“…It is a blessing when two young people of this quality find each other...”
Their clothes were not quite right, but neither was that too uncommon, as matching servant attire was not always available for the temporary help.
“…bequeath to them fine lands in the kingdom of France...”
Their bearing! That was it. That was what was bothering him. Though their heads were bowed, they were marching almost in time. Their posture and bearing was that of a stiff military unit. And their boots were thick leather, like the boots of soldiers, not the soft boots of servants. There was some subterfuge afoot. But why? Why would they be here now?
William hesitated only a moment, knowing Henry would never forgive him if he was wrong about this, but he quickly determined the risks involved if he were correct were too high. He slammed his glass down on a nearby table hard enough that George Mayfield stopped mid-sentence as every eye turned to William. “We are under atta—” Just then, across the courtyard the stable door exploded outward as an armored body came crashing through it. They all turned toward the source of the sound in surprise.
Thomas squinted at the figure who struggled unsteadily to his knees. “That's John!” he exclaimed.
“ Ha! You owe me two-and-a-half pounds,” Richard said triumphantly, still not grasping the gravity of the situation.
With the last of his strength, John struggled to his knees and shouted, “It’s a trap! Trap! Defend yourselves! Defe—” With that he collapsed face down on the lawn.
William was focused on the giant figure silhouetted in the gaping stable doorway. There was no mistaking that frame. “It’s the giant!” William shouted. Everyone looked at him even more confused. “We are under attack!” he roared, shoving over a table both for protection and to startle the guests into action.
Upon hearing this, the men pushing the carts pulled weapons from under the tarps covering the carts. More armored soldiers jumped from under the wagon coverings and charged the last of the distance up the hill.
The giant disappeared from the doorway, and Thomas raced toward the stable. “John!”
The wedding guests began to scream and flee in panic. William looked around frantically for the guards, but there was no sign of them. Then all was pandemonium. The Moors began to cut into anyone that came within striking distance. There were about thirty of them in all. The guests outnumbered them five to one, but the Moors were heavily armed and armored. Nobody from the wedding was armed. The guests were easy prey.
William shoved through the crowds to the closest Moor as an aged aunt of Mary’s was run through from behind while trying to flee. It was too late for her by the time William reached her. The implications of this moment were crashing in on him even as he struggled to gain control of the situation. John had obviously been attacked by the giant. They were being attacked on their own land while celebrating, and his loved ones were in enormous danger. His mother, brothers, friends, and Leah were all in jeopardy. Fury was boiling by the time William reached the first Moor. The habitual rage that he had fought against all his life—the rage that consumed him since discovering these personal attacks on his family—took over. William knew he was not as good a fighter when angry, but at that moment he did not care. He charged the closest Moor.
Seeing the unarmed party guest running toward him, the Moor sneered and brought his sword down in a heavy overhand blow with both hands. But rather than shrink from the blow, William charged even faster, a move that was so unnatural and counterintuitive that the Moor did not have time to react. Rather than contacting soft flesh, the Moor’s swing proved useless as William spun underneath his arms, then crouched and turned his back to his assailant. William locked his hands over the Moor’s wrists, which were trapped over his right shoulder, and sprang out from his crouch. The momentum from the blow was sufficient to shatter the Moor's left elbow, and a nudge from William’s right hip sent the off-balance Moor up and over William’s shoulder, leaving his weapon resting neatly in front of William. The Moor screamed until the hard thud on the ground knocked the wind from him. Before he could regain himself, his own curved scimitar had smote deep into his chest.
***
Richard looked around nervously amidst the crowd. He was still a shadow of his former self and felt the lack of his former strength very acutely, though he was still far larger than any ordinary man. But it was more than his diminished strength that filled him with reservations. He had not been involved in a battle since his defeat and capture; and what’s more, he had not been involved in a battle since, in the clutch of a fevered mind, he had seen into Hell. He had seen where all his sins—where all the killing—was going to lead him and was loathe to walk that line again.
He hesitated, considered running, looked for the guards; but they must have been neutralized before this moment because no one was coming to their rescue. A woman was stabbed in the belly in front of him as she tried to get away, and Richard’s jaw tightened. He steeled himself as he stepped forward, unarmed, to face her murderer.
The Moor was just pulling his bloody blade from the woman writhing on the ground. He turned toward Richard and drew back to strike at him. Richard stepped boldly forward and seized his sword arm with one massive hand in a vice grip that threatened to break the Moor’s wrist. Richard pressed his body against his attacker, wrapped his free right hand around the helmet, grabbing the face of it, and twisted sharply. With a sickening pop, the Moor body went limp, and Richard casually took the weapon from his hand as he fell. He ignored the wrenching in his stomach as he realized how easily killing still came to him but accepted that he had no choice on this occasion.
***
Thomas had been cut off by three Saracen rogues as he ran to help John. He looked around quickly for a weapon but did not find anything. The rogues approached, and Thomas slipped behind a long table and kicked it on its side between them. He smashed one leg of the table free with one meaty forearm. The first Saracen was just jumping the table as the table leg broke free. Thomas did not hesitate to crack the heavy oak leg over the back of the unprotected head. The Saracen’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped to the ground. Thomas grinned at the remaining two as he caught the first blade on his makeshift club.
He felt strong again. The training was working. He had not known anything like this was coming, but he was glad now that he had been ready.
***
Henry was numb with shock and rage at this attack. Not only had these foreigners attacked his family, but they had specifically plotted to defile his day. They were killing indiscriminately any guests they could reach: relatives, friends, and well-wishers. Henry saw William charge headlong into the battle. He himself wanted to do the same but had to keep his head about him. He immediately took his bride and her parents and rushed them back into the church. He ordered them to bar the door, then spun to join the battle and came face to face with Martha, out of breath and fearful. With some amount of annoyance, he banged on the massive wooden door of the church, identified himself, and ordered them to open it. When the door was cracked, he roughly propelled Martha into the church, ordered them to bar the door again, and went charging into the fray.
He bowled over the first Moor he came to, who was busy massacring another wedding guest, with a well-placed shoulder in the small of his back. Seizing the Moor’s fallen spear, Henry rammed it viciously into his throat as the Moor struggled to regain his feet.
“Henry!” William shouted at him. “Help Thomas!” Henry scanned the grounds until he spotted Thomas up toward the stables, fencing madly with two rogues. He nodded his understanding and ran toward Thomas, still clutching the clumsy spear in his hand. He did not care for this weapon. He was much more adept with a blade. As he passed by William, William threw the scimitar into the air in front of him. Henry caught it in his left hand as he slammed the fallen Moor’s spear into the ground and kept running.
***
William crossed the short distance to the next assailant, ya
nked the spear from the ground, and brought it down in one smooth overhand motion on the unprotected Moor head. The Moor froze for a moment in surprise, then collapsed.
William spun to find Leah behind him. He seized her arm in his left hand and pulled her quickly the short distance to where Anthony was fighting with an opponent, desperately fending him off with a serving tray and meat clever. Wordlessly, William rammed the blade of his spear deep into the Moor’s blind side, ignoring Leah’s gasp as his stained white clothes became even more blood soaked. He propelled Leah unceremoniously toward Anthony, who caught her as she stumbled forward.
“Anthony, I am charging you with her safety,” William said, stabbing his spear in the ground and retrieving the fallen Moor’s sword. He threw it to Anthony, who deftly caught it in his right hand while retaining a protective grip on Leah with his left.
“But I can help you,” Anthony insisted.
William, who had already turned back to the fighting, turned once again to face Anthony. “You can help me by ensuring she,” he said, jabbing a finger at Leah, “and all other guests are safe! Now go!” William commanded. Anthony did not argue further. He turned Leah towards the castle and started off.
“Anthony,” William called after him. “If only one person survives here today, it had better be her.”
Anthony nodded his understanding and continued to guide Leah away. Leah craned her neck and watched with a horrible fascination as William yanked the spear from the ground and raced toward a small group of Moors. They were on his land, in his house, slaughtering his family and friends in the most cowardly fashion imaginable. The rage William had spent years learning to control found new channels through his body and flowed freely now. He welcomed the increased strength and renewed energy that accompanied the anger. He swung the spear in a wide arc at head level, slashing across the face of the first of three Moors and using the momentum of the spin to slam the heel of his boot into the head of the next. William brought the spear back up, spun it in an underhand swing, and ran the third Moor through the belly. The first had unconsciously dropped his weapon to tend to his deeply cut face. Leah was horrified to see William turn and run this unarmed man through the chest. And without a moment’s hesitation, he spun and dropped the point of the weapon into the back of the neck of the man he had knocked off his feet with his kick, who was on all fours trying to right himself.
The whole grounds were in chaos. The Moors were quickly disappearing now and would soon be outnumbered. But there were a disturbing number of wedding guests lying in pools of blood, which was running over the green grass in grisly contrast to the beautiful beginnings of the day.
One of the effects on William of letting the anger overtake him was a kind of tunnel vision. He had a very narrow focus, and he did not see the danger from behind. Leah saw it from where she was still being removed to the castle. She shrieked a warning to William, but he could not hear her over the din of the yard. William’s first visible warning came from the gleam of light off the metal of the blade that spelled his doom. The light caught the corner of William’s eye. But by then the Moor was already into a side arm swing from behind. With no time to consider, William leapt straight backward. It was too late to avoid the blow completely, but the slower-moving section of the blade toward the hilt sliced into his right arm as his shoulder blades plowed into the surprised Moor’s chest.
William and attacker both went to the ground, with William landing on top of the Moor. The breath exploded from the Moor’s lungs, and William’s head involuntarily snapped back, crashing painfully into his opponent’s nose.
William was in pain but not stunned as his opponent was. He rolled to his right, seizing the Moor sword with his fresh blood on the blade, and stripped it from the Moor’s hand as he rolled by. Leah let herself breathe when she saw William roll away. By then they reached the castle door, and Anthony was gently but firmly trying to guide her into the entrance. “Please go inside and barricade the door, milady, until I return.” Leah was still trying to watch the battle as Anthony pushed her out of view behind the heavy door. She shoved his arm away and lunged back out the door just in time to see the now disarmed Moor climb to his knees and beg for his life. William wore a look of unbridled fury Leah could not believe as he stepped toward the Moor without a moment’s pause and severed the Moor head completely from his shoulders. A crazed look was in his eye that Leah had never seen before—a mania that bordered on the verge of complete loss of control. Leah felt ill. She could not believe what she had just seen. She could not believe that William, a noble and gentle man, would murder an unarmed man begging for his life. Anthony shoved her back through the door and closed it against her back. Leah sank down to the floor, suddenly feeling weak in the knees. The tears came now at what she had seen: the violence, the terror, and the horrible reality of watching people being slaughtered. And now it was her best friend, whom she believed in above all others, doing the slaughtering.
William tore a strip of the dead man’s clothes to bandage his arm that was bleeding heavily. He surveyed the battlefield as he did so. He could see Thomas, Henry, and Richard fighting in relatively close proximity to each other. They were fending off the last few assailants that stood between them and the stable where John lay. William had to get up there. He darted toward them as Richard crushed the skull of his opponent and turned on the other two.
The giant was nowhere to be seen. William knew that he must be escaping. They could not let him go again. This was at least the third time he had been involved in a direct attack on their family. This would not stand. They could not let another injury to their family pass.
William was running full tilt when off to his left he spied the breathtaking, dark-haired woman from the church. She had fallen back on the ground with a Moor standing menacingly over her.
***
Evelyn had gotten caught up in the chaos as the guests started to panic and run blindly in every direction. She had tried to find her parents and family, but there was too much bedlam and too many people screaming and crashing into everything. There seemed to be assassins everywhere slaughtering anyone that came within reach. She raced toward the church where she had seen others escape to, but it was locked when she arrived. Desperately she ran toward the castle. Where were the guards? How could this be happening?
There was an elderly woman lying on the ground in a daze but with no apparent injuries. Evelyn stopped next to her. “Are you hurt?” she said gently but urgently. Still dazed, the elderly woman shook her head. “Then we must go quickly!” Evelyn said, taking her arm and trying to help her up. A man screamed ten feet away from her, and she turned to see an unarmed guest collapse under the mace of a Moor.
Evelyn stepped in front of the woman, never taking her eyes off the Moor who now fixed his sights on her and started toward them. She took both the old woman's arms and pulled her up. “We must go this instant!”
As the old woman came to her feet, Evelyn stumbled backward and bumped into someone. She spun as a surprised Moor rounded on her. With a vicious backhand he sent her sprawling.
He stood over her with a lascivious expression and said something in Arabic that she did not understand; but his meaning was clear. He laughed to himself to see her frantic expression. She looked around for a weapon, but finding nothing she grabbed a handful of turf and hurled it into his face. He flinched, and Evelyn kicked him hard enough in his unprotected groin to lift him off the ground. He doubled over in pain and fell to his knees.
Evelyn sprang from the ground to run. Where was an empty-headed, big shouldered, would-be-suitor when she really needed one? Too busy practicing his charm in the mirror, no doubt. The Moor lashed out at her leg as she ran, and caught the side of her ankle with a gauntleted fist. The hard steel against her ankle caused her ankle to buckle painfully, and she ended up back on the ground a few feet from where she had started. She rolled onto her back and sat up.
The Moor stumbled painfully to his feet and stood over her again, t
his time a pace back. He could hardly stand upright as he raised his sword. “Is that painful?” she asked wickedly. “What was it you were planning on doing with that?”
The Moor realized that she was insulting him, and this enraged him further. He snarled and raised his weapon high, pausing for a moment to savor the fear in her eyes. In this, however, he was disappointed. Evelyn was too angry to be appropriately fearful, and the Moor was met only with angry defiance.
It was a pity to destroy an infidel woman of such exceptional beauty without taking the time to appreciate her fully. But like all the European women, she did not know her place. He raised himself to his full height. What a—
The spear entered the unprotected pit of his arm behind his breastplate and shoved his body violently sideways. He stumbled as his undulating limbs seemed to lose strength one by one. He lost his grip on his weapon as his arms went into a spasm from the force of the blow. Then he was unable to stand up straight. He fought his legs to keep them from giving out, but they had their way, and the ground came up to meet him.
Evelyn's defiant eyes opened wide in shock. She turned to see a figure cloaked in blood racing toward her. He leapt over the body of her assailant and tore the spear from it. He hit the ground running to assist the three Dawnings that were still fighting to get to their brother. She knew this man. There was no doubt who this could be.
***
Richard, Thomas, and Henry leapt over the last falling bodies of the Moors standing between them and John. The brothers raced to John’s side and fell on their knees beside him. The ground around his body was drenched with his blood. His face was ominously white as Thomas knelt beside him, stripped off his armor, and pressed an ear to his chest to listen for breath or heartbeat.
The Knights Dawning (The Crusades Series) Page 53