A Sister's Crusade

by Ann Turner

  ‘I wish I could be with you during the birth. I should be with you,’ Esma said, giving her daughter a hug of affection.

  ‘Care for my sons, Mother. I shall be here when you come back, with your new grandchild for you to bless,’ assured Aubrette. ‘The boys will be strong with you by their side.’

  ‘Care for my daughter,’ Esma said, looking back to Simon. Henodded and, satisfied, Esma went to join her grandsons.

  Finally alone, Aubrette came and stood close to Simon’s body, feeling his warmth against her cheek. The contractions were increasing in frequency and strength, and she knew she must retire to give birth. She had never felt afraid of childbirth before, knowing she would come through it – even with her first two sons, when she had feared the separation from the newborn babies. Now, here she was, no more than a day away from her next child and this time she was afraid – not of the birth, but what would happen if Simon lost his life to Darell’s onslaught.

  Simon guessed her fears and kissed her hair. ‘I shall come back, Aubrette, you know I will. I always do,’ he assured. Simon stood aside and regarded his wife, who looked so beautiful when she was pregnant. He would win for her and beat this interloper who wrongly claimed that Romhill was his. He dropped to his knee, wanting her blessing. Aubrette laid her hands on his head and dug her fingers gently into his thick auburn hair, noticing, for the first time, a few silver strands highlighting his golden head.

  ‘A wife’s blessing to her beloved husband. Be strong, be brave and come back to me,’ she said.

  He laid his hands on her large belly and stroked it, before bringing his face close and kissing it. He then rose to his feet and kissed her hand. ‘Now, wife, I shall accompany you to your chamber, where you shall give me another son to be proud of,’ he insisted. Holding his arm out, he escorted to her chamber, to the waiting midwives and women.

  At the door, Simon kissed his wife one more time and watched as she passed through the doorway. The door was then closed and locked behind her. He turned and strode out to the courtyard to speak to his men to prepare them for battle.

  He first sent out his men to the village to bring his tenants inside the secure walls of Romhill, where they would stay under his protection. The men would be expected to fight by their lord’s side, while the women would attend to the wounded and replenish arms.

  They came in confused groups, watched by Darell’s men, who taunted them with vile threats. They brought only what belongings they could carry in large sacks, while their cats, dogs and other animals had to be left behind. They were afraid of the unknown, knowing only that their peaceful life was under threat. Lord Simon was a decent man, who was only cruel when they broke his rules or committed crimes. He would always grant fair justice to the victims of crime.

  The people were shepherded into groups, and the women were taken inside the hall to make stockpiles of bandages and dressing for the wounded. The children were shown how to fetch weapons during the battle, while the men remained in the courtyard to be given instructions on the use of weaponry.

  Aubrette, meanwhile, paced the floor of her room, with a midwife attempting to ease the pains and her worries about Simon. It did not help at all. She could hear his voice shouting above the noise of the preparations, commanding men to strengthen fortifications and build a barricade to prevent Darell and his army gaining access to the courtyard. She heard the sounds of hammering, heavy loads being dragged or carried, and men calling to each other, who wanted to triumph over the enemy as much as their lord.

  Aubrette cried out as another wave of pain flooded through her and she held tightly to the midwife’s arm. She insisted they went to the shuttered window so she could look out to see the preparations for herself. Pulling the shutters open just a few inches, she looked out onto the courtyard, now blanketed by lengthening shadows as the sun slowly dipped towards the far horizon. She watched the men hurrying back and forth – some carrying bundles of wood, while others were urging the horses, pulling pallets full of stones, towards the growing barricade.

  Aubrette finally saw Simon; he was hauling logs with his bare hands, halting only to give instructions to the pages, who were running to the armoury to fetch quivers full of arrows to stockpile ready for the archers. The metallic ringing of the blacksmith’s hammer could be heard as it struck metal and his apprentice sharpened blades on the grinding stone, honing them to an acute edge. The courtyard was a hive of activity and sound. Darell wanted a fight–he was going to be given one.

  Aubrette trembled involuntary as an evening breeze blew across her face and she returned into the room, which was stifling hot with the fire on the insistence of the midwife. This was to be where all her concentration and strength was now needed, as the birth was imminent.

  She woke from a brief sleep, which had been induced by a drug. It had been a small respite from the pains and she walked unsteadily, supported by her women, to the window to look out again. It was dark and, looking up, she saw the hazy moon, a smudged white thumbprint through a thin layer of cloud, circled with an ethereal rainbow halo. The courtyard, now lit by torches and all was very quiet. Guards stood by the unrelenting barricade, but she could not see Simon or his men. They would be getting as much rest as they were able before it all began at first light. In the distance, Aubrette could see Darell’s camp fires. She wondered how strong his force was and whether the fortifications here would withstand his attack. Past the enemy camp, the first hues of the dawn of a new day were beginning to glimmer on the horizon.

  She staggered back with another contraction and the women made her drink a thick sweet posset. Not long now, she was assured, by the women gathered close to her. By the end of this coming day, she would be holding her new child. Aubrette snapped back irritably that she knew it would not be long, did she not know her own body? Briefly she wondered whether she would be safe or a widow at the mercy of her husband’s slayer at the end of it all.

  As daylight began to crawl across the countryside, the sounds of activity resumed. Final preparations were being made ready. Aubrette, exhausted from little sleep, continued to pace the floor. This labour was proving to be the hardest yet. From outside the locked door, the women could hear the guards hurrying past to their stations. Battle was upon them. Everything and everyone was equipped, and nothing more could be done. The next few hours would decide the future of everyone in Romhill.

  ‘I want to see Simon,’ Aubrette sobbed to the midwife, who stood by her side, holding her arm and rubbing her back.

  ‘Come now, lady. You know he has more important things to concern himself with instead of being distracted by you,’ she patronised.

  Aubrette wrenched her arm free and stepped away from the midwife, her face contorted with pain and anger. ‘I want to see my husband now!’ she insisted through tears.

  The midwife was about to remonstrate her again, when one of the women took it upon herself to unlock the door and stop one of the soldier in his tracks.

  ‘My Lady Aubrette wants to see Lord Simon. Please find him and bring him to her,’ she entreated.

  The soldier shook his head, muttering an excuse, and hurried past. He wanted nothing to do with the event occurring in the room, which was a mystery known only by females. She stopped a second soldier with the same request. After a hesitation, he glanced into the room and shuddered at the sight of his mistress in so much pain. He agreed to the asking and hurried away to find Simon.

  The woman turned back to Aubrette. ‘Your husband will be here shortly,’ she assured.Aubrette smiled through tears, while the midwife glared fiercely at the woman.

  After what felt like an eternity for her, there was loud rap on the door and it was slowly opened. Simon stood there in his armour, uncertain what to do next. She cried his name in relief and he came into the room, automatically unbuckling his sword and thrusting it towards one of the women. He, ignored the irate protests from the
midwife that it was a most irregular occurrence to have a man in the same room as a woman giving birth. She was reminded this was a most irregular situation.

  ‘How fares thee, sweetheart?’ Simon asked, as he held her in his protective arms, holding her close.

  Aubrette felt comforted being in his arms. ‘Come back to me, Simon,’ she said, quietly, her hot face pressing against the coolness of his breastplate.

  ‘Have I not always returned to you?’ he replied, tightening his arms.

  She nodded, then recoiled as another strong pain took hold of her again. Simon stepped back in alarm. He had fought battles, risked life and limb, killed men with no fear, even lost an eye in conflict, but the sight of his wife in such pain, suffering the agony of childbirth, alarmed him.

  He quickly regained his composure and drew Aubrette close to his body again, this time bringing his mouth down on hers in a fiercely passionate kiss. She responded, feeling his strength energising her, knowing how much he loved her. She could face this now.

  He pulled away and tenderly touched her face. ‘Be brave, my wife. We shall be a family together ere long, surrounded by our sons and this new child,’ he promised. Aubrette nodded. ‘I must go now, as my spies had told me that Darell will be attacking soon. I must stay one step ahead of him at all times.’ He knelt for her blessing.

  ‘God speed, husband,’ said Aubrette.

  Simon stood and smiled warmly at her, then retrieving his sword and buckling it around his waist, he departed. She heard him shouting instructions as he headed along the corridor and out into the courtyard. ‘Oh God, it’s coming,’ she cried, holding her shuddering belly.

  Darell commenced the onslaught with the rising sun behind him, using its light to blind Simon’s men. Arrows from the battlements rained down on them, felling those at the front of the attack. They smashed the gates down with a battering ram and, after a bloody struggle, breached the barricade, teeming into the courtyard to face the swordsmen waiting for them. The battle was loud and clamorous, with the sounds of men shouting and screaming as they fell wounded and dying. Arrows whistled through the air and rocks were hurled from the battlements, crushing skulls and shattering limbs. The brave village men that had been recruited to fight for their lives and homes gave good account of themselves, though their skills were lacking to Darell’s smaller but more well-trained army.

  From her room, Aubrette was barely aware of what was going on below her window. She could hear the sounds of the bloody battle continuing in full force. In her cocoon of pain, the noises sounded distant, and she lost all sense of time as the child, bawling vigorously, emerged into the violent world, encouraged and assisted by the midwife. It was over for her, she had survived childbirth again, and again she had been delivered of a healthy child.

  ‘Show me my child,’ she urged, turning and holding out her arms to receive the baby. The midwife washed the child in warm water, wrapped it in a soft blanket and handed it to Aubrette. She looked into the face of her new baby and smiled. It was perfect and beautiful and she instantly fell in love with this new baby. She moved the blanket to see whether she had given her husband another son.

  Aubrette smiled. It was a girl. A beautiful baby girl, as she had secretly desired. She felt that her life was now complete, with her three sons and a daughter. All the women around her were smiling, happy to have assisted in a successful birth.

  Suddenly, they all became aware that it was now silent outside. The sound of the battle had ceased while she was giving birth and it was quiet except for vague voices calling to each other to clear away the debris of the conflict. The melodious sound of birdsong was returning. It was over – there was a victor. Had her daughter been born while her husband triumphed over Darell, or had Darell slain Simon, leaving his family at his mercy? One woman went to the window, threw open the shutters, filling the room with brilliant sunshine, and looked out at the devastation below.

  ‘There are dead bodies, my lady, some with arrows sticking in them, and much blood,’ she observed. ‘I cannot see who the dead are. There are upturned carts, wood is strewn everywhere, and swords and spears are all over the courtyard. There’s also a few small fires, but they shall cause us no trouble. I cannot tell whether Lord Simon has won or lost. Sorry, my lady, but I cannot tell.’

  A hammering on the door silenced the observations and startled the women. In unison, they turned their heads sharply towards the door. A familiar voice was shouting hoarsely to be let in. It was Simon! Had he come to announce victory or was he here to say goodbye before Darell dispatched him? Whatever the reason, Aubrette wanted to see her husband and show him his daughter. If he was going to his own execution, she wanted him to know he had a daughter.One of the women tentatively pulled the door open slightly, peering round, and then flung it back. Simon stood there, proud and erect, bloodstained and victorious. His face was animated with the achievement. He thumped his fist into his open palm.

  ‘Darell is dead! His army is in retreat. I have won! I have trumped him mightily, and crushed those who thought they could beat my men and me! I had him in front of me, begging for mercy and I sliced my sword across his throat!’ Simon re-enacted the event by drawing his thumb quickly across his own throat. ‘When they saw their leader fall, those cowards turned and ran – their appetite for battle finished. We slay the stragglers! Not bad for a one-eyed bastard with a limp!’ he smirked, exhilarated with the victory. Quickly, his mood changed and he became serious. ‘The widows and mothers of my men who gave their lives protecting my home shall receive pensions and monies to keep them safe as my thanks.’ The euphoria returned, as he suddenly realised why he was here. He hurried across the room to his wife, who was still sitting on the floor cradling her newborn.

  Before he could enquire about his latest child, there was a loud commotion from outside. They could hear men’s’ voices shouting and cursing, and the sound of swords as they hissed through the air, culminating in the grunting of a man as a sword buried itself in his body.

  Chad suddenly appeared at the doorway, his sword drawn and dripping with blood. He looked around quickly, taking in the scene of his enemy and his wife – this half-sister of his. He noticed she looked fearful and was still on the floor, holding a newborn child close to her body.

  ‘Chad,’ she whispered, horrified at the sight of him.

  The other women pulled her unceremoniously to her feet and they shied away towards the back of the room. Chad’s eyes narrowed and he returned his cold stare back to Simon, who was approaching him, his sword hissing venomously as he drew it once more.

  ‘I will finish what my Lord Darell was unable to do and kill you,’ said Chad, extending his sword outwards, ready to fight one last time.

  ‘Get out of Romhill, you white-livered reptile,’ growled Simon.

  Chad raised his sword and Simon ran his blade along the edge of it. The two blades scraped together, metal on metal, sending sheer metallic shivers reverberating through the enclosed atmosphere of the small room. The two men faced each other, as two tomcats, squaring up for a fight. Chad, who assumed that he had the advantage over his one-eyed, crippled opponent, made the first move, gesturing his sword forward through the air. Simon coolly reacted by knocking his opponent’s weapon sideward with a single swipe. Chad countered deftly, trained in swordsmanship, and Simon realised it would not be the easy dispatch he had first surmised.

  He stepped to the side and Chad matched the step, still facing him. Suddenly, their blades flashed and rang, clashing spectacularly. All it could take was one wrong move, one slip, to bring either of them to death. Thrusts and parries were made with lightning speed. Chad lunged and Simon tried to circumvent the move, but was sliced in the arm.

  Shouting in rage and pain, he coiled tight in his anger, feeling the warmth of his blood trickling down his arm to his hand, which was still closed around the grip of his sword. Swearing, he barged forward wit
h his shoulder into Chad, knocking him back. One parried the other’s blade, holding his sword vertically as the metal clashed, sending crackling sparks flying.

  Chad elbowed Simon in the face, causing him to turn his head to the side and spit out a pellet of blood.

  Simon was an expert swordsman and much faster than Chad as he intercepted the next thrust. The two men swerved and dodged around the room, stepping over fallen furniture and slipping on the birth fluid that had not been washed away, while the frightened women, screaming shrilly, scrabbled away, keeping as much distance as possible from the fight.

  Chad was good and he advanced forward belligerently, forcing Simon back until he hit a wall. Simon fought off the sword that was coming dangerously close to his neck – any nearer and his throat would have been slit, finishing him off for good. He sharply pushed his knee into Chad’s groin, making him step back with a shout of pain. Simon, being stronger-willed and more disciplined, saw the chance to take the advantage.

  Chad’s capability was deserting him, as he attempted to impede the blows descending down on him in a frenzy. Snarling, Simon swung his sword high above his head, momentarily confusing his opponent, and then quickly dropped the blade in a fast stroke into Chad’s stomach. The impact disabled him, causing him to double over, screaming in agony as Simon went in for the kill. With both hands on the sword’s handle, and roaring with triumph, he propelled his sword downwards with great force. The blade penetrated deep into Chad’s back, felling him in a fatal and bloody blow.

  Aubrette, supported by the midwife and still weak from the birth, watched stupefied, holding her squalling baby in her arms. The other women were screaming hysterically, having never witnessed a sword fight at such close quarters. There was nothing chivalrous about a battle to the death, and they looked on in terror as Chad’s blood mingled and swirled with the residual birth fluid.