Knight for a Husband

by Ling, Maria

  Here they came. Ladders and ropes, they'd decided to try scaling the walls rather than pummel through. Well, they'd soon learn the error of that -- too late for most of them, maybe not for Martin of Wode. Hugh watched the archers slice down attackers as they approach, hunkered down to avoid an answering volley, shouted encouragement to his men. The attackers would try to beat them off the wall, he knew that, they'd want a clear field as they raised their ladders and threw their ropes. He wouldn't give them that, he wouldn't give them an inch, they'd die as they moved towards him.

  Volley after volley loosed in each direction, but his own men stood well protected, not one of them fell. It was a tough shot, from below. The Flemings were not so lucky, he heard the screams of the wounded from below. Didn't turn to look, there was no point, other men were in charge there. This was his post and he'd stand by it until he died, or until John de Bois recalled him, which he might not do, the man wanted the boy and might want the woman too, for himself. Hugh thrust the thought aside, but it kept intruding. Stupid, unwanted, he had to concentrate on here and now. But he had an enemy at his back, he could sense it, something had gone awry between him and his overlord, though he could swear it was none of his doing. And he might pay for it now, he might die for it, if the attackers did break through, if he and his men were trapped on the walls and the door to the keep swung shut before they could reach it.

  Fear. An old companion, familiar though unloved. He pushed it away.

  Ladders were no good, they'd decided. The attackers pulled back, not far enough, easy bowshot distance. "Keep shooting!" Hugh yelled, and his men coolly continued to draw and aim and loose. Thirty longbowmen he called his own, with twice as many clubs and knives. A good levy, from a cluster of small manors, he was proud to field such a force. They'd hold the walls, he had no doubt of that, it was down to the Flemings now.

  Here came the ram at last, they'd worked their way around to sense. Well, it wasn't the first battering this wall had taken and it likely wouldn't be the last one either. They slammed up against the door, a hasty contraption of hammered boards to shore up the thick broken planks that remained. Arrows lodged deep in the cover of shields, some pierced the gaps and found flesh.

  "Boiling water," Hugh ordered, and the smoking pots rose and tipped and drew anguished screams from below. The ram withdrew, hesitated, thudded home again. More smoke as the pots tipped, and more screams. The ram collapsed onto the ground, men peeled away with shields held high, ran blind and were cut down by sure arrows.

  It was carnage out there. Hugh leaned against the parapet, ready to dodge aside should he see bow raised, and marvelled.

  "They're retreating," someone called.

  "Regrouping, at any rate," Hugh cautioned.

  But he proved wrong. The enemy withdrew out of easy bowshot, settled into lines and waited. Eventually a lone messenger advanced, step by cautious step. "Parley!" the man yelled.

  "I hear you!" Hugh yelled back. He didn't much care what they had to offer or threaten, but John de Bois might wish to know. It could give clues to the standing of the rebels, even if it posed no immediate threat to Rowes Castle.

  It followed, then, the usual draggle of threats and promises and tirades against a false and unwanted king, reminders that all major barons had sworn allegiance to Maud, not only once but three times, and on and on. Hugh let it wash over him, he didn't give a broken buckle for the claims of either side, he wanted only peace. But that wasn't to be had at any price, not in England after King Henry's death, not with noble cousins at each other's throats. Let John de Bois sift through it for information, or Stephen himself, if he could hear. He ought to, Hugh could see him from this position on the wall, a plain man like any other in helmet and mail.

  At length the tirade ended. Silence fell. Hugh waited for a moment or two, as if deliberating.

  "No," he yelled back at last. "We do not yield to your lord or to you. Be gone from here, if you value life. Or strike at us again, and be ended."

  "I would have your lord's answer," the messenger shouted. "Who is in command here?"

  Hugh glanced across at John de Bois, who flicked out a hand in lazy indifference.

  "I am," Hugh shouted back. "Hugh de Vion at your service, and at your men's if they wish to depart this world."

  It raised a laugh from his own troops, and a snicker or two from the Flemings. The messenger swung away and strode back to his own lines.

  "What now?" the nearest archer asked.

  "I don't know," Hugh said. "If we're lucky, they take me up on the offer." He'd rather they didn't, he'd had enough of killing for one day. But he couldn't say as much, it might affect the morale of the men, and might make him look a coward. Which he didn't care to do, not in front of any man, but especially not within the hearing of John de Bois.

  The lies he told for that man's sake. He was firmly established by now as a bloodthirsty brigand, ruthless and cold, and brutal with women and children both. He could only hope that reputation would be enough, that he wouldn't be required to prove it in person. Because while he'd kill, not gladly but efficiently, if he saw an absolute need, the torture of innocents and the slaughter of those ill equipped to defend themselves he could not abide.

  "We're lucky, then," the archer said.

  On they came, true enough, a slow wade of men across the rutted churn of mud. Arrows greeted them, slammed down like bolts from heaven, felled men by the score. A great yell rose from the approaching lines, and they moved faster now, they broke into a run. The archers struggled to adjust, abandoned any attempt at taking aim, just shot down into the mass and hoped.

  "Keep the walls clear!" Hugh shouted. That was his task, it was the only thing he had to think about, nothing else was his concern. But there were too many, they came on all at once, ladders rose and were pushed back and rose again. Hugh grabbed rough wood and wrenched it aside. Splinters bit the palm of his hands. An iron hook soared towards him, he fended it off on instinct and screamed as the weight of it broke his hand. It fell at least, hadn't caught on the wall, but more hooks soared. He couldn't reach them all, they were targeting him now. Martin of Wode was a cleverer man than he'd thought.

  They'd got Hugh to reveal himself, his position and apparent leadership, and they launched an attack on him specifically. Cut down the man in command and others might be willing to listen. Well, he'd claimed it, he'd earned the consequences whether good or bad. Still he fought on, wrenched hooks from stone, scrabbled as they dug down and resisted, drew his knife and leaned over to cut the rope as men climbed towards him. Shouts echoed from further along the wall, men had got up and over, blades clashed and bodies fell screaming into the Flemings.

  Hugh drew his sword. Two blades, no shield, he'd do what he could but held out little hope of survival. The image of the widow Rowes hovered before him, and of her boy too, he'd tried to protect them but he'd failed. They'd go to John de Bois now, or to Martin of Wode, he'd rather that but it meant defeat, either way it meant his death, and that was all but certain now. Blades swung for him, he sank his own into leather and flesh, growled with rage as he killed. Heard the yells from below but took no notice, that was all the Flemings' work now, he paid no heed until a hand shook his shoulder.

  "Get below, they say." One of the archers, a stout lad from his own home manor, he'd watched that boy grow to manhood this past year. "They're going to bring down the wall."

  Hugh laughed, actually laughed with bleak delight. Crush their enemies under falling rock, it would get rid of a few of them at least, might give the others enough to clamber over that the defenders could retreat to the keep in safety. John de Bois' work, he was sure of it, the inventive arrogance was like no other man's. "Come, then." They hurled themselves at the walkway together, made it halfway down before an arrow thudded into the lad's back and sent him toppling. Hugh jumped over him and scrambled for protection among the Flemings, turned to see an archer on the wall with arrow pointed right at him. He didn't have time to be scared, was cons
cious only of a great peace. Then a shaft sprouted from the man's eye, the arrow loosed but flew wide, Hugh threw himself aside for nothing. Flemings stormed past him as he stumbled, the king's own voice yelled commands, it was all happening and he was on his knees on the midst of it, disoriented and impossibly alive.

  "Hugh de Vion!" A man bawled his name, he turned to see John de Bois in full command of the high ground near the keep. "Get yourself and your men within. Now!"

  He had his orders, though they galled him. Briskly he called orders and then turned and strode for the keep. He'd rather have stayed out here, fought on while his blood was up, but Flemish voices yelled orders and replies behind him, Flemish men dug into packed earth. They would not welcome interference. He'd got to the door when a great rattle began, he swung around then to see the wall crumble and vanish in a cloud of loosened earth.

  "Get within, I said." John de Bois' temper had not improved. "Quickly, man. Don't block the door."

  Hugh dived into the gloom of the keep, ran for the galleries in the great hall, disposed of such men as he still had with him. And waited, panting and shaking with mingled rage and fear, for the next order to come. Or for men to storm through the door, as they did now, and take up position across the floor.

  They fought as defenders had done before, first to keep the door closed, then to keep the tide back. For a moment the battle was poised, Hugh had time for a momentary doubt that they would succeed, the Flemings gave way and the king fell back towards the inner door. But that left a clear field for the archers. In a whirr of shafts the invaders fell, screaming, to cover the floor with bodies and blood.

  It was over. The remainder of Martin of Wode's force turned and fled. The Flemings pursued them, cut them down in the bailey, Hugh could hear the harsh voices and the screams. He pulled his men together and set off in pursuit, it wasn't worth leaving anything to chance, this could be a feint to lead them all out into open slaughter. But it wasn't, he saw that as soon as he emerged into the carnage between the walls. King Stephen's force had won the day.

  ***

  "To our success." Stephen raised a glass of wine and grinned down the table at Hugh, and at John de Bois. "That was a battle hard fought, and well fought too."

  "Remains to make the place safe again," John said. "Garrison it securely."

  Stephen nodded. "I trust you to handle that. For myself, I'm off to London. I don't like those troop movements out Oxford way."

  "Don't go alone," John said.

  "I have my Flemings with me."

  "Even so."

  Stephen shook his head. "I want you here, at my back. You have good men with you, I trust them and I trust you. Give command to de Vion if you like, once the walls are made safe. Come after me then. But for now, this place leaks like a broken boat. Rebuild it, garrison it, make sure of the neighbourhood -- you have my authority to raise earthen castles if you like -- and then, if you wish, come after me to London."

  John de Bois offered a bow. "This I will do."

  "When does Your Grace plan to leave?" Hugh asked.

  "Tomorrow," Stephen said. "Or the day after, at the latest. We'll see how provisions and the wounded tally. But I want to be on my way shortly."

  "Before you leave," Hugh said, "I'd be honoured if Your Grace would preside at a certain ceremony. And lend me a priest for an hour, too."

  Stephen laughed. "I hadn't forgotten. And you've earned it, though I'll expect to see your gratitude in coin. Yes, you may marry the widow Rowes privately while I'm still here. I doubt her family will have much to say on the matter, but my presence will certainly help."

  "It will make it entirely acceptable to every man," Hugh said. But he was only thinking of one. He'd had time, during the hours since the battle, to recover his wits and his fears alike. Let him become her husband, in the sight of God and men and with the king's own blessing -- at the king's own hand, maybe -- and even John de Bois might pause before despoiling her. "I cannot imagine anyone could find fault with a marriage royally blessed."

  "And I have her in my gift in any case," Stephen concluded comfortably. "I dare say we can find you a corner where you'll be private enough."

  "I'll take the boy," John said.

  "Gladly," Hugh replied. His chest tightened. "Though I might keep him by me for the first night. Do him good to see who's lord of that household."

  John laughed. "Just have him ready for me in the morning."

  "It's decided, then." Stephen set the glass down. "Fetch a priest and the widow -- and her son, too, he might as well be by to watch. We'll hold the ceremony this instant."

  ***

  Mary held her breath.

  She could hear the voices and laughter of men through the door, thick and shut fast though it was. She was back in this chamber, with her pile of straw and a small lantern to see by, and Will was near her, still unhurt.

  So was Hugh de Vion.

  She'd been utterly terrified, kneeling beside him in the middle of the great wall, surrounded by armed men in grim high spirits. The priest had spoken the words with brisk distaste, as if he had a knife at his throat. Which he didn't, not quite, though John de Bois and the king both stood near him, with an alertness in their stance that warned her they would move at one wrong word. The priest avoided meeting her eye, he was as helpless as she.

  She could have refused. For a moment, as they waited for her to consent, she'd been tempted to do so. But Will pressed close to her, she had one arm around him and they'd let her, and the silence echoed around her. She'd known, with absolute clarity, what these men would do to her -- and to him -- if she refused.

  So she complied, and the priest hurried on, and they were married. Her and Hugh.

  Who was with her now, here in this bare and private room, undressed.

  He reeked of blood. And of sweat. She didn't want him near her, she froze with fear at the thought. But for Will's sake she must appear calm, he must never guess how frightened she was, how painful this would be for her.

  "Lie down," Hugh said. He wore only his shirt now, it barely reached to mid-thigh, she flinched at thought of what lay underneath. But she obeyed, she had to. He joined her, slid close to her and wrapped the blanket around them both. Will, over in the corner, cringed and turned away.

  She must be silent. No scream or sob must escape her. But she didn't know if she could do that, she knew this man for a brutal one, he would hurt her. Make a point of doing so, he seemed to enjoy proving to other men that he could and would.

  Silence beyond the door now. Expectant.

  Hugh leaned close to her, so close his lips brushed against her ear, and she flinched at that touch.

  "Scream," he whispered, a word so faint it was barely a breath.

  She waited for him to make her, she didn't doubt that he would.

  "Please," he added. "Let them think you're in pain."

  And all of a sudden every action of his, every movement, every touch, every fierce brutal swaggering claim, became utterly clear to her. He was making them think he was as bad as they were, that he'd mistreat her even worse. All this time, from the moment he took her captive, he'd been protecting her. And Will too.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered back, tried to make her voice faint as his. "I thought you'd -- "

  "I know. It doesn't matter. Scream."

  She clung to him, summoned up every memory of pain, let out a harsh shrill yell. Laughter greeted her from beyond the door, men's voices, crude jests and calls for more. She let out another, and they roared at that.

  "Well done," Hugh whispered. "That should do it. I doubt they'll come, but if they do, be prepared to weep."

  She slid her arms around him and hugged him, tried to say through touch all that she felt of gratitude and repentance. He laughed very softly against her ear, slipped his own arms around her and lay quite still, holding her, while the uproar in the great hall settled into a whirr of talk and then indifference.

  She could hear the sobs then, Will's muffled weeping. She
let go of Hugh, sat up and reached for her son, whispered reassurance. "Will? I'm not really hurt. I was only pretending. Because there are bad men out there, and they want to hurt us. But this is a good man, and he won't."

  Will came to her, clambered over the straw and settled under the blanket, snuggled close and allowed himself to be comforted. Hugh eased himself down next to her and laid one arm over them both. They lay thus, close together and holding fast against evil, while outside the door the men caroused.

  ***

  "So you'll leave the castle to Hugh de Vion." The king nodded. "I am content. We march within the hour, then."

  "I'll take the boy with me," John de Bois said. "He'll make a good hostage for his mother's behaviour. And for the money, too."

  "I'll send it when it reaches me," Hugh said. "Leave me the boy, if you would. I enjoyed his company last night."

  John roared with laughter. "You are a fine man," he said. "I'd indulge you if I could, but I want that lad for myself. He'll make a fine squire one day, once he's got some flesh on him. Good strong bones. And he'll be in my service against his father's men. I'll relish that."