William’s focus returned to Baloch.
“Was that all de Velt told ye tae tell me?” he asked.
Baloch nodded. “Aye, yer grace,” he said. “If yer armies cross the border, de Velt will be waiting and he will no’ be the only one.”
William sat back in his chair, mulling that information over, before motioning to one of his men. “Take Baloch tae the kitchens and feed the man,” he said. “Find him a bed so he can sleep. But he’s no’ tae leave.”
The man William had motioned to was a big man, young, with a heavy short sword sheathed at his side. He nodded, pulling Baloch up from the bench and escorting him from the hall. Baloch’s movements were slow, weary, like a man who had just been on a flight for his life.
When he was out of the hall, William spoke.
“It would seem our intentions have reached the ears of the English,” he said with some irony. “But I suppose I couldna keep it private for much longer. Every Scotsman in the Highlands is heading south, tae Edinburgh. The Northmen are already on their way. Sooner or later, the English would realize we have come tae reclaim Northumbria. It was mine in my youth, ye know it. The earldom of Northumbria was mine until Henry took it from me, the English bastard. But I’ll have it again before I die. ’Tis mine.”
MacDuff spoke up. “If the English warlords in the north know of our intentions, then Berwick could be in jeopardy,” he said. “We hold it, but enough angry warlords could breach it and oust our garrison. It has happened before. And we need Berwick.”
William nodded faintly, digesting everything, trying to determine what they needed to do at this point. “The Earl of Ross has men stationed there and has for twenty years,” he said. “Angus MacHeth’s son is in command and the man has his orders. He knows that he is tae admit the Northmen intae the river when they arrive. If MacHeth is ousted, the boats will be kept at sea and we’ll no’ have the reinforcements we need.”
“What do we do?” MacDuff asked with concern. “If we send more men tae reinforce Berwick, the English will catch wind of it. They’ll think we’re planning our attack from Berwick and it’ll draw them tae the town. We dunna need a concentration of English armies in Berwick when the Northmen arrive. It would be much more resistance than they anticipated.”
William knew that. He sat back in his chair, putting a booted foot on the tabletop. “We’re assuming the English know about Berwick,” he said. “Alpin Canmore knew of it. We’ve had gatherings twice in the past year tae discuss such things and he was present, so he knew of our plans. Did he tell de Velt?”
MacDuff snorted softly. “De Velt was cutting off fingers tae coerce him,” he said. “He had the man’s wife. Of course Canmore told him what he knew.”
William held up a finger as if the thought had just occurred to him. “But we’ve no’ considered something else,” he said. “What of the House of de Bourne, the descendants of Bloodaxe? Alpin took it upon himself tae send them missives, asking them tae join our rebellion in exchange for more lands. What do we know of them?”
“Alpin did that tae ingratiate himself tae ye, yer grace,” MacDuff said. “The man wanted yer favor. He’d wipe yer arse if ye asked him tae.”
William simply lifted a hand to silence the man. “So would ye if I demanded it,” he said, listening to the men snort at MacDuff’s expense. “Canmore is an ambitious man, ’tis true, but I knew what he had done. In truth, I was curious tae see if the House of de Bourne would respond. They’re a powerful family and they hold the Kielder Pass – one of the main roads intae Northumberland. Do we know if de Bourne has responded tae Canmore’s missives?”
He looked at the gaggle of men around him as they shook their heads. No one seemed to be certain, but more than that, no one had been particularly close to Alpin Canmore. He was a vassal of the Earl of Dalkeith, who was busy recruiting men in Galloway. He’d been away for a few months, meaning he probably knew nothing about a de Bourne response.
Only Alpin Canmore would know that.
“Yer grace, it’s my sense that Alpin would have told ye had he received a response from de Bourne,” MacDuff said. “The man couldna keep it tae himself and he’d want tae shout it tae ye from sheer pride, so it’s probable that de Borne hasna given his answer yet.”
William nodded. “Ye have a point,” he said. “I would have known it almost as soon as Canmore did.”
“Exactly.”
William reclined against the back of the chair, rubbing his hands together because the joints ached. At his age, they ached badly at times. He pondered the Canmore situation quickly.
In his mind, there was only one path to take.
“Then it is possible that de Bourne hasna responded and possibly willna,” he said. “And we must further assume that Alpin Canmore is dead. We must also assume that he told de Velt everything he knew and he knew about Berwick, but I dunna want tae send a great army there tae reinforce it. I’ll send a few men with a message telling MacHeth that the English know that Berwick will be the place where the Northmen are tae enter England. That way, he’ll be prepared.”
“But ye’ll send him no army?” MacDuff confirmed.
William could hear some disapproval, perhaps disappointment, in MacDuff’s tone. “As ye said, it would only draw attention tae Berwick now,” he said. “But that doesna mean I willna send an army when the time for the Northmen’s arrival draws near. If they’re already on their way, they should be here by June and the mists that crop up from the sea that month will cover the arrival of their ships. It will also cover the movement of an army tae support Berwick.”
The men around him, including MacDuff, nodded in agreement. But there was still one more item outstanding.
“Let us speak of de Bourne again,” MacDuff said. “If Canmore has been sending him missives about joining us, then he knows our plans. If he sends word tae Canmore agreeing tae join us, there is no one there tae accept the missive.”
William looked up at him. “’Tis true,” he said, “which means we must send someone tae de Bourne to find out just what his intentions are. Tae have the House of de Bourne with us would be a blow tae the Sassenach army.”
“Ye mean John’s army?” MacDuff ventured.
William shook his head. “No’ John,” he said. “The man is a fool. He is only concerned with himself and feuding with his own barons. If it was only John tae be concerned with, we could reclaim Northumberland and he wouldna know until it was too late. Nay, lads, ’tis no’ John we are concerned with. ’Tis William Marshal. The man has his finger on the pulse of England and the warlords will follow him. If The Marshal knows of our plans, then we will have a fight on our hands. Mark my words.”
“The Marshal is no’ the king, yer grace.”
“Who do ye think controls England, Alexander?”
It was the truth, a snappish bit of reality to the Scots who would doubt The Marshal’s involvement in England’s affairs. After a moment, MacDuff nodded faintly in agreement. It was absolutely the truth and they all knew it. William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, was England, and if he knew of the Scottish plans, an invasion into Northumberland just became more difficult.
William Marshal wasn’t about to let them in without a fight.
“Then mayhap that is why de Velt did what he did,” MacDuff said quietly. “Think about it – he devastated Fountainhall, but at whose command? Surely the man dinna take the initiative himself.”
William turned to look at him, his yellow-eyed gaze intense. “Then ye have yer answer,” he muttered “If I was a gambling man, I would bet upon the fact that The Marshal told de Velt tae attack Fountainhall because he knows my plans.”
“Then what will ye do?”
William sighed heavily. “We go tae Castle Keld and the House of de Bourne,” he said. “We discover if they are with us.”
“And if they are no’?” MacDuff pressed. “What if they are the ones who told The Marshal about the missives from Alpin? What if that is where it all started?”
&
nbsp; William grunted at the possibility, something he was thinking about but didn’t want to voice. “Then we send enough men through the Kielder Pass tae raze Castle Keld if de Bourne goes against us,” he said. “De Velt destroyed Fountainhall. I’ll take Castle Keld in revenge. It’ll be their punishment for telling The Marshal about Alpin’s missives. Alexander, the directive is yers. Prepare my army tae depart for Castle Keld in two days.”
“Aye, yer grace.”
William’s gaze lingered on the man for a moment before turning away. “The Marshal wanted tae send me a message through Ajax de Velt?” he mused quietly. “I’m about tae send my reply.”
Every man in the hall understood what that meant. The destructive volley of threats and promises had begun. De Velt had fired first.
Uilliam mac Eanric was going to answer… loudly.
A small army of Scots left.
CHAPTER THREE
Castle Keld, or simply The Keld
Northumberland, England
Three Days Later
“Christ, Cori!” A big knight with dark hair and big, scarred hands was standing in the doorway, hand to his nose. “What in the hell is that stench?”
It was a disgusting scene he had walked in on. The lady of the castle had just lanced an infected boil on a soldier’s thigh and the smell from the infection was filling the chamber. It was a smaller room attached to the knight’s quarters of Castle Keld, a chamber used for a few purposes, including bathing or surgery if the need arose.
On this particular morning, the lady of the castle was pressing on the boil, making sure all of the poison was draining out of it and into a bowl that a servant was holding, but it was a ghastly sight and an even more ghastly smell, just as the knight had suggested.
It didn’t take long for that stench to overwhelm the already squeamish servant.
It all came flying out.
Once the servant vomited, another one puked, followed by the very man whose boil they were draining. The horrible stench coupled by the weak stomach of the servant had nearly everyone in the chamber retching, including the knight who had just come in the door. He grunted in disgust and fled the chamber as the lady of the castle very calmly finished cleaning out what she could.
She could hear the knight outside the door, cursing because the entire circumstance was so disgusting, but she ignored him. He was her brother, anyway, and he tended to be a bit dramatic sometimes.
The man had no stomach for things she did every day.
“There,” she said evenly, certain she’d gotten out all of the poison. “Quickly, hand me the wine.”
The servant who had been trying not to retch again took the earthenware phial from a nearby table filled with a solution of wine and vinegar. The patient bit off a scream as the lady rinsed the boil several times, cleaning it out as best she could. Using boiled linen, she swabbed the boil before tossing aside the dirty linens and using fresh wrappings to bandage the leg.
“May I come back in?” the knight called into the chamber.
Lady Corisande de Bourne was focused on her task, a veritable rock as everyone around her was coming apart with weak stomachs. “I never asked you to leave in the first place, Anteaus,” she said. “It still smells just as bad, so enter at your own risk.”
He stuck his head back in, eyeing her suspiciously. She was still working on the leg and, as she had told him, he could still smell the rot from it, so he remained by the door.
Like a coward.
“Are you almost finished?” he asked.
She pulled tight on the wrapping, causing the soldier to grunt in pain. “Aye, I’m almost finished,” she said impatiently. “I’m trying to keep this man from losing his leg to poison, so you can at least show a little concern for him. He is one of your soldiers.”
Anteaus glanced at the old man, an old soldier who had been around during the time of his grandfather. Anteaus was two years older than his sister, a young woman who had seen twenty years and three. She was the strength and soul of the entire House of de Bourne even though there were three brothers, two sisters, and a father. There was something about Corisande, or Cori as they called her, that made her the pinnacle of everything strong and noble. Ever since their mother had passed away four years earlier, Corisande had made sure the family remained together. That no one fell aside.
That life at The Keld remained the same.
Anteaus had to admire her for that.
They all did.
But that role within the family also meant she healed the sick and injured, as was her duty as chatelaine of The Keld, and there was no finer healer in all of Northumberland. Probably in all of England. Schooled by their mother, a vastly knowledgeable healer in her own right, Corisande excelled in the healing art.
And in cleaning out disgusting boils.
“I apologize,” Anteaus said after a moment. “I know you are only doing your best, but Papa has sent me to tell you that we have visitors and one of them requires your assistance. You must come as soon as you are finished.”
Corisande glanced up at him curiously. “Visitors?” she repeated. “Who? I did not hear the sentries.”
“I know,” he said. “These walls are so thick, you probably would not hear the return of Christ if he came down on top of you. In any case, you must come as soon as you are finished.”
Corisande was concerned that there were visitors and she was not present to tend them. She turned to the servant beside her.
“Finish tying off this bandage,” she said. “Make sure it is nice and tight. Have him lie down for the rest of the day and I will check on the leg tomorrow.”
The servant, one who tended the knights and other senior soldiers, nodded sheepishly, embarrassed he had vomited in front of Lady Corisande. As he took over the bandaging, Corisande went to wash her hands of dirt and poison in a bowl containing a mixture of warm water and a type of grain alcohol that was purchased in Carlisle, distilled in Scotland. It cleaned well enough and killed any poison she might have lingering on her hands so that the poison from one man wasn’t transmitted to the next. It was something her mother had taught her.
She followed that process religiously.
Quickly, Corisande darted out of the chamber, which was located in an outbuilding built against the massive outer wall, which was over thirty feet high in places. The Keld was, in fact, a place that was meant to impress and intimidate, and it did both of those things quite ably. The castle itself was an enormous complex situated on the gently rolling hills overlooking the River North Tyne.
Because of the hills, the gatehouse was on a lower level than the rest of the castle, so one entered through a massive gatehouse, up a small and vulnerable roadway, and then into the vast bailey. That central courtyard was enormous, with a great hall built against one of the walls, stables against another, and a series of troop houses where the soldiers would lodge because Corisande’s mother, Thalassa, didn’t like her hall full of men. To appease her when they were first married, her father, Alastor, had built the troop houses.
But Corisande honored all of her mother’s traditions and wishes, even years after her death. Nothing had changed in that respect – the soldiers still weren’t allowed to sleep in the hall and Corisande carried on her mother’s role. Her father was still head of the household and her brothers, Ares, Atlas, and Anteaus, still managed the army and the security of The Keld, and Corisande and her younger sister, Gaia, managed everything else. It was a tight-knit family that loved each other and worked well together.
And they all called The Keld home.
To them, it was heaven.
“Who are the visitors?” Corisande said as she caught up to Anteaus. “Was Papa expecting anyone? He did not tell me.”
Anteaus shook his head. “He was not anticipating anyone,” he said. “They were… unexpected.”
“What does that mean?”
Anteaus paused briefly, turning to her. “You must keep this to yourself, Cori,” he said in a low voice. “
You cannot repeat what I am going to tell you.”
She looked at him seriously. “Of course,” she said. “What is wrong?”
Anteaus eyed her before he started to walk again. “The visitors are from Pelinom Castle to the north,” he said. “They were engaged in a big battle a few days ago… a very terrible battle, so do not ask about it. All Papa wants you to do is tend the man they’ve brought with them. He is a prisoner.”
Corisande’s brow furrowed as she thought on what her brother had told her. “A prisoner?” she said. “Why did they bring him here?”
Anteaus shook his head. “I cannot tell you more than I have,” he said. “Please do not ask. If Papa wants you to know, he will tell you, but for now… just make sure the prisoner is well enough. That is all you need do at the moment.”
Corisande’s brow was still furrowed as she thought on her brother’s mysterious words. Walking beside him as they headed towards the massive, square keep on the north side of the bailey, she glanced up at him as if trying to read his thoughts. Anteaus was a seasoned warrior, but he could also be emotional. While older brothers Ares and Atlas were knights with a steely strength about them, serious men who never showed much of what they were feeling, Anteaus was hot-headed and ready to show every emotion that was bubbling forth.
But Corisande couldn’t read him at the moment.
Her curiosity grew.
The keep loomed before them, a colossus of stone and iron. There was a forebuilding that protected the steps leading into the entry level and they passed through the massive iron gates that protected the stairs, heading towards the equally massive door at the top. They entered a surprisingly small entry room at the top, one that was secured by one heavy door that led into a larger central foyer. Once they entered the foyer, Anteaus led her into their father’s solar.
The private solar of Alastor de Bourne, Lord Bernicia, was a luxuriously appointed chamber that was quite small given the size of the keep. There were hides on the floor, tapestries on the walls, and the entire room smelled of leather and smoke, and of a rare incense her father liked to burn every so often because it reminded him of his wife. It was a resin he had sent all the way from London, called olibanum, that was harvested in lands as far away as The Levant from a thorny tree that grew in the deserts. Churches burned it regularly and Lady de Bourne had been a pious woman. Hence, Alastor burned it because it reminded him of his wife.
The Dark Spawn (Battle Lords of de Velt Book 5) Page 6