by Lara Blunte
The fighting went on between the king’s cavalry and the rebel infantry, but even the fierce barbarians were no match for the mounted knights, the crossbows which had come into play again, and the royal infantry. The rebels surrendered as well, having been left without leaders.
Tameas received the account of the dead the next morning in his tent, given to him by Donnet, who had made a spectacular hole in the rear of the rebel army, rendering the barbarians vulnerable.
They had lost two nobles and by first count about ninety knights and squires. Duke Benedikt had been hurt, but it was a flesh wound, and was being tended to; there was nothing else of consequence.
"On the rebel side?" Tameas asked
"DeGray is dead, by your hand, and Bolbeck by mine. Bullyon is alive and held with other prisoners."
"He won't be alive for long," Tameas said grimly.
"They have lost almost two thirds of their knights and the field is strewn with corpses. There must have been five hundred barbarians with them, and most are dead. They fought too fiercely to be taken prisoners."
Tameas sighed. Now he had better watch Etheld very carefully, as he might want to get revenge, or at least use the deaths of these men as an excuse for an invasion. But he would not be coming any time soon: the waters were starting to freeze on his side, and the king's victory was so decisive that they would ponder awhile before crossing. And, by then, Tameas would be ready for them.
"Your move worked," Donnet said."We might have borne much heavier losses if you hadn't kept their cavalry busy while we went round. I suppose you will be a good general, apart from a good king. A very complete scoundrel, you are."
Tameas scoffed. "I still have half a mind to disappear in the middle of the night one day…All men seem to want to be king, I only need to find a fairly decent one.”
“Good luck,” Donnet muttered.
Lord Adalbert entered the tent, looking flustered.
"What is it?" Tameas asked sharply.
"Sire, a messenger just came from Lathia. It seems that the Earl of Whitehall in the Midlands was part of the rebellion, and his objective was the city."
Tameas stood up, feeling the color drain from his face. Donnet looked just as pale. The three men rushed outside find the messenger.
"Your Grace," the man said, still trying to catch his breath. "When I rode here the Earl's forces were approaching fast. We do not have the strength necessary to stop them there. The city must be under attack!"
Tameas was already running for his horse. He climbed on it and heard the orders being given behind him for the knights to mount, and follow the king. The infantry would not do any good, not when they had to rush back to Lathia.
Squires were gathering weapons and knights finding their horses, and the orders were spreading through camp. They started to ride out at great speed.
But no one rode faster than the king.
A FLIMSY CASTLE
The capital had not expected to be surrounded by the Earl of Whitehall. No one had even known that the sneaky nobleman was part of the rebellion.
When his messenger had come with a request for Lathia's surrender, Lord Jollan was flabbergasted. The look on his face had made Agnetta quake: it was as if he understood that a terrible trick had been played on them, and that whether or not the king met victory on the battlefield, his city was about to fall.
"Coward!" Isobel had cried. "Coming after women and old men! We'll show him!"
Isobel had sent the envoy back with a message of defiance, and she spared the Earl no insult. She called him vulture, cur, traitor, miscreant, villain, and that was as political as she would ever get. She ordered the gates closed and preparations to be made to withstand a siege, even knowing that they had been caught at great disadvantage.
The front of the castle faced the city, and to get there the enemy would have to demolish the strong gate that was being protected by as many men as could be spared. The master of the guards must stay there with them, because it was essential to defend the entrance to Lathia.
The back of the castle faced the countryside, where Isobel and Agnetta could already see the forces gathering to attack them. The walls were high, but not as thick as in some of the old fortifications.
"I always thought it was a flimsy castle," Isobel frowned. Yet Agnetta saw that she was not afraid.
She had told Agnetta not to leave her sight, and the girl watched as the queen ordered pots of water to be put near the walls; if there were ripples on it, they would know that the rebels were mining, carving tunnels underneath them to make the ramparts collapse.
Isobel also ordered sheep skins to be filled with oil, and more cauldrons of oil to be boiled. She placed the archers strategically on the wall, and found the right position for the untrained townsmen, who were wielding pikes, axes, stones and whatever other weapons they could get.
The attack began rather quickly, with a deafening roar from the rebels. Agnetta had never been in anything like a battle, but it was clear that Isobel had, as she walked up and down the battlements shouting orders and organizing the men.
“Throw the sheep skins!” she cried in her booming voice. She was heard from one side to the other on the ramparts, and the skins filled with oil were thrown by small catapults and landed in front of the enemy soldiers.
Arrows were shot by the Earl's men over the wall into the courtyard, and Isobel ordered her archers to draw their bows as she drew her own. “Wait! Wait!” she cried, and then, “Now!”
They answered the rebels with a deadly volley of flaming arrows that lit the oil in the sheep skins below. A wall of fire went up, burning the first column of soldiers. Agnetta covered her ears when the horrible screaming reached her. She could hardly believe that Isobel had the strength to shoot an arrow so far, but she seemed like some sort of ancient goddess with divine power as she fought fearlessly alongside the men.
But before long, the fire had become smoke and the enemy had arrived at the walls to place ladders. They began climbing, though the little oil that was left was being poured on them, arrows were shot, and large stones thrown to keep them from reaching the top of the ramparts. Soldiers had almost made their way all the way up a ladder on the east side, and there was no more oil to throw. Agnetta watched incredulously as Isobel took hold of a battering ram and shouted, “Here, to me!”
Men rushed forward to help her. They held the ram up with her in front, and ran full tilt against the soldiers appearing over the wall. The blow from the ram sent the whole ladder tumbling backwards.
What a queen! Agnetta thought. With her breastplate and bow, her hair flying in the wind, Isobel kept shouting orders, and was the clear commander on the ramparts.
The smoke rising from the field made it difficult for them to see anything, except the men still trying to climb the walls and the ones shooting arrows from below.
Agnetta looked and saw the water rippling inside the pots in the center. They must be mining them. The walls were not thick, and it would not be long before they collapsed.
And then there was the noise of fighting from the side of the city. The gate must have been breached, and the enemy must have entered and reached the castle.
The princess stood up, praying, and thinking she must do something to stop whoever managed to get to them through the stairs. She had never seen anyone killed by violence before, but now several men were lying around her in their own blood. She grabbed a sword and pulled it from under a corpse, but she could hardly lift it.
"Stay back, Annie," Isobel shouted at her.
Agnetta dragged the sword, trying to raise it, but Isobel, who had heard the movement on the stairs, pulled the princess behind her own body. She had picked up a shield and a sword, and looked ready to take some rebels with her if she were to be killed.
There was the noise of men climbing, their spurs ringing against stone, and Agnetta prayed hard that nothing should happen to Isobel; she prayed that whatever beasts came through the door would not be cowardly enough to kil
l such a brave lady, and their queen.
And then, through the smoke, she saw her brother, and for a moment she could not believe it.
"Isobel!" Tameas cried.
The queen lowered her sword and Agnetta moved forward to jump into the king's arms.
"Tom! Tom, thank God!"
"Are you hurt?" he asked, holding her very tightly.
She could only shake her head and turn toward Isobel. She saw that the queen was also looking at Tameas with a mixture of relief and joy, and that he had stretched a hand to her; but just then Sir Harry appeared at the door as well, his face covered in blood.
"Harry!" Isobel cried in anguish. "You're wounded!"
Agnetta watched her brother's hand withdrawing. No, no! she wanted to say, even in the middle of the fracas. Isobel doesn't love him more than you!
However, it was no time for thoughts of love.
"I am not wounded, Your Grace," Harry said quickly, running a hand through his face and looking at the blood. "It must be someone else's."
Isobel looked thankful, but she made no move toward him; neither did the king and queen make any move toward each other.
“Anyone left to kill?” a voice asked, and Donnet appeared at the top of the stairs.
Agnetta left her brother's arms to run into his. He held her for a moment against his breastplate.
"You all smell so bad!" the girl exclaimed.
"You don't smell of roses yourself," Donnet said, squeezing her.
Isobel was looking at Tameas, "My father?"
"A wound of no importance," Tameas said.
"He is well!" Harry added.
Isobel accepted their reassurance and asked, "We have won, then?"
Tameas nodded. "Our forces are disbanding theirs beyond the wall. But we will need to give chase to these cowards. I want them all dead, or in a dungeon."
He turned and started going down the stairs, and Isobel followed, with Donnet, Agnetta and Harry behind them. Isobel led Tameas to the throne room, where Lord Jollan waited with other older men and the ladies of the castle, as well as some servants. Dorthe was among them, and started to make the sign of the cross repeatedly when she saw Isobel.
Tameas motioned with his head for Lord Jollan to follow him, and they entered the antechamber with the two knights, the queen and the princess.
"Where is Sir Jochim," Tameas asked, "considering that was his cousin out there?"
Lord Jollan took a folded letter out of his coat pocket. "He had said some days ago that he was indisposed, Your Grace, and when the messenger came asking for surrender I went to find him, and found this instead."
The king took the letter and scanned it. It was from the Earl, warning Sir Jochim that an attack was going to take place and advising him to leave. It had been written four days before.
"He had plenty of time to tell you, and send a messenger to me," Tameas said, "Instead, he would have let you all perish and the city be taken."
Lord Jollan pursed his mouth. "He has taken a good deal of coin with him, Your Grace."
Tameas was nodding. "What an ugly lesson he teaches me, to trust even fewer people than I had thought possible."
He looked at Donnet and Harry." We must finish this."
"We will gather the men and ride after these dogs," Donnet said. "The first blow we delivered was enough to weaken them."
"They will be much fewer than us, yet we are tired, so be careful," Tameas said.
Both men nodded. Donnet kissed Agnetta's hair, and shook his friend's hand as Harry bowed to the king and queen. Donnet would ride with his own men, and Harry would lead Duke Benedikt's.
Tameas only took a moment to wash his face and change into fresh armor, and he got ready to follow them with Sir Eldon and the knights who had been fighting under them.
Before he left, Tameas embraced his sister again, and this time Isobel didn't run after him, or kiss him, she only stood on the steps where they had first seen each other, as he climbed on his horse.
"Thank you," he said to her, and rode off.
Agnetta stood with Isobel, thinking that was not how they should have said goodbye, even if she knew that her brother would return.
A BALANCE IN THINGS
Rounding up the fleeing rebels was not nearly as difficult as the battle had been, though there was resistance from some of the proudest knights, including the Earl, who lost his life in the field.
Tents were being pitched beneath the ruins of a castle by nightfall, as a ride back towards the city would have put the king and his men beyond exhaustion.
In fact, Tameas thought as he finally sat down to have his armor removed, they were already beyond exhaustion. Yet he needed to wait and learn what losses they had suffered, especially among the knights.
As his squires took the armor from his body, then the chain mail, as they inspected him for wounds and washed his cuts, Tameas remembered the cart they had found overturned by the wayside. Next to it had lain the body of a fat man, and Tameas had recognized the form that he knew well before his men turned the body around and showed him Sir Jochim's open, sightless eyes.
His throat had been cut, and there were gold coins strewn beneath him. He had probably been overtaken by men greedier than him, who had decided to steal what he was carrying as they fled.
Tameas had known Sir Jochim all his life, and it was hard to rejoice at his death, even if he had amply deserved it. The counselor had probably mistrusted the king's ability to vanquish the rebellion when he had heard that his cousin had joined it. He had decided to leave everyone in the castle, the queen, the princess, Lord Jollan and the people of the city to their fate, without warning anyone, probably so that he could make good with the rebels if they won. And he hadn't forgotten to take gold with him.
I would have had to execute him, Tameas thought, so it is better that he should be dead already. He didn't mourn the counselor as much as the terrible things that people did for greed.
Tameas had washed, changed, and eaten something by the time Lord Adalbert and Sir Eldon came into his tent.
Their faces said a great deal. They were victorious, or there would have been more urgency in their demeanor, but they had suffered heavy losses, and hence their pale and haunted look.
"What is it?" he asked. "Tell me at once, how many have we lost?"
"Not many, Sire," Adalbert replied, his eyes on the ground.
Tameas stood up. "Who, then?"
The two men seemed unable to speak. It must be someone of great consequence.
"Sir Harry?" the king asked.
He saw them still looking at the ground. Not Harry, he thought, and he hardly knew that he was walking past them and outside.
"Your Grace!" Lord Adalbert cried, walking after him.
Not Harry, the king thought again. There was something that happened between men who fought together, something beyond any envy or rivalry. He and Harry had fought shield to shield, back to back, defending each other. It was a bond, to face death together. It created a kind of love.
He walked quickly, seeing the line of men outside, a line that led to a tent where, he knew, he would find the body of a great knight. The men took off their caps as he passed, and bowed their heads; some were crying; none would look him in the eyes.
Behind him, Lord Adalbert still followed, calling, "Your Grace!"
He heard Sir Eldon's voice: "Leave him!"
As he kept walking, Tameas thought that everyone should mourn a man like Harry, every knight and every soldier would, as he was courage itself. But why did none meet his eyes? He had expected there might be grief, but not this silence, not this parting of men before him, as if he were to be pitied above them all.
When he reached the tent, pushed the flap aside to walk in, and saw the body covered by a mantle lying on a cot, his knees had already started to buckle, even before he saw the hand that hung to the side, a hand that wasn't Harry's.
It was Donnet's.
Tameas thought that he might fall, but he didn't,
he kept on walking towards the body because it couldn't be true. It couldn't be Donnet. Why would a knight like Donnet fall before an enemy that was retreating? It wasn't possible!
He pulled the cloak away and saw his friend's face, streaked with dirt, his eyes closed, his mouth a little open, dried blood on his neck. He heard someone enter the tent behind him.
"Ah!" said the king, and there was a world of sorrow in the sound.
He could not help holding the body by the shoulders, trying to raise a head that kept falling backwards.
"Your Grace, Your Grace, he is gone," Lord Adalbert said softly.
"No, no, no!" Tameas had put a hand behind Donnet's head to hold it up and he saw that it was true, that there was no life in him. “It can’t be, it can’t be!”
"Your Grace..."
"Leave us!"
"But Sire..."
"Leave!"
When he was alone, Tameas held his dead friend to him and rocked him as he wept.
Donnet had left the world, and was past reflecting on anything, or he might have thought of the witch he had met with Agnetta, and her warning: pluck something here and you might lose it there, because there was a balance in things.
The witch might then have concluded that by giving a love to her brother, the generous princess had lost her own forever.
HARRY'S PLEA
Isobel had been told of Donnet's death at night, and had immediately arranged an escort to take her to the king's camp, which was a two-hour ride away.
She met Lord Adalbert and Sir Eldon as she arrived, and they explained that Tameas was in a tent with his friend's body, and that he had forbidden anyone to enter.
"We don't know what to do," Lord Adalbert said. "He has been in there for hours."
Isobel felt a pain in her chest, thinking of Tameas. She knew there was no loss he could suffer that would be worse, except Agnetta. The two men had loved each other like brothers, and had spent a lifetime together.
Poor Donnet, she thought, for she had loved him too. How cruel that he should be cut down after the war had been won. It was a treacherous arrow that had pierced his neck, Lord Adalbert had said, not even a hand-to-hand combat which Donnet might have won.