The Pitchfork Rebellion: The Du Lac Chronicles - Novella

by Mary Anne Yarde

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Copyright

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidence.

  Copyright © 2016 Mary Anne Yarde

  Cover design by BespokeBookCovers.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author

  Tweet Mary Anne Yarde at:

  @Maryanneyarde

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  https://www.facebook.com/maryanneyarde

  Chapter 1

  Castle Dor, Cerniw, the far Southwest of Briton, AD 496

  When the devil wanted to destroy the world he would do so with fire. Alden du Lac knew this for a fact, because the devil had come to Cerniw.

  He felt his wife’s hand slip into his. He knew she was trying to offer him comfort, but he did not want comfort. Not today. He moved away from her and walked farther into what was once his fort, his home.

  Cerdic of Wessex, the Saxon King, had spared nothing. He had not even had the decency to leave the cemetery untouched. He had burnt everything. Destroyed everything. All that he had left was a pile of useless charcoaled wood - and that was it.

  Alden bit his lip until he tasted his own blood. He knew he should be used to seeing this level of destruction in his kingdom by now. He should be immune to it. But damn it all, this had been his home and he felt the loss.

  He bent and picked up a piece of blackened wood and then, in an uncharacteristic fit of rage, he threw it, swearing as he did so.

  It was bad enough seeing the villages destroyed and witnessing the malnourished bodies of the children who flocked around him joyfully because their King had come home. But what did he have to offer them?

  More poverty.

  More pain.

  More deaths.

  He could not click his fingers and magically replenish the winter stores, or buy the seeds and plant the fields ready for the summer crop. He could not replace their boats or raise his hands towards the sea and make the fish jump out of the water. He could not rebuild a kingdom overnight. All he could offer them was more years of hardship and more years of suffering.

  But that wasn’t the reason his people had started to turn away from him. They might have endured all of that willingly, but he had done the one thing they could never forgive him for. While he had been in exile, he had married Wessex’s only daughter.

  “Alden.” Annis spoke his name with compassion, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. He flinched away from her touch and he heard her gasp in dismayed surprise.

  It wasn’t her fault.

  None of this was her fault. And he did not know why he was taking it out on her.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologised, although he could not bring himself to look at her. “Can you just…” he closed his eyes for a moment. How could he tell the woman he loved, the woman who had saved his life, that at this moment in time he did not want to be anywhere near her? “Annis, please…” he shook his head in despair, “I just - ”

  “I understand,” Annis said, trying to smile through her tears.

  She did understand; Alden knew that, and that was one of the reasons he had fallen in love with her in the first place. He had never met anyone more compassionate than Annis of Wessex. No. That wasn’t her name anymore. She was Annis du Lac and he had sworn to forsake all others and protect her.

  He had once told her that if he had to choose between Cerniw or her, then he would choose her and he had meant it. He meant it still.

  But deep in his heart, he had prayed that his people would accept her. He doubted that would ever happen now. Oh yes, they had been grateful when he had returned, bringing with him his eldest brother’s renowned army from Brittany. Budic du Lac’s cavalry were the finest in the land, if not the world, and he had lent his cavalry to Alden. But when Alden’s people learnt who his wife was, they had become wary. He had seen the distrust in their eyes and they had begun to look to Merton, his younger brother, for leadership.

  While Annis watched her husband she remembered something he had said when they had first entertained the idea of marrying each other. He had said that it would be a political disaster for him if he did so. It wasn’t the most romantics of things he had ever said, but it was honest. And yet, he had married her anyway. Twice, to be precise. The first time they had handfasted in the privacy of a chamber in the former King of Sussex’s fort. The memory of that night still brought a smile to her lips. The second time was last month, in Cerniw, witnessed before his god and his people. No one cheered and there was no celebration. It felt more like a funeral possession than a wedding.

  It was so unfair. He had been through so much already; she knew not how much more he could actually take. Her father had stolen his kingdom, captured him, tortured him and sentenced him to death. But she had loved him and she had saved him and they had fled Wessex together.

  Not that he had told his people any of this. Many had thought he had just fled, like a coward, leaving them to their fate. He did nothing to enlighten them.

  She knew the reason why he did not tell them the truth. Guilt. No one did guilt as well as Alden. He felt guilty simply because he had survived, whereas others had not.

  They should not have come here today. Merton had made Alden promise not to come here without him. But Alden was so impatient to see his fort that he would not wait. And now he would not look at her and he did not want her to touch him. It hurt unbearably.

  He kicked at the wood in anger, sending bits of black ash everywhere. He looked at his wife then. She had moved away from him, her hand resting protectively on her rounded belly, where his baby grew. He could see the pain in her eyes and he saw how her shoulders were shaking with her effort not to cry. God, what am I doing?

  He went to her then, wrapping her in his arms and holding on to her tightly. But his heart was not really in the embrace. “Stay with Cadar,” he whispered in her ear as he gently pulled back from her.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, reaching up and touching his face. He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

  “I am just going for a walk. I won’t be long.” He didn’t look her in the eyes as he spoke, but stared off, unseeing, over her left shoulder.

  He left her. Annis watched him until he disappeared from view. She so desperately wanted to follow him, but she had never seen him like this before.

  When Budic had made her sign an annulment, dissolving her marriage to Alden, Alden had avoided her whenever possible. Alden had been distant then, but it had been nothing like this. He could barely bring himself to look at her. He made every excuse not to be in her company. He had closed himself off from her and she did not know how to break through to him. She felt a butterfly kick inside of her and she touched her stomach absentmindedly. He had been so happy about the baby in the beginning, so enthusiastic, but his enthusiasm had vanished and she wondered if he regretted that he had begot a child with her.

  Cadar cleared his throat and she looked at him. She liked Cadar; he was the only one of Alden’s knights who had gone out of his way to be nice towards her. The others, although they had accepted her, treated her with
suspicion. She could understand why; having a father like Wessex hardly inspired confidence.

  “Shall we go back to camp?” Cadar asked, forcing a smile on his face as he spoke and pretending that his Queen was not breaking her heart over the coldness of his King.

  She shrugged her shoulders in hopelessness; she knew not what to do anymore. It had been so much easier being Alden’s wife when it was just the two of them. Now she had to share him with a kingdom, which she would have been all right with if the kingdom treated him with respect and with love. But they didn’t. They treated him as if he were just another Wessex. Alden was many things, but a Wessex he was not.

  The knight came closer to her. “He will be all right,” Cadar tried to reassure her. “Try not to fret. Merton is keeping an eye on him. He will see him right. He will not allow any harm to come to him.”

  But Cadar was wrong. It wasn’t Alden Merton was keeping his eyes on. It was her. And she was grateful to him for that, because she was an enemy in this kingdom and she feared for her life every day. She would probably be dead if it were not for Merton. At least he still cared whether she lived or died. She doubted Alden would even notice if she was gone.

  Last night, Alden had left her to go for one of his now-regular walks. When he didn’t return, James, the general of Alden’s army, and some of the knights had gone out to look for him. Merton had stayed with her, refusing to leave her side, even though she had begged him to. So desperate was she to know that her husband was safe that she did not give two thoughts to her own safety. She had lost her temper with him when he refused, for the umpteenth time, to go and look for his brother. She shouted abuse at him and hit out with her fists, until Merton had caught her hands in his and pulled her into his embrace, holding her tight and letting her sob it out. He had lowered her to the bed as she quietened and sat with her throughout the night while they waited. She had dozed on and off in his arms, as exhaustion overtook her, and she would awaken with a jump, her heart pounding in fear. Merton had soothed her with soft words, but still Alden stayed away. And she wondered if she would ever see him again. She had voiced her fears to Merton. He said nothing to reassure her; instead he held her a little bit tighter and told her that whatever happened, he would always be here for her and the baby. He promised that he would keep her safe. But it wasn’t safety she wanted. She wanted her husband.

  Alden finally reappeared when the sun began to rise, seemingly oblivious to the anguish he had caused his wife and his men.

  “He’s back,” Merton had whispered into her ears and she had scrambled out of his embrace and fell into her husband’s arms as he ducked through the entrance of the tent.

  “I thought something had happened,” Annis whimpered.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” There was annoyance in his voice. “I told you to go to bed.” He had shrugged off her embrace, glowering at his brother as he did so. “But I guess you had better things to do than sleep.” He spat the accusation as he glared at his brother. Annis had looked at him in shock and he had cursed loudly and stormed back out the tent.

  “He isn’t worth your tears,” Merton had said. “Come on.” He took her arm and guided her back to the bed. “He isn’t going anywhere now. James won’t let him. Try and sleep,” he said as he tucked the furs securely around her, as one would do to a child.

  “He doesn’t want me,” she whimpered.

  “Yes he does,” Merton reassured. “He loves you.”

  “Does he?” Annis challenged back. “Because the way he is behaving towards me doesn’t feel like love. I have lost him, Merton, I know I have.”

  “He has lost himself,” Merton replied. “Don’t fret, honey, you’ve still got me. I won’t abandon you.”

  Cadar was fooling himself if he thought Merton would “see him right.” Alden was barely speaking to anyone and the only thing Merton had said to his brother in the last sennight was not to come here without him.

  “How can Merton protect Alden from himself?” Annis asked. Her eyes met the knight’s for a moment and then she lowered her gaze because she knew Cadar had no answer for her.

  Chapter 2

  Alden walked slowly through the once-thriving village that had stood in the shelter of his fort’s high wooden walls. On his way here he had not really taken in the destruction of the village, his thoughts being solely occupied by seeing Dor again. But now he took the time to look. There was not one roundhouse left standing; all had been burnt. The only thing still in one piece was the stone village well, which for some reason he found strangely amusing. Here they were, surrounded by water - the sea was just over the rise, there were two large gushing rivers close by and of course the village well - but still the devil had burnt everything. He groaned and sank to his knees amid the rubble.

  Wessex had attacked in the middle of the night without any warning. Alden had known that Wessex sought the High Kingship of Briton and he had signed a treaty saying that he supported Wessex’s claim. He had not expected an attack. So when he had been awakened by the sound of the bell, he had thought that maybe it was those tiresome creatures from Eire who come to pillage the village. But instead of a few bedraggled warrior sailors, it was a Saxon army.

  From there on in, everything rapidly went downhill. Alden had an army full of fine soldiers, but they were no match for Wessex’s monsters. He could still hear the screams of his people, the screams of this village. He had watched in horror as the villagers had tried to reach the protection of the fort, only to be shot down under a shower of arrows. There had been nothing he could do to help them.

  Alden grabbed a handful of the cold earth and lifted it up towards the sun. It wasn’t red. He had thought the amount of blood lost would have stained the soil forever, but it had not. He threw the soil back down onto the ground, feeling a sense of disappointment. How dare the earth stay the same when everything else had changed forever? He rubbed his hand on his trews as he stood.

  There was nothing he could do here. He needed to see the beach, to see if Wessex had ruined that as well. He walked out of the village and made his way up a steep hill that was covered in coarse marram grass. Once at the top he could see the coast. The beach stretched out before him, white and welcoming. The sun shone down and made the sea sparkle blue. It was a gentle sort of day. The tide was not high, but crept up the beach slowly, softly. He breathed deep the sea air and looked to his right. The beach curved as it met the jagged rocks of the cliff face. And above him, gulls circled, calling to each other. Everything in front of him was as it should be; everything behind him was desolate and damaged.

  He stood still for a very long time, letting the warm, soft wind blow into his face, lifting his hair. He wished he could stay like this forever. He wished that he did not have a past and that his future was an empty beach full of possibilities. He wished for peace, but all he felt was fear and pain and the weight of a kingship he no longer wanted.

  He made his way down the dunes, his feet sliding into the soft sand as he did so. He slipped and fell to his knees.

  “Don’t be a fool, Alden,” he heard his brother’s voice coming from the past. “We must fight until the end. Don’t you dare surrender.”

  “Can you not hear them?” Alden said frantically, pointing in the direction of the village.

  Merton grabbed his brother’s tunic tight with both hands, shaking him slightly. “This is what he wants. Don’t.”

  Alden looked past his brother to James, the general of his army. The fort was already alight and the smoke stung his eyes.

  “Your brother is right,” James said, beginning to cough. “We cannot beat him; we need to run.”

  Alden shook his head. He was the King of Cerniw; his duty was to his people. They had to come first. “I cannot run. I have to try and stop this.”

  “You go out there, then you will die. The only way to stop this is to fall back and counterattack later. You can go to Brittany, seek help from your brother. Then we can make a fist of this; then our people can be aven
ged. If you go out there now, you won’t ever come back again,” James answered him.

  “But my people need me now. They are dying now. What kind of King would I be if I did not try to stop this?”

  “A wise one,” James said.

  Alden breathed deeply as he tried to slow his racing heart. He had not listened to his general, a man with a lifetime’s more experience than himself. He had not listened to his brother, who was far more intelligent than he could ever hope to be. Instead, he had mounted his horse and in his hand he had carried the white flag of truce.

  “Don’t do this,” Merton begged, grabbing hold of his horse’s bridle in a bid to stop his brother from committing suicide. “He won’t recognise the flag. He will ignore it.”

  “I have to try. I couldn’t live with myself if I did not,” he answered.

  “Then I am coming with you,” Merton stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

  Alden nodded his head in agreement, but as soon as Merton let go of his horse’s bridle, he kicked the animal on and left Merton standing in the burning fort, shouting for him to return.

  Merton had been right, of course. Merton was always right. Wessex’s men had not heeded the flag and had not listened to his pleas. Instead they had dragged him from his horse and beat him until he had lost consciousness.

  He rose unsteadily to his feet, his feet slipping in the deep sand as he tried to find purchase. He walked slowly sideways down the dune until he neared the bottom and then, like a child, he ran the last few remaining steps until he reached the beach.

  “I have never killed a King before. I am looking forward to it.”

  Alden wanted to scream. His capture had only been the beginning of his ordeal. He had awoken with a pounding headache and a body that felt like he had been trampled by a thousand horses. He had tried to move, but he could not, for his hands were tied together and his feet were tied together and he had been gagged. The driver of the cart took some sort of perverse pleasure at finding every rut in the road. It was the most painfully uncomfortable journey of his life. He would not forget it.