Lord of War: Black Angel (38 page)

Flaming pots of tar and oil were slung over the walls, some bursting against the keep, others hitting the floor of the bailey and splashing their flaming contents out over men and animals.  Stefan, in fact, had been sprayed with burning tar but his armor prevented any serious damage.  He had been extremely hot in it, however, until Magnus had rolled him in the dirt to quench the flame.

Most of the knights had taken to mounting the walls with crossbows, picking off those attacking the walls. Because of the terrain surrounding the castle, the sloping mountain, it made it exceptionally difficult for the king’s army to gain a good foothold for positioning ladders against the walls, and siege towers were impossible.  But the mangonels and ballistas, positioned further down the slope, had adequate footing to hurl their deadly cargo over the walls.

Brandt remained on the walls most of the morning, monitoring the gatehouse and watching the ballistas down below as they were reloaded. He tried to anticipate their trajectory and move men away from the area where they were presumed to hit.  He was very good at predicting their targets, saving lives of men. But as the day wore on into night, the kings army would not give up.  Realizing the walls were nearly impossible to scale, they focused their numbers on the gatehouse and things began to happen.

At sunset, the first ladders began going up on the gatehouse, which was amply protected. However, there were corbels on the structure that were big enough for men to gain footholds, and there was a window for light and air on the third story of the structure overlooking the road below.  Conceiveably, men could mount the ladders and use the corbels to propel themselves up to that window. It was risky but possible, and that was exactly what the French were intent on doing.

Brandt could see their plan, however, and charged up to the third floor of the gatehouse with Brennan, Magnus, Dylan, and Alex along with several heavily armed soldiers to wait for them.  As the war machines continued to hurl missiles over the walls, men began climbing the gatehouse with the intent of breeching it.  Brandt and his men were waiting. The first soldier that managed to thrust himself through the single window had his head ripped off, courtesy of Brandt.  The duke literally grabbed the man by the head, twisted, and yanked.

It was an ugly, bloody fight.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

It was that dream again, only this time, there was a different dimension to it.

Behind her, the castle had melted until it looked like soft butter. Everything was running onto the ground, now blending with the mud and the rain. Standing over the knight leaning against the tree, she could only stare at the crest on the breastplate. She knew it. It was the talons of the de Russe dragon, the Duke of Exeter.  It was Brandt; she knew it was Brandt even though she couldn’t see his face. 

God, help me! She cried. 

The child in her belly was kicking terribly, as if he knew his father was dying. Kicking and kicking until it caused her pain and she gripped her belly, holding it, as stabs of agony ripped through her body. She ceased to see the man at her feet any longer, only concerned with the pain radiating through her torso.  The baby’s kicking lessened but the pain was still there.  The kicking faded until it was virtually no more. She couldn’t feel the kicking any longer. As the last embers of life diminished from the father, so perhaps did they diminish from the child. Both of them were dying and she could do nothing to help them.

Crying out, she awoke in a cold sweat.

***

Something was wrong with the child. She knew that the moment she awoke in agony.  As the battle raged below, she held her belly and wept, terrified that something was horribly amiss.  Annabeth and Bridget, keeping company with her in the barricaded room, were alerted to the sounds of her weeping.

“My lady?” Annabeth was on the bed beside her. “What is amiss?”

Ellowyn wiped her eyes, struggling to calm herself. She was terrified. “I… I will be all right,” she assured her frightened ladies. “I am sure it is simply the fear of the battle causing me to….”

“Causing
what?
”

“… well, there is some pain, but I am sure it will go away.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened but she held her control. Bridget, seated on the other side of the bed, reached out to touch Ellowyn’s arm.

“We shall find the midwife,” she said. “Do not distress, my lady. We shall find her.”

Ellowyn shook her head, reaching over to grasp Bridget before the woman could run off; she was very fast in that respect.

“Nay,” she insisted. “It will pass, I am sure. Moreover, the midwife is in town and it would be impossible to get through the closed gates.”

“Then I will seek the duke’s surgeon,” Bridget insisted. “He must be able to help.”

Again, Ellowyn shook her head, holding fast to Bridget so she would not run away. “He is tending wounded,” she said. “It would be foolish to pull him away from dozens of injured men to come and tend one woman.  Nay, leave him be. You are here. You are all of the help I need.”

“But… then I must send for the duke!”

“You will do no such thing. This will pass.”

Bridget and Annabeth exchanged fearful glances. “As you say,  my lady” Bridget said. “Where is your pain? Do you believe the child is coming now?”

Ellowyn sighed; the pain had subsided somewhat but it was still there. “I do not know,” she admitted. “I have never had a child before. I do not know what it feels like other than I was told to expect pain when the child is delivered.”

As Bridget went to get water and a rag to wipe over her mistress to comfort her, Annabeth grasped Ellowyn’s hand.

“Would you like some wine?” she asked softly.  “It might help ease you.”

Ellowyn shook her head, feeling exhausted and sleepy, and struggling to put the pain behind her.   She could hear the battle down below, the shouts of men as they tried to kill one another.  To know her husband was in that chaos did not help her state. She closed her eyes, trying to block it out.

“Nay,” she replied. “I believe I will try to go back to sleep.  The pain seems to have lessened.”

Annabeth nodded silently, watching Ellowyn close her eyes. The truth was that she was terrified but she didn’t want Ellowyn to see it.  They were trapped in a room as a battle waged below, and now her mistress was feeling childbirth pains well before the child’s due date.  Under normal circumstances, either of those individual events would have been reason for panic. Indeed, there was much to be terrified over.

She began to pray.

***

The gatehouse breach had proved to be a disaster for the French.  Every man that came through the narrow gatehouse window met his death at the hands of Brandt or one of his knights.  Then, the body would be hauled out by soldiers who would throw it over the walls.  It had a hugely demoralizing effect on the army of Jean, and eventually, men stopped trying to climb through the hole because it was certain death. No one wanted to commit suicide.

The entire night of the siege saw more projectiles hurled over the wall.  Giving up on the gatehouse, the king’s army focused their energy on the iron gates and the three successive portcullises, which was a futile endeavor. It only cost Jean more men. Melesse was truly an unbreachable fortress and at dawn on the second day, the king’s armies began to retreat.

Watching the pull-out from his post near the gatehouse as the sun began to rise, Brandt was exceptionally relieved as the French collected their dead and began to subside. But he was also leery.  He turned to Dylan.

“They will be heading for Edward now,” he said with urgency in his voice. “Gather the men. Make sure everyone is fed and moderately rested.  We must follow that army and provide Edward with support.”

“But I thought that the king wished to negotiate with Edward to avoid a big battle at Poitier?” Dylan said.  “Why would he move on to attack him now?”

Brandt cocked an eyebrow at the army retreating in the distance. “His actions in laying siege to my castle tell me that what the man says and what he intends are two different things,” he said. “We must hurry if we are going to prevent him from slaughtering Edward. Even after losing soldiers in this battle, he carries many more men than Edward does.”

“When do you wish to leave?”

“No more than four hours. See to it.”

Dylan nodded and began issuing orders.  Brandt remained on the wall, watching the retreat to ensure they did not regroup and attack a second time, before his thoughts turned to his wife. The moment he saw her face in his mind’s eye, he could think of nothing else.

Descending the wall, he made his way across the littered and blasted bailey as he headed for the keep.  He would spend a few hours with Ellowyn before heading out with the army.  He was already relishing the time spent with her, eager to feel her in his arms. The battle with Jean had been a relatively short but particularly brutal one and he was anxious to get  his mind off blood and pain and onto something soft and soothing.

The keep door was bolted and it took quite some time for the servants to work the bolts loose.  Two big iron bolts liked to stick and Brandt stood impatiently on the doorstep as the big panel was opened.  Once it swung loose, he shoved it open the rest of the way and retreated into the cool, musty interior.

As anxious as he was to see his wife, that enthusiasm was quickly doused when Annabeth met him at the door.  She motioned for silence and left him standing in the hall as she came out of the room and shut the door softly behind her.  As he opened his mouth to question her actions, she put her hands up again to quiet him.

“I must speak with you before you see your wife, my lord,” she whispered. “Lady Ellowyn awoke in great pain last evening.  She would not let us send for you or the midwife.  She has been in pain all night and has only now fallen back asleep.  If the battle is indeed over, we must send for the midwife immediately.”

Brandt knees went weak. “Something is wrong?”

Annabeth lifted her shoulders. “We do not know,” she said. “Only the midwife can tell us. Will you please send for her, my lord?”

Brandt was on the run.  He raced down the spiral stairs, through the keep entry, and down to the bailey.  The first knight he came across was a lesser  knight, helping with some repairs on the keep stairs, and he sent the man on the run into the town for the midwife.  Only a command from Brandt was able to open all three portcullises and the gate, and Brandt made sure the knight was well on his way before ordering the gates closed again and retreating back inside the keep.

All the while, his mind was a blank slate of distress. He could not think on Ellowyn or the child at the moment because it would surely cripple him and it was imperative that he keep his head.  He had to remain calm and in control, but the truth was that he was feeling more panic than he had ever felt in his life. 

Battles and kings and frightening men with weapons could do nothing to threaten his heart. But a lovely slip of a woman that he loved with every fiber of his being could.  By the time he reached the second floor chamber, he was wiping the tears from his eyes. He just couldn’t fathom anything happening to Ellowyn or their child.  He was emotional, exhausted, and distraught.

The chamber was very quiet as he entered.  Bridget and Annabeth were sitting by the bed, their eyes big on Brandt as he entered the room.  His gaze was riveted to his wife, curled up on her left side and sleeping peacefully.  His eyes never left her as he pulled up a chair and sat next to Annabeth and Bridget, staring at Ellowyn as if afraid she was about to disappear.  The tears he had been trying so hard to wipe away were back and they coursed down his cheeks as he stared at her.

Annabeth and Bridget watched in shock as the mighty Duke of Exeter crumbled.  As Annabeth sat next to him, wondering how on earth she could provide the man with some comfort, Bridget rose to pour him a measure of wine. They were desperate to do something to comfort him. Brandt took the wine gratefully and gulped it down, so Bridget poured him another.  She was pouring him a third cup when she noticed a figure in the slightly ajar door.

Brennan stood there, peering into the room.  He was dirty and exhausted, his ice-blue eyes lined with circles. He locked gazes with Bridget, so she carefully handed Brandt his third cup of wine and left the room, pushing Brennan back out into the darkened corridor. She shut the door softly behind her.

“What is the matter?” Brennan hissed.

Bridget put her hands on his chest, quieting him. “My question first,” she insisted softly. “Are you well?”

His face softened somewhat and he nodded. “I am well,” he whispered. “Most everyone is well.”

She smiled at him and he took one of her hands and kissed it gently. “What is happening with Lady de Russe?” he asked, her hand still against his lips. “The duke sent someone to fetch the midwife. I came to see if he needed anything else.”

She shook her head. “I will ask him,” she said. “Lady de Russe has been in pain since yesterday and we do not know what is wrong. He is understandably distraught.”

Brennan looked rather distressed himself as he nodded, kissing her hand again as she left him and went back into the room.  Bridget left the door cracked as she quietly moved to Brandt.

“My lord,” she whispered. “Brennan is here. He wants to know if you require anything at all.”

Brandt was still staring at his wife, now fortified by three cups of strong wine, which was loosening him up.  He thought a moment on the question.

“Have him see to my daughters,” he replied. Then, he glanced up at Bridget, and Annabeth. “Please leave us alone. I would be grateful.”

Without another word, the ladies slipped out and closed the door.  When Brandt heard the door shut and he was finally alone with Ellowyn in their comfortable chamber, his head sank face-first onto the mattress next to his wife.  He could no longer control what he was feeling.  He held her hand tightly.  It was the worst thing he had ever experienced.