As Alpin sat on the cold ground and shivered, Jax had soldiers bring in a brazier and food. They brought glowing coals for the bronze brazier, heating up the metal and staving off the chill in the tent as Jax sat in a comfortable chair and ate a meal right in front of his prisoner. He drank wine, ate cheese and boiled beef, and generally acted as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
But he was biding his time.
More time passed. The screams and cries grew weaker as the afternoon progressed, but in its place grew a silence that was ghastly and deafening. The wind shifted and the smell of blood was on the air. Jax had eaten his fill of is meal, sitting with Alpin in complete silence, listening to the world go on around them outside the tent. Jax had no idea where Essien had gone, but he was thinking about looking outside of the tent flap to see if he could spy Essien, or even Cole or Addax at that point, when the tent flap flew back and knights appeared.
Cole, Addax, and Essien entered the tent with a man and woman between the three of them. Jax stood up as Addax and Essien shoved the pair to their knees.
“Meet Alpin’s wife,” Cole said. “This is Margit. The man next to her is someone we found cowering in the stables before we burned them to the ground. His name is Baloch, he says.”
The woman took one look at Alpin, bound to a pole, and burst into tears. The man next to her was only slightly more composed.
“Mercy, m’laird!” he cried. “Show mercy, please! I take care of my mother and I’m all she has! Please dunna kill me!”
Jax gazed at the pair quite unemotionally before turning to Alpin.
“Do you know this man?” he asked.
Alpin was looking at the two captives as if he were going to become sick. “Aye,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.
“Who is he to you?”
“A cousin.”
Jax’s focus lingered on him a moment before he turned to his son. “Restrain him,” he said quietly. “Expose one hand upon the tabletop.”
Cole and Addax lifted the pleading man to his feet, dragging him over to the only table in the tent, the one that Jax had eaten his meal from. As the man cried and begged for his life, they slammed him down onto the chair and extended his right arm onto the table, holding it down. When everything was in position, Jax turned to Alpin.
“I am going to ask you a question,” he said. “And for every question you refuse to answer, your cousin is going to lose a finger. When all of his fingers are gone, he’ll lose a hand. When the hands are gone, he’ll lose the lower part of an arm. When those are gone, I will start on his toes and repeat the process. You will slowly watch him hacked to death and when I am finished with him, I will do the same thing to your wife. Do you understand what I am telling you so far?”
Alpin was pale with terror. “Ye wouldna do such a thing,” he said. “’Tis barbaric and un-Christian. Ye canna do such a thing tae a man!”
“I can and I will.”
“’Tis uncivilized!”
“It is the way of things,” Jax said simply. “Now, I asked you a question earlier, one you refused to answer. I shall ask you again, just once. If you do not answer me, your cousin shall have one less finger. Is this in any way unclear?”
“I –!”
“When does William and Orkney expect to execute their intentions?”
Alpin’s mouth worked as if he were going to answer swiftly but, ultimately, he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Ye dunna know… I… why would ye ask me such a question?” he stammered. “Do ye think the king himself takes me intae his confidence? I’m no’ a great laird!”
Jax looked over at Cole, who took the hint. He gave a short nod to Addax, who produced an enormous dagger with a serrated edge. It was a beautiful weapon, made from Damascus steel. Quicker than the blink of an eye, Addax cut off the captive’s smallest finger on his right hand. As the man screamed in agony, Addax picked up the digit and walked it over to Alpin, taking the freshly cut side of it and smearing it on the side of his cheek.
Alpin vomited all down the front of his tunic.
Addax tossed the finger onto his lap.
Between the screaming of the cousin, the shrieking of the wife, and Alpin’s gasps of terror, the tent had quickly become a chaotic place. Jax, completely unruffled in the face of such upheaval, continued to face Alpin.
“When do William and Orkney expect to execute their intentions?” he asked again.
Alpin was beginning to grow hysterical as his cousin screamed and wept, his arm still stretched out on the table and bleeding profusely. No one was making any attempt to stop the blood flow.
“I dunna know!” Alpin cried.
Jax looked at Addax, who immediately hacked off the next finger. Alpin’s wife began screaming at the top of her lungs, wildly, as Alpin’s cousin bellowed in agony and begged for mercy. Addax picked up the finger he’d just cut off and dropped it down Alpin’s tunic. The man gagged again as the finger got caught up in the folds of his tunic, holding it against the flesh of his belly.
“Their intentions, Canmore,” Jax said quite emotionlessly. “I want to know what they are planning. Your cousin only has eight fingers left.”
“Tell him!” the wife screamed. “For the love of God, Alpin, tell him!”
Jax looked at Cole and then to the wife, silently relaying the command. Cole went over to the old woman with the red hair and unsheathed his dagger. The wife screamed at the top of her lungs, knowing her death was at hand, and Alpin began to scream as well.
“No more!” he cried. “Dunna touch her! I’ll tell ye, ye Sassenach bastards, but dunna touch her. Cut her and I’ll take everything ye want tae know tae my grave!”
Jax called off Cole, who immediately moved away from the woman as she collapsed in a dead faint. He then collected a chair and pulled it up in front of Alpin, looking at the man seriously.
“Excellent,” he said. “That was a wise decision. When is William planning to execute his plans?”
Alpin glared him, a look of pure hatred, but his hatred was tempered by his sense of self-preservation. “What assurances do I have that ye’ll no’ kill my wife after I’ve told ye want ye want tae know?”
Jax shook his head. “You have none,” he said. “But I will give you my word. Answer my questions and I will spare you and your wife and your cousin.”
“And his hand? Someone needs tae tend his hand.”
“Answer my question and I will make sure he is adequately tended.”
Alpin looked at his wife, and his cousin, and it was as if all of his bones suddenly disappeared. He seemed to fold in on himself, his chin dropping to his chest, as if every last piece of defiance and courage slipped quietly away along with the bones.
He was a shell.
Pride held out only so long when faced with such destruction.
“Yer question has many answers,” he mumbled. “Ask me something specific and I’ll tell ye what I can. But if I tell ye I dunna know, then it’s the truth. The Rough doesna take me intae his confidence. I know what I do because I’m a border laird and nothing more.”
The Rough was another name used for the King of Scotland, a name that reflected his general methodology and manners, and Jax pondered his next question. He had Alpin where he wanted him in a relatively short amount of time. He thought it would take longer, but given the man’s wife was under threat, the resistance ended fairly quickly.
And to his advantage.
As he pondered his next move, Cole stepped forward. He’d been privy to some of the more general gatherings purely by virtue of his relationship with the royal court, so he knew some of the information, things he told his father.
As he’d said, it was the smaller details that had escaped him, and one detail in particular.
“When is the invasion coming?” he asked. “When do the Scots plan to move south?”
In the end, Jax got his information.
By morning, the cousin with the missing fingers had been released with a message to take t
o William the Rough. Jax let Alpin languish for a couple of days with little food and even less sleep before sending Cole, Addax, and Essien to escort the man south to the mighty de Bourne stronghold known as The Keld for further interrogation.
A naturally suspicious man, Jax suspected that the worst was yet to come.
And they had to be ready.
CHAPTER TWO
Edinburgh Castle
Like a lion perched upon a rise, it waited.
Edinburgh Castle had the look of a predator waiting to spring. There was a strength about it, and also comfort, as the beacon of Scots power and protection in a country of turmoil.
Never more so in turmoil than at this moment.
Uilliam mac Eanric, or William, son of Henry, sometimes known as William the Rough or William the Lion, had been the king of Scots for over forty years. Forty years of fighting the English, the Northmen, and sometimes fellow Scots had taken its toll on the man, but he was still standing. He was still strong. There was something to be said for a king who had withstood the pressures of his kingdom for forty years. One would have thought that by this time in his reign, he would have been weary. Old and weary, ready for a new king to assume the throne, but that wasn’t the case.
He was a king ready to expand his kingdom.
However, the latest visitor to Edinburgh had news to the contrary.
Even now, as William entered the great hall of Edinburgh Castle, he could already feel his rage building. He was being escorted by several of his men, courtiers and knights and retainers, men who carried out his wishes and helped him manage his lands. He’d just been summoned by one of them with news that wasn’t particularly good.
Ye must come, yer grace. Something has happened tae Fountainhall Castle.
Fountainhall Castle was a strategic castle on the borders, very close to English properties. William knew of Fountainhall because the lord, Alpin Canmore, was one of his most loyal subjects. An annoying man and a minor player in the grand scheme of things, but loyal nonetheless.
William didn’t like the thought of a border skirmish with the English at this time.
He needed all of his border lords at full strength for what was to come.
Seated at one of the enormous scrubbed tables in the great hall, surrounded by both men and wandering dogs, sat a man with his right hand bandaged and bloodied. As William and his entourage approached the table, William took a good look at the man but he didn’t recognize him.
He looked as if he’d been through hell.
That brought concern.
“I dunna know ye,” he said as he came upon the table. “Who are ye?”
The man was pale and weak, clearly exhausted, but he tried to stand up. “I’ve come for the king,” he said. “I willna speak tae anyone else. I have a message for him.”
There were so many men crowded around the table and around the man that William had to shove a couple away in order to get at him.
“Do ye no’ know me on sight?” he asked.
The man eyed him before looking at the retinue around him. His gaze returned to the big, strong-looking old man whose hair in his youth had been red and wavy. Now, it was gray and bristly. A little wild, even.
He shook his head.
“Who are ye?”
“I am the one ye seek,” William said simply, planting himself in the chair at the end of the table. “What’s this about Fountainhall? And what message do ye have?”
The man with the bandaged hand realized the king was sitting next to him and, for some reason, that seemed to bring out his fear. He’d been strong enough until the king appeared, and now he simply felt fearful.
He began to tremble.
“Yer grace,” he said. “The message comes from Ajax de Velt.”
That brought a reaction from William and most of his entourage. What had been a mildly concerning situation just turned critical.
The mention of Ajax de Velt, The Dark Lord, made any situation critical.
“De Velt?” he repeated in surprise. Then, he looked at the men around him as if to confirm they’d all heard the same thing before returning his focus to the man. “I know that name.”
“Ye should, yer grace,” the bloodied man said. “Most people know of the Sassenach who burned half the borders and killed entire armies many years ago. ’Tis the same man.”
William blinked in surprise. “He’s still alive?”
The man sighed heavily. “Still alive and still killing, yer grace,” he said. “Fountainhall is gone and everyone is dead because of de Velt. He left me alive because he wanted me tae deliver a message to ye.”
William looked at him in disbelief. “Fountainhall is gone?” he repeated, aghast. “What of Alpin Canmore?”
The man seemed to slump forward at the mere mention of Canmore. “I dunna know,” he said, running his good hand through his hair wearily. “The last I saw him, de Velt’s men were cutting my fingers off tae force him tae answer their questions. Yer grace, de Velt knows about the alliance with the Earls of Orkney and the Northmen. He says tae tell ye if ye try and bring yer alliance intae England, he’ll do tae ye what he did tae Fountainhall. He’ll rip yer head off and leave it for the birds tae pick yer eyes out. He says tae tell ye that only death awaits ye if ye come tae England.”
The silence in the hall was abrupt and deafening as Ajax de Velt’s threat settled upon those in the hall like a fog. It was all around them, weighing upon them, filling their eyes, their ears, their noses.
It was everywhere.
Fear was everywhere.
William could feel it, but he wasn’t one to show his fear in any case, not even from Ajax de Velt. But he could see that his men were edgy and the man with his hand bandaged was positively ashen. He sat forward, leaning on the table and focusing on the man bearing the message.
“What’s yer name, lad?” he asked, not unkindly.
“Baloch, yer grace,” he replied.
“Baloch,” William repeated. He looked to the man’s hand. “How many fingers did ye lose?”
Baloch lifted the bloodied, bandaged appendage. “Two,” he said. “Two before Alpin began tae speak of the Earls of Orkney,” he said. “Alpin’s wife was spared and she was brought tae him, so he answered their questions tae save her life, too. I was taken away once he started tae speak so I dunna know what became of him.”
William nodded, pondering the situation, what he’d been told. “Ye dinna see him again?”
“Nay,” he said. “But there’s something else. The man ye knew as MacEacharn? He was with de Velt. I dunna know why, but he was there. I’ve seen that man at yer side more than once, but he was with the English.”
William stared at him for a moment before suddenly looking around, realizing the enormous man with the unusual eyes was nowhere to be found among his retainers. He hadn’t noticed until that moment because he had so many of them, but he realized quickly that something was amiss. Very amiss.
William was many things, but a fool was not among them.
“MacEacharn,” he muttered. Then, he snorted as if amused, but there was no such humor in his expression. “MacEacharn a spy? I dinna anticipate that.”
Baloch and the others were watching William closely. The revelation of a spy so close to the king was not lost on any of them. William scratched his chin, sighing heavily, before returning his attention to Baloch.
“Fountainhall is really gone?” he asked.
Tears began to form in Baloch’s eyes. “Burned until it’s nothing but a shell,” he said. “And Alpin’s men… good men… were all put on poles tae die. They are lining the road as far as I could see. Some were already dead, some weren’t. I can still hear them calling tae me, begging me tae put them out of their misery.”
William frowned. “On poles? Tied tae the poles?”
Tears spilled down Baloch’s face. “Nay,” he said. “Do ye no’ know how de Velt kills armies, yer grace? His men went intae the forest and cut down young trees, making one end ve
ry sharp. They take the end of it and ram it intae a man’s body through his buttocks, all the way through his body until the sharp point comes out of his chest or neck or belly. Those who dunna die right away are left tae a slow and terrible death. That is what de Velt promises ye and yer men should ye try tae cross intae England.”
William already knew about de Velt, but through Baloch’s eyes, he got a clearer picture. So did his men. He didn’t dare look at them, knowing the fear and rage and disgust he would see in their eyes. In fact, it was a rather brilliant move on de Velt’s part – he knew what kind of effect that level of brutality would have on the Scots. He also knew it would do one of two things – it would either be a deterrent for them to forget their plans or it would turn their anger against him and away from the rebellion that was forming.
It would be distracting, in any case.
Brilliant, indeed.
“So the Sassenach knows of our plans,” he muttered. “But how much does he know? That is the real question.”
Baloch shook his head. “This, I wouldna know,” he said. “But the attack against Fountainhall wasna only tae destroy it. They left Alpin alive tae tell them what they wanted tae know.”
William lifted an eyebrow. “Ah,” he said. “They wanted a prisoner, someone tae interrogate. But how did they know that Alpin Canmore would be that man?”
No one had an answer until the man standing next to William spoke softly.
“They have their spies in our court, yer grace,” he said. The man was the young Earl of Fife, the Justiciar of Scotia, a powerful hereditary title. Alexander MacDuff was a trusted, and reasonable, man. “Just as we have spies in theirs. There is enough spying tae go around these days. Someone told de Velt tae go tae Fountainhall and capture Alpin because he is a man who was known tae gather in yer court.”
“Then ye’re saying he was targeted.”
“Indeed.”
“And the man lives near the border, so de Velt dinna have tae go far tae find his target,” William finished. “De Velt’s fortress is near Alnwick, is it no’?”
No one seemed to really know. They were looking at each other, shaking their heads, shrugging. But one thing was for certain; Fountainhall never stood a chance against the de Velt war machine.
The Dark Spawn (Battle Lords of de Velt Book 5) Page 5