The Pitchfork Rebellion: The Du Lac Chronicles - Novella

by Mary Anne Yarde

  “I liked to keep everyone on their toes,” Merton laughed. “I got into so much trouble for that. I had never seen father so furious. But be assured, I have learnt a lot since then, so no pig’s blood or diverted rivers, I promise.” He began to draw.

  “Dor?” Alden questioned moments later as he recognised the geography of his land.

  “Yes, but we are going to build her farther back. We’ll make use of both the rivers. It is a natural moat and it also means the fort can be bigger.” He continued to sketch in the sand. And Alden felt the first blossom of hope arise in his heart. Merton spoke as he drew, describing what each building was. Alden corrected him now and then and Merton would rub the sand flat and start again. By the time they had finished, a rough sketch of a new fort had been designed.

  “We will build the battlements with wood, just to get some sort of protection in place, but we will replace it with stone. And we can build a proper drawbridge. I know a man who knows a man who is good at this sort of thing. He costs a bit, but I have some money put by,” Merton said.

  “And if we stick pikes,” Alden pointed to where the rivers ran, “around the moat, it would be another deterrent. And maybe a ditch as well. I want her to be impregnable.”

  Merton sat back and looked at his brother as he studied the rough plan, and he smiled.

  “What we need is a warning system,” Alden said, as he continued to study the plan. “So we would know if an enemy army was approaching. I don’t want to be caught out again.”

  “What were you thinking?” Merton asked.

  “Can you remember John teaching us about the wall that crossed his lands?”

  “The Romans built milecastles to deter the Picts from invading…you just might be on to something.”

  “A turret at every mile, John said. No one got past that wall. We don’t have the time for that, but we can use pyres. It wouldn’t take much to man them and if danger was seen they could be lit, one after the other. The last one would be here, at Dor.” He put his finger in the centre of the plan and looked up, glancing at his brother to see what he had made of such an idea. He frowned when he saw Merton’s wide grin.

  “What are you smiling at?” Alden questioned.

  “It’s a good idea,” Merton said, still grinning. “A really good idea.” This was the man he knew. This was the brother he loved. And he said he didn’t have a military mind.

  Alden narrowed his eyes and looked at him suspiciously for a moment and then he sighed and he felt the heaviness of defeat again. Plans were all well and good, but it was money that would make them happen. “How are we going to pay for this?”

  “You tell me,” Merton asked, his eyes never leaving his brother’s face. Come on, think, Alden. Think, he silently encouraged.

  Alden stared back, racking his brains as he did so. “Tin,” he finally said. “We can start mining again, trade with the Mediterranean. We could undercut Dumnonia and trade with the north. It will serve Geraint right for siding with Wessex when he attacked us.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more.” They stared at each other for a long moment.

  “You were right.” Alden said rising to his feet. “About everything.”

  “I don’t like to boast, but I usually am.”

  “I need to get back to my wife and make sure she is safe.”

  Merton nodded, still smiling. “She misses you, Sire.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Alden said. He looked down one more time at the plan; the tide was creeping up the beach now. It was time to go. “I didn’t mean what I said about you being to blame for what Wessex did to me. I don’t know why I said that. I don’t think it.”

  “Forget it. I have.”

  “I have been really awful to you, haven’t I?” Alden said. He heard Merton get to his feet, but he did not turn to look at him.

  “I survived,” Merton said as he came to stand next to him. “But you might need to do a bit of grovelling to Annis - that’s if you still want her as your Queen?”

  “If I still want her?” Alden laughed at the absurdity of such a statement. How could he not want her? She was his heart. He turned away from the ocean and began to make his way back across the beach.

  Merton watched him go. He made a vow, there and then, that he would devote his life to protecting his brother and he would do whatever it took to ensure Alden kept his throne and Wessex stayed away.

  Chapter 4

  Alden felt trepidation as he made his way in to the camp. What the hell was he going to say to her? How was he going to explain? He didn’t have the words and “sorry” did not seem nearly enough for what he had put her through. What if he had killed her love for him? What would happen then? He had not thought of that possibility until now. He would do everything in his power to make it up to her, he decided. He would be so that she never doubted his love for her. And he swore she would never have to cry on Merton’s shoulder because of him, again.

  The camp, when he finally reached it, was suspiciously quiet. Fires had been lit but there was no one standing around them warming themselves. There was no one cooking the evening meal. It was deserted. A dog lifted its head from its paws and watched as he began to make his way across the camp. His knights’ horses were tied to the railings outside the tents. Their heads were down, munching contentedly on the grass. But where the hell were his knights? The hairs rose on the back of his neck and he felt a sense of fear twist in his gut. He broke into a run. There was no one outside his tent, no one on guard. He went inside, but even before he did, he knew she wasn’t there.

  Merton was right. He should have never have left her with Cadar. If something had happened to her….

  Not knowing what to do, he fled from the tent. His horse was tied up just outside. Without bothering to tack the animal he jumped onto his back, using the headcollar and rope as a makeshift bridle, he kicked the horse in to a gallop.

  As he galloped through the camp he noticed signs of a disturbance. He followed the destruction until it led him to an open meadow, where the wildflowers grew and the butterflies gathered. The grass and flowers had been trampled underfoot, which made a clear path that he could follow. The meadow spanned out behind him. A few sheep scattered out of the way, bleating a warning to each other as they did so. He pulled his horse up short. The horse gave a small half rear, almost unseating him, but he held on with his legs and straightened his body, as his father had once shown him, so he did not fall. Just in front of him, an angry crowd had gathered. In their hands they held pitchforks, shovels, snapped-off pieces of branches from trees - anything they could get their hands on, it seemed, to use as a weapon. They surrounded something, shouting abuse before surging forward like a great wave, pushing whatever it was back towards the river.

  He kicked the horse on, cantering towards the heaving thong of people.

  “Kill the witch. Kill the witch. Kill the witch.”

  Dear God. Alden unsheathed his sword as he heard the people’s chant. Please no, not Annis. The closer he rode the more he could see. He could see his knights, their backs to each other, their swords unsheathed, trying to keep the crowd back without any bloodshed. And there, in the middle of his knights, was his wife. She looked small, pale, and absolutely terrified.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing?” he growled at the crowd as he rode forwards. He shouted the words again when no one paid him any heed.

  The crowd surged forward yet again and he watched helplessly as the knights were pushed into the river. They held their ground though; no one got through. Annis was just behind Cadar, using him as a human shield.

  “Get the hell back,” James shouted in rage.

  “Do not try it,” Jowan, James’s second, yelled as he pointed the tip of his sword at a peasant’s throat. “Get back.”

  “She is my wife, before God,” Alden yelled. “She is your Queen; how dare you? Get back or by God I will tell my knights to kill you all.”

  No one was listening to him. It was as if he
didn’t exist. Ignoring caution, he rode his horse towards the crowd and raised his sword. He thought he would have hesitated; these were, after all his people. But he didn’t. And it was only then that he appreciated the desperate fear that Merton must have felt when he had watched him being taken by Wessex. He would do anything, kill anyone, to get to his wife. The first man fell with a bloodcurdling scream and then another and another. The crowd noticed him then, turning almost as one to stare with contempt at their King.

  A few of those gathered began to back away; they had come here for the Saxon whore, not to fight their King. But others held their ground and raised their own makeshift weapons. One smashed a branch as thick as a man’s arm into the face of Alden’s horse. The horse screamed and reared, thrashing out with his hooves as he did so. Alden fell heavily to the ground; he quickly rolled and got to his feet as the horse fell down under an array of violent blows. The animal kicked out, thrashing and struggling, but it was as if the crowd had a thirst for blood. And they kept on beating the beast until the horse stopped fighting and lay still, moaning in pain.

  Hostile men intent on justice for their dead soon surrounded Alden. But they were seeking justice from the wrong people. He raised his sword. “Don’t,” he warned. “You don’t want to do this. You are making a terrible mistake,”

  “I don’t think so,” one man taunted. “We’ll kill you, kill your wife and put Merton on the throne.” There was a great cheer to these words.

  “Branok? What are you doing?” Alden asked. Branok had lived in the village that was nestled in the shadows of Dor. He had been the village blacksmith. He was a popular man with a ready smile and a gentle humour. But there was nothing of that man before him now. When Branok did not answer, Alden tried a different question. “What makes you think Merton would take my crown?”

  “He’ll take it,” Branok said with confidence. “He isn’t a coward like you. He didn’t run.”

  “I didn’t run,” Alden said in his defence.

  Branok snorted in disbelief. “Tell your knights to hand her over and we will let you live. We seek justice for those who died.”

  “Tell your men to go home and my knights will let you live,” Alden countered. “You cannot win; you must understand that.”

  “Have you seen how many of us there are?” Branok said and the men cheered.

  “I lost my wife and my two children because of you,” he stated. “You shut the portcullis and left us all to die.”

  “That isn’t what happened,” Alden said. “Branok, you know that is not what happened. I would never abandon my people.”

  “But you did.” Branok spat as he spoke, the words harsh and angry. “And then you come here and bring that bastard’s whore with you.” He spat on the floor in disgust. “You are not fit to wear the crown.”

  “I brought my brother’s army back here. I drove Wessex away and you have your freedom.”

  “We are just finishing the war for you, then. We will help you drive the remaining Wessex away.”

  “It is a good job your Tamsyn is dead, because she would have been ashamed of you. Threatening me is one thing, threatening the life of my wife and my unborn child is quite another. This isn’t justice you seek; it is vengeance.”

  “Do not say her name,” Branok shouted. “You have no right to speak it.”

  “I am sorry for your loss. I am.” He glanced about him. The men were closing in on him; they were itching for a fight and for blood. “But before you kill me, know that the portcullis was down, and I did not run. Wessex took me from the battlefield.”

  “Branok,” another peasant said, touching his shoulder. “He is right, the portcullis was down.” Branok shrugged him off.

  “So you fought for us, did you?” Branok continued. “And you were taken?” he mocked. “And while the rest of us starved and buried our dead, you dined with Wessex and wooed his daughter. It is always the same. The nobility look after themselves while the rest of us are left to die in the dirt.” This statement was met with several murmurs of agreement.

  “Walk away now, while you can,” Alden warned. There was nothing else he could say. Now wasn’t the time for a grand confession. They would just say that he was lying to save his own skin.

  “We are not walking away from anything,” Branok said, raising his branch high in the air.

  “You touch him, you die,” Merton yelled as he rode up to the fray. He pushed his horse forwards. “You will die,” he said again. He did not look at his brother as he spoke, but his sword was in his hand and he meant every word.

  “We want you as our King,” Branok said, not taking his eyes away from Alden as he spoke to Merton. “Your brother is a selfish bastard. I watched you when you came back here,” he said, addressing Alden again. “Merton would fight in your place while you hung back like the coward you are.”

  “He hung back because he was wounded. He hung back because I told him to,” Merton replied. “Not because of cowardice.”

  “Wounded, my ass. He hung back so he could protect his whore,” Branok jeered.

  “Do you know what, Sire? You were right.” Merton said. “They aren’t worth it.”

  “We have no issue with you, Merton. We want you as our King,” Branok stated. “We have been talking and the people have decided.”

  “You have decided?” Merton asked.

  Many of those gathered said “aye” and began to chant Merton’s name. Merton held up his hand for silence.

  “Have you thought to ask me what I want?” Merton asked.

  “How can you not want a kingship?” Branok asked. “Who would not want to possess such power?

  “The kingship is not mine to take,” Merton replied. “Even if you killed my brother here and now, it still would not be mine.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want it?” Branok asked in bewildered astonishment.

  “No. I do not.”

  “He doesn’t want it. You said he would,” the man next to Branok said.

  “We don’t need the du Lacs,” Branok shouted. “We can rule ourselves.”

  “Now you are talking nonsense. We know nothing about….I didn’t come here to listen to the ravings of a madman. The King is right. This is about revenge, nothing more. I’ll not be a part of this.” The peasant threw his weapon onto the ground and walked away in disgust. There was general murmuring among the crowd and a few followed in the footsteps of the other. But not all. There were still a considerable number of people.

  “If you do not take the crown then you will die with your brother,” Branok stated, looking at Merton.

  “Then I will die with my brother,” Merton said simply.

  ‘Your choice,” Branok said. He raised his weapon and aimed it at Merton’s horse’s face. Merton’s horse reared before the branch had a chance to connect, thrashing down with his hooves as he did so, hitting Branok on the top of his head. The man crumpled to the ground, dead. Outraged, the crowd surged towards the brothers. Merton circled his horse, slashing downwards, trying to protect his brother, who was fighting on the ground. Alden’s knights took their cue from their King and launched themselves at their opponents.

  Cadar pushed Annis back farther into the river, trying to keep her away from the battle. Soon the water was stained red and Annis whimpered, stepping back farther into the depths. She tripped on a stone and fell on to her hands and knees with a loud splash. Soaked, she looked up. She had moved farther away from Cadar than she had thought. He was at least two horse-lengths away from her now. She was alone and vulnerable. She heard a peasant shout her name and watched, petrified, unable to move, as he splashed his way towards her. He raised his arms, a pitchfork in his hands and she screamed and curled into herself, trying to protect her unborn child. But the blow never came; she peeked up and saw Jowan pull his sword out of the dead man’s body. He caught her eyes briefly and then his eyes widened in surprise and he looked down at his stomach where the tines of a pitchfork now poked through his skin. He kept his gaze fixed
on Annis as he fell to his knees, blood trickling out of his mouth and then he fell, face-first, into the water.

  She screamed his name as the peasant pulled the pitchfork roughly from Jowan’s body. She tried to scramble away on her hands and knees through the water as the peasant approached her.

  Cadar sliced his knife across a peasant’s face. The man dropped his weapon, his hand clutching his wound. Feeling unforgiving, Cadar stabbed his sword into the man’s stomach. He pulled it free and turned, looking for Annis.

  “NO,” he yelled as he saw the peasant approaching her with evil intent in his eyes. He withdrew his knife and threw it. The blade flew through the air, hitting Annis’ assailant in the heart. The man fell into the water next to the knight he had just killed.

  Cadar scrambled over to Annis. “Are you all right?”

  “Watch out,” she screamed.

  Cardar turned and swung his sword, decapitating a man as he raised his hand to strike the knight. An axe fell lifelessly from the dead man’s fingers and the body fell into the water. Annis screamed again and scrambled to her feet.

  “Are you hurt?” Cadar questioned urgently.

  “It is not my blood,” Annis answered. “It’s not my blood.” Her hands were red, her clothes were red and she could taste blood in her mouth.

  “Keep behind me,” Cadar warned. “They have not had enough yet.” He steadied his balance and raised his sword yet again.

  It seemed like hours, but then it wasn’t uncommon for time to slow in battle. The peasants put up a good fight, but they were farmers and no match for trained warriors. Very soon they were either dead, fleeing, or down on their knees begging for forgiveness.

  Alden wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing a trail of blood in its wake. Merton was on his feet; he pulled his sword free and used his knee to push the peasant, whom he had wounded fatally, over. The man groaned in agony and fell to the floor.

  “Annis?” Alden asked, glancing towards the river. He sighed in relief as he saw Cadar bringing her alongside him.