The crowd began to disperse. Beverly had done it; her father would be proud. The soldiers congratulated her, their praise warm and heartfelt. Even the knights she had defeated grudgingly admitted she had done well, except for one; he was busy screaming as they applied a cold compress to his groin.
Twenty-Seven
Uxley
Winter/Spring 960 MC
Beverly left early the next morning, before the sun was even up, and was well on her way when the first flakes of snow began to descend. Prince Henry had given her a second horse to speed her journey; she could now alternate which one she was riding to make better time. She rode eastward, where the road meandered through the Forest of Mist. For much of the trip, the sky was camouflaged, blocked by the canopy of green that covered the woods. Here the snow was sporadic, only the occasional flake making its way down to earth. A couple of days later, she cleared the trees to witness just how much snow had fallen. Indeed, it was still falling, slowing her pace considerably. By noon the horses were having a difficult time of it. The snow was knee deep with no previous path, so they had to push their way through it. She had Lightning take the lead with the small palfrey following behind. By evening, even the great beast was tired from forcing his bulk through drift after drift. It was exhausting work, and she was glad to arrive at the small roadside inn that catered to travellers. She saw to the horses stabling, grabbed a hearty meal, and rested the night in a private room, still not comfortable sharing the common room. Burrstoke was only a day away, but looking out at the weather that was setting in, she thought it might take her twice that long to make the trip. She purchased some extra saddle blankets and fodder from the innkeeper before setting out.
The weather turned worse, and the relentless blowing snow blocked all sight of the countryside. Following the road was difficult, and on at least two occasions Beverly had to backtrack when she found herself going the wrong way. She built a shelter that afternoon in a small copse of trees as the blizzard did its worse. The wind had picked up considerably, and the poor horses were walking straight into it. She built a fire and fed the horses while she waited, unsure of how much progress she had made. It wasn’t until it was almost dark that the storm abated. She saddled up and made her way back to the road, determined to get a few more miles in before nightfall. The sky was clear for the moment, and the Glowan Hills could be seen off in the distance. As night fell, she saw the glow of Burrstoke and pushed the horses to complete the journey. It was nearly midnight by the time they arrived, and more flakes of snow were beginning to fall. She decided to spend a day in town, hoping the weather would clear, but the thickly falling snow continued for two more days.
Eventually, it let up enough that she decided to carry on with her travels, but the accumulated snow and colder than usual temperatures slowed her progress immensely. She found every mile to be laborious and by the end of each day she had made less progress than she had hoped. The trip from Burrstoke to Wincaster was about seventy-five miles. In good weather, she could have easily covered this in less than a week, maybe even three or four days, but with winter bearing down on her, she was lucky to progress five miles a day. To make matters worse, she couldn’t cover enough ground to reach the roadside inns that were evenly spaced for daily travel. As a result, she spent more time finding refuge from the cold, building a fire, rigging up some protection from the wind and cold than travelling. She came to the conclusion she couldn’t travel much further for fear she might perish on the road. Her horses were spent, and she knew that once they went down, she would be doomed, for she could cover far less ground on foot. She must seek out shelter and settle down for the winter. Uxley would still be there in the spring, and she suspected that with the harshness of the weather, anyone intending harm to the princess would be just as hampered as she.
Beverly was four days past Burrstoke when she cleared the Glowan Hills and started heading across the vast plain that led to Wincaster. The wind here was particularly harsh for there were only sparse clumps of trees to protect her from the ceaseless buffeting. On the road ahead, she sighted a large farmhouse and decided she must stop. The horses were so tired from pushing their way through the virgin snow, blazing a trail, that would no doubt be covered by nightfall. She forced them off the road towards what she assumed was the barn. She opened the great door and led the horses in, closing it carefully behind her. Looking around the cold barn, she saw that it had a high roof, and bales of hay lined one wall, but there were no recent signs of animals. Perhaps the owners had fled the harsh weather and expected to return in the Spring?
She clapped her hands to warm them, and the numbness turned painful as the blood began to return to her fingers. Glancing around, she could find no obvious place to safely start a fire, which was not surprising, considering it was a barn. She opened the door a crack and looked to the farmhouse for signs of habitation, but there was no movement. No lit lanterns were visible, no smoke came from the chimney despite the stack of wood she spied piled beside the house, half covered in snow. Stomping around the barn trying to get her blood circulating, she decided to dash to the house itself and was temporarily blinded by a cold gust of wind that took her breath away as she stepped outside. She trod through the knee-deep snow to the closest door at the back of the house, noticing that a portion of the thatched roof had been burnt away as she drew closer. The back door had no resistance and swung open with little effort. The building had, at one time, had an upper floor which consisted of a raised section at one end of the house, likely the sleeping area, but it had collapsed, along with the entire northern end, probably due to the damage from the fire and the recent weight of the accumulated snow. The damaged front door across the room dangled from a single hinge while inside, what was not covered in snow was covered in soot, and any valuables had been taken by the owners or ransacked by thieves. She made her way over to the collapsed roof and saw a skeletal foot protruding from underneath the fallen timbers; this must have been the work of thieves, for there were no survivors. Looking about the house, she located the fireplace, but it was behind a large pile of snow and debris and was not going to be of any use. If she were going to survive this weather, she would need to get a fire going, and soon.
Beverly made her way outside the building and looked around, finally spying a two-handed axe lodged in a tree stump. Retrieving it, she made her way to the barn, but the cold was taking its toll on her; her hands were losing their feeling. She removed her gloves and stuck her hands under her armpits to try to warm them. It helped, but made her body feel even colder. She had to go out one more time to retrieve some of the wood from the woodpile. Clearing an area in the centre of the barn, she used straw and wood to buil
d a fire. Getting the fire started was the most difficult task, for though she had flint and steel, striking them with her numb hands proved almost impossible. After several curses and prayers to any deity she could come up with, she saw the sparks take hold and soon had a small fire which she nurtured into a larger flame. The warmth penetrated her limbs, and before long, she was sweating.
With circulation returning, she took stock of her situation. She was low on rations, perhaps two weeks if she stretched it very thin. Fortunately, water was plentiful, for she could melt snow with an old pot she had spied in the ruins. If she were going to be here for any length of time, she would need to find food. Having spent almost her whole life training for combat, she realized that she had very little in the way of survival skills. She would need to find a way to feed herself. She looked at the two horses, but couldn’t bring herself to consider killing one of them for food. With two weeks of rations, she had time to come up with a different option, and perhaps by then, the weather would break. The horses were well taken care of, for there was an abundance of hay piled up. Without a solution for the lack of food, she decided to make her surroundings more comfortable by moving the straw into piles against each wall, the better to cover the cracks that let in cold air.
The storm lasted for two more days and when she finally woke the barn was quiet, save for the shuffling of the horses. The ever-present wind against the outer walls had ceased.
Beverly went outside, walking around the house to ascertain what was available to her. It was only upon her return that she noticed, buried beneath some of the collapsed north wall, a hatch. Evidently, there was a cellar, probably used to store food. She thought it unlikely that the thieves had emptied it, for that end of the house would have been on fire. She began the process of clearing away the debris to gain access. It was exhausting work, and after the first day, she was ready to give up. It was while she was back in the barn warming up that she noticed a harness hanging on the wall. The previous owners must have had a plough horse, and though no animals were left behind, she had a Mercerian Charger, one of the largest breeds of horses alive.
It took her some time to figure out how to attach the harness to the larger pieces of debris, but then she started pulling timbers out of the way. With an abundance of rope in the barn, once she started, the work progressed quickly. Lightning was a strong horse and so great was the rapport between them, that she didn’t have to lead him with a rope, but could tell him verbally what to do.
The final obstacle came loose with a mighty heave, revealing the floor hatch. Beverly detached the last timber from Lightning's harness and walked over to see a recessed ring, and it only took a slight heave to swing it open. It revealed a ladder which led down to a dirt floor, a room perhaps five feet in depth. She climbed down, crouching to avoid hitting her head and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Rough wooden shelves were filled with food stocks. There were sacks of grain, clay jars of mead and wine, even some meat which hung on hooks dangling from the ceiling. The room was frigid; the meat looked completely frozen. She took careful stock of what was present; she could be here a very long time and must take precautions to make sure the food lasted.
* * *
The winter of 960 was the worst in living memory. The cold weather was bad enough, but the amount of snow that accumulated brought the entire kingdom to a standstill. Beverly kept herself busy; she continued to practise with her weapons every day. To keep herself from getting lonely she began to talk to the horses. Lightning turned out to be an excellent listener but Archibald, the palfrey, liked to ignore her. She talked about everything with them, secure in the knowledge that they wouldn’t repeat any of it. She had a lot of time to talk, for she stayed inside for most of the time due to the weather.
Lightning seemed to think that if she couldn’t marry Aldwin, she shouldn’t marry at all and Beverly was compelled to consider the options. She didn’t want to disobey her father, but she couldn’t imagine being married to anyone else. By the time spring rolled around, she was forced to conclude that she would never marry, despite her father's wishes. It was a hard choice, but it gave her a renewed look at life. She would concentrate on her service as a knight. She would find the princess and serve her faithfully, putting all her energies into that.
* * *
By early spring, Beverly had matured considerably. She had been truly alone for the first time in her life, and it had forced her to understand herself better. She was no longer a young knight with an uncertain future; her isolation had hardened her, had forged her into a woman of determination and grit.
The spring thaw allowed her to bury the bodies found in the ruins of the farmhouse. She didn’t know who they were, but she wept as she stood over their graves, for they had been innocent victims of the violence of bandits. She swore on their graves that she would do whatever she could to protect people like them, who couldn’t defend themselves from the brutality that life so often dealt out.
It was with a heavy heart that she left the farmhouse, for it had been her home for months. She turned onto the road and stopped to look once more at the farm. She patted Lightning's neck; he was such a good listener. She twisted around to look at Archibald, munching on a stray strand of grass that had poked through the remaining snow; he was not a great conversationalist. She turned back to face north and urged her mounts forward to Wincaster.
* * *
The capital was busy. The sudden blooming of spring had released the nearby villagers from the stupor of winter, and they poured into Wincaster to celebrate. It was often like this in the spring, some coming to buy new seed, visit blacksmiths to sharpen tools or to purchase a new horse. Spring brought a freshness that seemed to invigorate everyone. Everywhere Beverly rode, people were waving and smiling. She chose to stay at an out of the way inn called the Green Lady; better to not involve the army in her travels. She could have stayed at the barracks, or the Fitzwilliam manor house, but she thought Valmar might hear of it and remembered her father's warning.
Uxley was two long days away, and she wanted to get started early, so she rose before the sun. The king’s road ran directly west, anchored on either end by the great cities of Wincaster and Kingsford. It was the only paved road in the kingdom. It had been completed some fifty years ago by King Andred II, grandfather to the current king. People had scoffed at the wasted expense at the time, but the road had stimulated trade and become a tremendous source of commerce.
Heading out the western gate, she noticed an exhausted-looking rider galloping in on a lathered horse. Jumping off his mount, he passed a dispatch to one of the guards, with these orders; “Take this to the king immediately; it is of the utmost importance.”
“What is it?” said the guard. “What’s the news?”
“We've been invaded,” the man said, gasping for breath. “An army crossed the border north of Kingsford and was bearing down on the city when I left. The king must send troops.
The guard shook his head. “The king’s not here,” he said, “and there’s no troops to send. Let’s get you some food and water, we’ll send the message to the marshal-general.
“Where is the king?” the messenger asked.
“In Shrewesdale, he’s wintering there.”
Beverly took it all in. The kingdom was in danger. She cursed herself for delaying her trip but then realized that without the delay she wouldn’t have been privy to this information. “How many men crossed the border?” she asked.
“At least several hundred, but some reports say it could be almost a thousand.”
She shook her head; this was dire news. She didn’t know the strength of the garrison at Kingsford, but the duke there would never surrender. Perhaps the city could hold out until they were relieved. She spurred her horse forward; her mission was now more vital, for if the army bypassed Kingsford, they could march through the heart of Merceria. She must find the princess and get her to safety as quickly as possible.
The distance between Wincast
er and Uxley was a good seventy or so miles by road, but if she cut cross country, she could slash the length to less than fifty. With some luck, she could cover that in a day, a very long day. She resolved to do so and left the city behind her as she travelled northwest.
* * *
It was quite dark by the time she glimpsed Uxley in the distance, the glow of the village guiding her the last few miles. She knew the Royal Estate was nearby but lacked directions. She entered the town looking for a tavern and soon found the Old Oak. The hustle and bustle of the place proclaimed it as the busiest business in town, and she stepped through the doors, leaving her horses just outside. The warmth of the area enveloped her, and with the rush of heat from the fire, she suddenly felt exhausted. She stepped up to the bar to talk to the bartender, and as she did so, a familiar voice cried out.
“Lady Beverly?”
She looked around to see Arthur Greenwald, one of her father's soldiers. “Arthur? What are you doing here?”
“It’s not good news I’m afraid, an army has come down from the north and Bodden is under siege. The baron sent me with a request for help. I only just made it out before the army encircled the Keep. I’ve been riding almost non-stop for days now.”
Her heart almost stopped at the news. Two armies were now marching on Merceria, and the king was far away in the south. She wondered if she should ride for Bodden, but knew her duty to the princess must come first.
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