Battle Cry and The Berserker

by C. L. Scholey

  Devon again argued with his brother, demanding to be allowed to assist him. He liked not the fact Rory was to engage in a battle all alone. No good would come of it. He would most assuredly perish.

  “You must stay here and guard Juliette. Constantine would most certainly howl the castle down if she were to be injured,” Rory told him placing a calming hand on his shoulder.

  Devon could see the sheer will and determination as it radiated from his older brother. He wished not to argue with him, yet he could not still the tremors in his chest.

  “Any can guard Juliette,” Devon insisted

  “Nay, Devon, she needs you here. I would feel better knowing I had someone I could trust to watch over her. Besides, for some odd reason there are those in the castle who actually believe the imp to be a berserker. I am heir to a bunch of daft fools,” Rory exclaimed with a shake of his head.

  “I am grateful for your trust, so trust me when I say the lass can take care of herself. Perhaps she could be dressed in chain mail and sent to watch your back. My relief would be great.” Devon snorted.

  Rory just shook his head bemused. He then retrieved his shield after donning his gauntlets. He smiled when he looked at them, remembering Constantine’s sweet innocence. With powerful strides he went to fetch his destrier. Rory stopped in his courtyard. He was quite surprised at the sight before him. His knights were in full battle gear seated atop their own mounts. Even the villagers had armed themselves with pitchforks and staffs. His squire held his powerful black stallion ready.

  “Do you seek to declare war on me?” Rory shouted out, his tone bitter. What nonsense was this?

  “Nay, my lord. We beg to set a terrible wrong to right once more,” Mary said from off to his left.

  “What mean you?” Rory demanded.

  Devon stood by Rory’s side as their head knight came forward. He was an older man. Powerful, seasoned, a thinker of strategies, and a favorite of Devon’s. He had always been loyal to their father, he had not taken part either way when Rory had felled the men, though had been sorely vexed he had not been informed Lady Constantine was to be taken. That was something he most assuredly would have stopped no matter the reasoning. The knight dismounted from his horse as did the rest of the men. He approached Rory and stood tall before him.

  “We judged rumors and not actions, my lord. We embarrassed ourselves by becoming frightened of a legend instead of respecting the man. I most humbly apologize for our grave mistake. I offer my fealty and beg respectfully it is accepted.” So saying the large man sank to one knee before Rory. One by one each knight dropped to a knee a hand over their heart, their heads bowed. Each peasant followed suit, until all Rory could see were his people respectfully paying homage to him.

  Devon cast an anxious glance to his brother. Rory was a proud man, he was unsure what to expect. Looking amongst his people Rory realized the fate of his castle now resided solely upon his shoulders. When Rory had been to the Crusades he had offered fealty to his king. He felt it an honor. He would have died for him. Now here were his own people, knights and peasants alike begging his acceptance of them. His heart near burst with happiness and pride, somehow amidst the confusion he had won their trust. Finally he felt he was really truly home.

  “How will we ever manage to retrieve your lady if you are all slumped on your knees in the dirt?” Rory bellowed out.

  A great cheer sounded as the men rose as one. Rory’s mount was brought to him. Devon clasped Rory to him.

  “Be well my brother and return on swift feet,” Devon said into his ear.

  Rory returned the powerful embrace. “Fear not, all will be well my brother,” Rory responded.

  Devon was worried as he watched the small army move away. Lord Christopher’s army was still larger. They would need a miracle.

  Juliette watched the precession. She was having mixed feelings. It was obvious both she and Constantine had judged Rory wrongly. He really was not horrible at all. He loved her sister beyond reason. Of this she was certain. He had been gentle toward herself. What man would think to take on an entire army alone? A man deeply in love, ’twas something they had both dreamed of as children. But did Constantine feel for him in the same way? Mary had told her she must. Juliette wanted her dear sister to be happy. But she could not bear their separation. What should she do? Should she declare herself in love with Lord Christopher and claim happiness for her sister’s sake? Would their husbands allow them to visit after this? Would they even return from the battlefield? The thoughts were too overwhelming.

  “Juliette, are you unwell?” Devon asked. He could see Juliette’s lovely face pale. Perhaps the battle frightened her. Juliette cast him a look so full of despair Devon recoiled. She then fled from him.

  Devon gave pursuit and raced wildly after her into the castle. He was most surprised at her swiftness. She may fight like a berserker, yet she possessed the speed of a terrified doe. There seemed to be no end to his amazement of her. Devon followed her to Juliette’s own chamber where she flung herself face down upon the large bed. He approached with caution, wondering which slender arm might seek to render him senseless.

  “Juliette?” he enquired.

  When no response was forthcoming Devon settled beside her. With a gentle hand he turned her to face him. Her cheeks were wet with her tears and she sobbed. Suddenly she launched herself into his arms and clung tight. Devon held her just as fiercely as her small body was wracked with tremors. His hand stroked her silken hair down the length of her slender back. He rubbed on her shoulders at a loss as to how to soothe her. He felt the wetness on his clothing as she continued to weep.

  “Be still dearest. Have no fear. Your sister will be returned safe and unharmed,” Devon said.

  “Rory would not allow harm to come to her,” Juliette whimpered.

  “Most assuredly not. Surely you have seen how great his feelings are for her?” Devon concurred. Juliette nodded, his relief washed over him at her understanding. Certain now her crying would cease.

  Juliette did not settle. Surprisingly enough her agitation increased. Her tears flowed faster. Her grip became tighter still. She clasped at him as a man once had while he was dying. Did she seek his strength to keep her here as he had? Devon was confused. Pensively his grip remained possessive.

  “Juliette, why do you weep so?” Devon asked.

  “My dearest sister loves your brother, does she not?” Juliette whimpered.

  “Aye lass. She will be happy to be returned to him,” Devon assured her.

  “She will be happy here,” Juliette stated.

  “Of this I am certain,” Devon replied still feeling confused. What was it Juliette searched for?

  Juliette pulled herself from Devon’s arms and dried her tears on her skirts. Though feeling resolved with what now must happen she remained distraught. She offered Devon a small smile that did not reach her eyes.

  “I am feeling better, my lord, my thanks to you,” she said.

  Devon remained unconvinced. Juliette’s movements appeared stiff as she rose from the bed. There was something disturbing within her eyes. It was though the sparkle of life had been quashed.

  Juliette straightened her shoulders deciding on her course of action. She would grant herself one short visit with her beloved Constantine then cry loneliness of Lord Christopher. She loved her sister too much to be selfish. Just because she, Juliette, would never find true love as she had once dreamed, it did not mean Constantine should suffer the same fate. Juliette was convinced Constantine would get over her loneliness of her, if she thought her to be happy.

  * * * *

  The sky was crystal clear. Very few clouds could be seen on the horizon. The air was sweet, as a gentle wind ruffled the huge knight’s shoulder length brown hair. Another knight stood to his right with his hand up over his eyes to shield them from the glare of the blazing sun. Both men had trained their sight on the small army as it rode from the courtyard. Broc in the lead. The villagers were dispersing back towa
rd their homes.

  “What think you?” the smaller man asked of the powerful knight.

  “’Tis time Rory Broc was given a lesson,” The large man growled. He would make Broc pay for ousting him. They had no right to send them off with their tail betwixt their legs. By the time he was through Broc would rue the day they had ever met.

  “What do we?” the smaller man asked. He liked not the idea of facing such a powerful warrior. They had just recently seen a furious Broc in action. His own belly still pained from a solid blow. His friend sported a colorful eye and broken nose.

  “We seek revenge,” the huge knight said then scoffed at the fearful look of his companion. “I will not allow him to get away with what he has done.”

  “But Frederick, the man possesses awesome strength,” the smaller man whined.

  “Be still Louis. I will handle Broc. Then we may both partake in handling the Lady Constantine,” Frederick said, then laughed raucously.

  Louis decided he liked that idea. Still he frowned. “How do we manage to separate Lord Broc from his men and lady wife?”

  “We create a diversion. Fear not my friend, we will have Broc’s men so busy they will run round like a hound chasing his own tail,” Frederick said with a wink, his tone sly. The two men began to plan.

  * * * *

  “Gregory what will we do?” Emit cried. He strode almost crazily about the great hall.

  “Calm yourself man. All will be well,” Gregory soothed.

  “How can you say that? They will most assuredly engage in battle. Someone’s demise is imminent,” Emit practically screeched.

  “The only likely thing to happen is that Lord Christopher’s men will die of relief once Constantine is returned to Lord Broc and they can expire to their beds,” Gregory said on a soft chuckle.

  “Think you they are still ill?” Emit asked with concern. It was un-seemly, that child’s methods of retribution, Emit thought while wringing his hands together.

  “Aye, they suffer still. How long was your recovery?” Gregory inquired.

  Emit looked at him with annoyance. He would rather forget that episode, as his friend well knew.

  “Calm yourself Emit. I meant no disrespect. I have heard only half, if that, of Lord Christopher’s men were even able to mount a horse. Also, as I understand, he leaves a trail of men behind even as they ride, the lot weaker than newborn kittens. Another half have dropped from their saddles.” Gregory chuckled.

  “Think you Lord Broc really seeks Constantine’s safe return?” Emit asked, now worried.

  “Broc has had no word on what has transpired at Lord Christopher’s castle. I have also been informed Nicholas is hesitant about his betrothal to our gentle little berserker,” Gregory mentioned.

  “Think you he will back out?” Emit asked, eyes raised. If word of this were to get out Lady Juliette may not be able to acquire a decent husband.

  “Fear not Emit, all seems to be falling into place,” Gregory declared. He leaned against the high table with his fingers laced.

  “What mean you?” Emit asked suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

  Gregory looked at him thoughtfully. “’Tis nothing my friend. Calm yourself. Come partake in some sustenance. Lord Christopher’s castle has sent over some suckling pig as atonement for taking our dearest Constantine. It looks quite tasty. Join me and we will engage in some repast.”

  * * * *

  Constantine could see a large procession in the distance. It was not long before she could make out the blood-red phoenix. The huge and powerful knight riding atop a massive black destrier could only be one man. Lord Rory Broc, her husband. Constantine’s heart beat frantically within her eager breast. Never had there been built such a warrior. She was certain no other man would ever best him. Proudly she cast a sly glance toward Lord Christopher and was almost shocked. The man should be terrified, yet if truth be told he looked relieved.

  “Praise God, he has come,” Nicholas said, his tone filled with joy.

  Constantine scowled darkly at him. “Should that not be my line?” she enquired dryly.

  Nicholas cast her a sheepish grin. Then to his embarrassment burped long and loud. “Nay, my lady, I feel my gratitude is certainly not misplaced.”

  “He may yet run you through after you partake in ale and biscuits,” Constantine replied haughtily with a quick toss of her long locks.

  Nicholas groaned and his belly gave a great rumble. “Please my lady, do not mention food I beg you.” A few others offered quick nods concurring.

  “Well I for one am hungry,” Constantine said with a scowl.

  “Perhaps I could interest you in some suckling pig,” Nicholas shot out.

  “Perhaps you would be interested in my battle cry,” Constantine returned.

  “Someone find me a high tower,” Nicholas said with menace.

  The two armies grew closer. Rory gazed at Lord Christopher’s men curiously. There were few, fewer still than his own small army. His curiosity piqued as he took note of their tight faces. All were pale. None wore battle gear. They looked to be a sorry lot, ill groomed and slumped atop their mounts. As this thought passed through Rory’s mind one of Lord Christopher’s younger men toppled sideways to the ground.

  “My lord, there goes Philip again.” Rory heard a tired voice say.

  Nicholas raised a weary hand to draw it slowly across his face. He then centered his gaze on Rory. “We seek not battle, Broc. Only to return your wife.”

  “I have not yet decided to return Juliette to her father’s castle,” Rory said on a challenging air. If Rory did not know better he would have thought all sighed with relief.

  “’Tis unfortunate this has come to pass. I concede regretfully and will await your decision.” Nicholas all but mumbled. Praise God, he would not have to deal with the lass as of yet. He was still undecided as what to do. As he finished his thoughts one of Nicholas’s men dropped to the ground and raced for the tree line.

  “What trickery is this?” Rory demanded and drew his sword. Nicholas raised his hands wide in supplication.

  “’Tis not trickery. I assure you the man’s need to relieve himself is the only foul deed on his mind.” Nicholas hoped he made it, they already smelled ripe enough.

  Not only Rory’s curiosity was piqued, all of his men’s were as well.

  “Does your castle have sickness?” The older knight who was first to pledge himself to Rory asked with trepidation.

  “’Tis a sickness we have never afore encountered,” Nicholas concurred.

  Rory’s men were hesitant to go near. On closer inspection they could see Lord Christopher’s men were almost incapable of remaining seated. Even the lad on the ground only groaned. Rory became terribly distressed.

  “Constantine, my love, how fare you?” he asked anxiously.

  “I assure you your wife is more than well,” Nicholas replied almost angrily. “’Tis she who caused the illness.”

  “What mean you?” Rory demanded.

  “Well, do you tell him or do I?” Nicholas asked Constantine with a hard scowl, cast as though to a naughty child.

  Constantine tossed her hair haughtily, undaunted or remorseful. “’Twas his own fault for stealing me.”

  “I only thought to save you,” Nicholas ground out.

  “Constantine?” Rory demanded. He could see the animosity both Lord Christopher and his men seem to radiate toward his dearest wife.

  “I only aided with dinner one eve ’tis all,” Constantine said innocently, eyes wide.

  Rory knew that look. Now what had little vixen concocted?

  “You aided in our near demise.” Nicholas spat, then burped, then groaned.

  Rory heard a small chuckle come from one of his men.

  “I only sought to be returned to my beloved husband,” Constantine purred and directed a meaningful and suggestive look at Rory.

  “Well here you both are. I assure you Broc I only sought to relieve poor Juliette’s heart and ended up needing to relie
ve myself, many...many times.” Nicholas said wearily. To his great mortification an audible noise ruffled the air at his declaration, wafting into the slight breeze. Nicholas felt a slow blush creep up around his neck.

  Chuckle’s and guffaws sounded once more amidst many more men. Rory leveled his sword toward Nicholas’s chest. “In future I demand you leave my family alone,” his tone was firm.

  Nicholas did not even bother to sit taller at the challenge; the trees in the distance seemed to be beckoning his own release. “I assure you most heartily Broc, never again will I venture near your lady wife.”

  Voices concurred from behind him as his men belched and groaned.

  “By God, if you seek to destroy us I beg you do so now,” whimpered the fallen form of the young squire on the ground. Philip still remained face first in the grass.

  Constantine felt a moment’s guilt. “Rory, I beg you, do not kill them.”

  “She yet seeks our suffering. Is there no end to your cruelty,” the young lad mumbled pitifully from the ground.

  “Come now, Philip, right yourself,” Nicholas demanded.

  “My lord, I swear I cannot move. If you were to threaten death I would but weep... with relief,” the boy almost cried.

  “Please, Rory,” Constantine said. She liked not the lad’s defeated tone. “Please, won’t someone aid him?”

  Seeing Constantine’s sorrowful expression had Nicholas’s men turn pensive. Her bottom lip quivered which had the men springing into action. Nicholas’s men raced to dismount, a few stumbling in their haste to help the boy, as well as quite a few of Rory’s own. All knowing and aware what would transpire next if the lip were given free rein.