Juston rolled his eyes. “You are no good to me if you are sleep deprived,” he said. “Where are Maxton and Achilles?”
Gart rubbed his hands together, trying desperately to warm his fingers. “Maxton is in the keep, I believe, as is Kress. I saw Achilles heading to the outer wall repair before dawn.”
Juston digested the information before turning to Gillem. “Double the number of soldiers in the gatehouse to relieve you and Gart for a short time,” he said. “Meanwhile, I am taking Gart with me.”
Gillem nodded smartly. “Aye, my lord.”
With Gillem under orders, Juston and Gart headed out of the gatehouse and into the inner bailey, a vast thing. Bowes Castle was built on an ancient Roman fort and part of the fort walls were incorporated into the outer walls of the castle, but there were also berms and a ditch to add to the defenses. It was one of the features that made it so difficult to breach.
Once inside the bailey, Juston could see for himself the damage his siege had caused with the burned outbuildings and wandering animals from a stable that had been destroyed. There was a large group of men working on the damaged wall and still others who were cleaning up and organizing the outer bailey. Animals were being corralled for the most part and the outbuildings were being sifted through. There was a good deal of activity.
“There is a storm coming in from the south,” Juston said as he watched the work on the damaged wall. “Mortar will not set in weather such as this. It will slow the repairs down considerably.”
Gart nodded, pointing to the battlements. “Several of the wooden shutters in the battlements were damaged as well,” he said. “Christopher has been supervising the repairs for the most part. He told the men not to worry about replacing the defensive shutters right now. He wants them to focus on the wall.”
Juston approved of that decision. De Lohr and Burton usually took charge in situations like this and he knew how they thought, how they operated. With them riding north to Cotherstone, however, that left Achilles in charge and Juston could see him over by the broken wall, directing the men. Seeing that everything was well in-hand in the destroyed outer bailey, he and Gart proceeded to the half-burned bridge that crossed the moat surrounding the inner bailey.
The inner bailey was big, housing the keep and kitchens, among other structures. The first thing Juston saw as he crossed into the ward was a collection of wounded against the southern wall. There were rows of them, closely packed together, while servants struggled to erect some kind of shelter over their heads. They had driven poles into the ground, scrap wood from some of the structures that had burned, while still other servants were hammering together more pieces of half-charred wood to place on top of the poles to provide some shelter from the angry sky.
It was a very busy operation and servants were moving quite swiftly. They didn’t have the proper tools or materials, or even the strength to do such things, but they were working valiantly. The first thing Juston saw, other than the men on the ground, were two women moving among the wounded, offering what comfort they could. He was immediately drawn to Emera, kneeling on the ground near a man who had his legs splinted. His eyebrows lifted at the sight.
“What are the women doing out here?” he demanded. Then, he pointed to Emera. “I told de Lohr to lock her up.”
Gart could see the woman Juston was referring to. Even though there were two de Lohr brothers, Gart knew he meant Christopher. He was the only brother Juston ever called by his last name.
“I do not know, my lord,” he said honestly. “I have been in the gatehouse all night. But if the lady is out here… surely Christopher had a good reason.”
Juston was building up a righteous anger. “He disobeyed me,” he grumbled. “I told him to lock her up.”
Gart wasn’t sure what more he could say. “There are many Bowes men that were wounded, my lord,” he said. “Maxton moved them out of the keep last night and almost a quarter of them perished in the freezing temperatures. I know that Christopher did not agree with Maxton’s decision so mayhap he brought the lady here to help them. It is clear that they needed help.”
Juston jaw was ticking angrily. His gaze lingered on the collection of wounded and the women moving among them. “Find Maxton for me,” he growled. “Send him to me.”
Gart nodded and headed towards the keep as Juston headed towards the Bowes wounded.
And Emera.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to say to her. It wasn’t her fault that Christopher disobeyed him, but Gart made a good deal of sense. Christopher hadn’t agreed with Maxton’s decision and he’d been clear on that, so it made perfect sense that he’d direct the lady to help her own wounded. There was that mercy they’d spoken of the night before; Juston’s lack of it and Christopher’s overabundance of it. Juston wasn’t sure which was the better trait, to be truthful. An excess of compassion could cause trouble. He knew that better than most.
“My lord de Royans?”
Juston felt something on his right leg, looking down to see that one of the wounded men had reached out to touch him. More than that, the man had called him by name. Considering these were all Bowes wounded, he thought that rather odd that a soldier should know him but he came to a halt, peering down at the older man who was lying on a pathetic bed of wet rushes and frozen woolen blankets. The man was ghostly pale as he gazed up at him, eyes sunken in his pasty face.
“Who are you?” Juston asked. “How do you know me?”
The man smiled weakly, his blue lips quivering with cold. “I served beneath you at Taillebourg,” he said. “You were brilliant in that action, my lord. I should have known it ’twas you who laid siege to Bowes. You managed to take down the castle that could not be taken.”
Juston’s anger at Christopher, at Emera, was doused like a water to flame. He crouched down beside the old soldier, looking at him seriously.
“Taillebourg,” he muttered. “That was several years ago. What is your name?”
“Cowling, my lord.”
“And you now fight for Henry?”
Cowling blue lips twisted wryly. “I served de Cieto, Baron Belthorn. Do you remember him, my lord?”
Juston nodded, warming to the conversation in spite of himself. “Of course I do,” he said. “He is a strong ally of Richard’s.”
Cowling nodded. “He was, but his son was not,” he said. “De Cieto died three years ago and his son came into power. Young Edwin, if you will recall. He swore fealty to Henry, who rewarded him well. De la Roarke was a friend of young Edwin and when de la Roarke called on his allies to reinforce Bowes, I was sent north with about three hundred de Cieto men.”
That was a surprising statement. Juston hadn’t known that de la Roarke had support from other Henry allies. “I see,” he said. “So the de la Roarke men are not all his own?”
Cowling tried to shake his head, made difficult because of the cold. “Nay, my lord,” he said. “He did not have many of his own men so he sought help from allies to reinforce his ranks. That is why… my lord, you’ve heard of the crimes de la Roarke has committed? Against travelers, I mean. Men he would rob and murder?”
Juston nodded. “I know if it,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“Because he was not alone in his crimes. He did it to pay tribute to the other allies who supported him. There were many men involved in his crimes. He would send riches and coinage to his friends and allies.”
An even more surprising statement. Juston hadn’t known any of this. “Is that so?” he asked, but it was a rhetorical question. He was simply astonished to hear such things. “A network of men involved in his dirty dealings?”
The soldier nodded. “He would distribute some of the stolen items,” he said. “They would supply him with men and other things.”
“Allies in here in the north?”
“Mostly, my lord.”
A surprising network of thievery going on in the name of Henry. With that thought, something else came to mind, something that
could be significant. “And de Puiset?” Juston asked. “He is the lord over this land. Is he involved?”
“Heavily, my lord.”
It was a serious revelation. Truth be told, Juston wasn’t all that surprised to hear such things, but the conversation was very enlightening. Things were starting to make more sense to him now, especially in the sense that Henry’s supporters in the north seemed to be quite well supplied with wealth. They seemed to have an unlimited supply of coinage to support Henry’s armies, which was something Juston had always wondered about.
But the revelation also underscored the fact that when Juston captured Bowes and killed many men, it was the men of several of Henry’s allies he killed in the process, not simply de la Roarke men. And that made him a bigger target than ever for those seeking revenge on his actions – not only had he taken away a source of wealth for Henry’s allies, but he’d killed their men as well.
No wonder de Puiset hadn’t rushed to Bowes’ aid… it could possibly mean he was gathering strength, and allies of de la Roarke, to lay a counter-siege to Bowes in revenge. If money and riches were involved, then it might not even have anything to do with Richard or Henry – and everything to do with a revenue stream that had been cut off when de Royans had taken the castle.
It was certainly something to think about.
In an uncharacteristic display of camaraderie, Juston put his hand on the old soldier’s shoulder. “Thank you for your honesty,” he said. “I am grateful for your information.”
Cowling nodded. “Serving you at Taillebourg has been my greatest honor, my lord,” he said, lowering his voice. “But watch yourself. Many of these wounded do not feel the same way. If they know you are the commander, wounded or not, they may try to move against you.”
Juston looked around at the dozens and dozens of wounded, men lying on the frozen ground, half-frozen themselves.
“Are there any more like you, men who have served with me at some point?” he asked.
Cowling reflected back on the men he knew who were wounded, too weak to actually turn his head to look at them.
“A few,” he said. “I do not know if they survived the night, though.”
That comment caused Juston to look and see just how horrible the conditions were. Men were lying in mud, their wet blankets frozen to their bodies as another storm approached. He knew they couldn’t survive another bout of freezing rain out in the open like this. As much as he hated to make what he considered a trivial decision, as his decisions were confined to battle and life or death situations, he was about to override Maxton’s directive to move the wounded into the bailey. Men like Cowling deserved better.
Removing his hand from Cowling’s shoulder, he stood up, looking around the wounded only to come face to face with Emera. She was now only a few feet away from him. Somehow, she had moved within close proximity of him and he hadn’t even noticed. She was staring at him, studying him, digesting him….
Those eyes, he thought. The purest blue looking at him – half in fear, half in curiosity, but all-consuming. Before he could say anything, he heard Cowling at his feet.
“My lord?” the man rasped.
Juston tore his eyes from Emera and knelt back down beside the old soldier again. “Take heart,” he said, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder again. “I will have you moved someplace warm and safe. You shall not endure these terrible conditions much longer.”
Cowling grasped at him. “It is of little matter, my lord,” he said, his freezing fingers digging into Juston’s arm. “I am old. It is my time. But that is not what I was going to say… the lady, the sister of Lady de la Roarke… has anyone told you?”
“Told me what?”
“Her father… he is a Lusignan.”
Juston’s manner hardened. “I have been informed.”
“I heard rumor that her father was at Taillebourg.”
That news, in and of itself, wasn’t a great revelation. Many men had been at Taillebourg. Juston simply patted the man on the shoulder again and stood up, just in time to face Emera as she took another step towards him. In fact, she was rather close and he found himself oddly unnerved by it.
“Sir Juston,” she said before he could speak. “May I speak with you?”
He eyed her. “You know my name.”
“Sir Christopher told me.”
Juston cocked an eyebrow at her, a gesture that suggested he wasn’t quite pleased about that. “I see,” he said. Then, he looked her up and down. “What else did he tell you? And what are you doing out here? I distinctly ordered you to be locked up.”
Emera could see that he wasn’t being much friendlier than he had been the night before. Even so, the sight of him in her midst had caused her heart to stir in a way she’d never experienced before. It had been a curious sensation, one that took a dousing at his snappish manner.
“I was,” she said. “Sir Christopher locked me up but when he came to me this morning, the small room he’d put me in was full of bad air from the fire in the brazier. He said if I remained in there any longer it would kill me. So in the process of taking me to the keep to find somewhere else to put me, we came across the wounded that one of your knights so callously purged from the keep. I insisted that I be allowed to tend them and Sir Christopher agreed.”
Juston was even more displeased after her speech. “Do you always go about insisting you be allowed to do whatever you wish?”
Emera shook her head. “Of course not. But look around you; these men are dying from exposure. I am simply trying to make them more comfortable although it seems like an impossible task. They simply do not deserve to be treated this way, my lord. Please allow me to continue to aid them as best I can.”
Juston didn’t want to admit she was right. He glanced down at Cowling, still at his feet, and he could see the blue shade of the man’s lips and the even bluer cast of his hands. This was a good soldier who had served with him, years ago, now left out to die by Maxton’s orders. But he was afraid that if he agreed with her, it might be perceived as weak in her eyes. She was a strong woman, too strong. He didn’t want her to think that he was pliable to her wishes. But he also couldn’t allow these men to freeze to death out in the elements. Now that he’d seen the reality for himself, he agreed with Christopher’s assessment of it completely.
Perhaps it was time for him to show some of that mercy again.
“You cannot make them more comfortable out here,” he said. “Shelter must be provided. Is there any other shelter other than the hall?”
Emera was vastly surprised he should ask her such a question and she took it very seriously. Last night he’d seemed too cold-hearted about everything but this morning, his manner was different.
“We put the wounded in the hall simply because it was the most protected place we could put them at the time, my lord,” she said, sounding very respectful since he seemed to be inclined to agree with her about the wounded. “But since you will be occupying the hall, mayhap we could move them to the vaults below the hall, on the ground level of the keep. Due to the siege, most of our stores are gone, anyway, so there is room for them there. The only problem would be keeping them warm. There are no hearths and I fear if we bring in braziers, then there would not be proper ventilation. It would turn the air bad again.”
It was a rather astute suggestion coming from a woman, something that made Juston think she wasn’t as empty-headed as some. He glanced up at the sky, with more dark clouds moving in. Time was growing short. He scratched his head thoughtfully.
“Are the kitchens intact?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Then boil all the water you can. Since we have an abundance of it, let us put it to good use. Make hot compresses with rags and cover the wounded with them. That will keep them warm for the time being.”
It was a simple yet brilliant plan. Emera was very pleased that Juston should show such mercy to the wounded of Bowes.
“We will, my lord,” she said quickly. “
May we start moving them inside?”
He nodded. “Show me where you plan to take them, first,” he said. “And I would see your stores to see what you have left.”
He meant to confiscate them, or so she thought. Emera’s relief in the situation with the wounded was tempered somewhat. “We do not have much,” she said. “It was a long siege, my lord. We have mostly oats and grains left. The men have been living on porridge.”
“Show me.”
She did. Leaving Jessamyn with the servants, she gathered her muddy, dirty skirts and headed towards the keep to show Juston the great storage vaults. Just as they were approaching the stone forebuilding that housed the staircase leading to the first floor entrance, they were met by Maxton emerging from the keep with Gart. Maxton’s attention was on Juston.
“My lord?” Maxton greeted Juston. “Gart said you wished to speak with me.”
Juston nodded. “You moved the wounded out of the hall,” he said. “I cannot believe many of them survived the night, being left out in the freezing weather.”
Maxton’s expression hardened. He looked straight at Emera, thinking all sorts of things at that moment – that perhaps she’d used her female wiles to convince Juston that Maxton had made a terrible decision in removing the wounded from the hall and that these men, these prisoners, were to be treated fairly. He could just hear the woman complaining. Although Maxton had never known Juston to be seduced by a woman, there was always a first time. He felt as if he had to defend his decision, something he wasn’t used to doing.
“The keep is secured for Richard,” he said firmly. “The hall has been cleaned out and scrubbed, and last night about three hundred of our men slept inside by a warm fire for the first time in weeks. They’ve had little shelter and comfort in all that time, as you know. There are three big chambers in the keep; one on the first level and two on the second level, and they are all comfortably appointed. They will make excellent quarters for the knights.”
He made sense and Juston knew that Maxton was only doing his job, harsh as his stance had been. He crooked a finger at the man, pulling him away from Gart and Emera. When they were out of earshot, he turned to him.
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