Shadows and Strongholds (14 page)

Once Brunin fell asleep in the saddle and awoke to find himself being carried in his father's arms, a fur-lined cloak tucking him against the pommel and the stars shining like salt crystals as the army rode by moonlight.

Finally they came to Hereford, and the yellow glow of torches replaced the white fire of moon and stars. In a state that was still half-dream, Brunin ate pottage and bread in the great hall and then lay down on a straw pallet pushed against the wall. Within minutes he was asleep.

In the private chamber beyond the hall, Joscelin slumped on a cushioned bench and took the wine that an attendant presented to him. In typical fashion, while other men had taken the opportunity to sit, Prince Henry was on his toes and pacing the room like a caged young lion. 'At first light we ride for Monmouth,' he said, flashing a bright glance around the room. 'Roger has heard from his scouts that Eustace has troops out looking for us now.'

Joscelin grimaced wearily. Stephen's son Eustace was like a vicious dog and enjoyed nothing better than to be unleashed and given licence to bite.

They need to destroy you at all costs, sire,' said Roger. 'If they do not do it now, then their time is over.'

'And mine is just beginning' Henry prowled to the end of the room, gazed at an embroidered wall hanging and turned back. 'They won't prevail. Ranulf of Chester intends to create a diversion that will keep Stephen in the north, and Hugh Bigod will bait him in the east.' His gaze flicked to Joscelin and FitzWarin, 'You, mv lords, will hold down the Marches.'

Joscelin felt a surge of relief. He would have followed Henry to Bristol—so would FitzWarin, for that matter—but, in doing so, they would have left their own castles vulnerable to the assault of barons like Hugh of Wigmore and Gilbert de Lacy, not to mention opportunist raids from the Welsh. Now they had reached Hereford, the guarding of Henry's person could be left to fresher men.

'As you wish, sire,' he said and relaxed as he spoke. On the morrow Henry would head for Bristol and he could go home to Ludlow, Sybilla and his daughters. At one time a battle campaign had been a source of adventure and satisfaction to him. These days the pleasure rusted with more speed than mail in a downpour.

Twenty miles lay between Hereford and Ludlow: a comfortable distance that could be covered in less than a day when it was high summer.

Henry had departed the city while the sky was scarcely grey with first dawn, hastening towards Bristol and reinforcements.

'To be sixteen again, eh?' said FitzWarin as he gained the saddle in the full light of day and gestured his squire to take up his banner.

Joscelin grinned. 'It has its advantages,' he said. 'Then again, there's value in experience.' His eyebrows flashed with innuendo before he turned to Brunin, who had just mounted Morel. 'Feeling better this morning, child?'

'Yes, my lord.' Brunin gave a brisk answer to Joscelin's query. A night's slumber within the security of stone walls and two hot meals with as much wheat bread as he could eat had done much to restore him.

'Good. Then, if you are up to it, you can bear my shield for a time. Certainly you'll handle it better than Adam.' Joscelin's tone contained both humour and asperity. Brunin followed his glance to his second squire, who was mangling an attempt to mount his black and white cob, Pie. Adam's complexion was green and, as he finally gained the saddle, his throat bobbed convulsively.

'Young idiot,' Joscelin growled. He looked at Brunin. 'Just remember when temptation comes your way that a boy will drink beyond his means and a man will know when he's had enough.'

'Yes, sir,' Brunin said dutifully. Inside he was grinning from ear to ear, for the task of shield-bearer was important and would not usually have been given to the youngest squire. Not wanting to gloat at Adam's expense, he did his best to conceal his delight. Taking up Joscelin's red and gold wyvern shield, he set it by its long strap at his back. It was heavy, but bearably so, and his pride lightened the burden.

'By rights I should let Adam take his punishment and bear the shield anyway, but, as your father is always saying, my heart is too tender.' Joscelin cast a laughing glance over his shoulder. 'We've all been boys when we should have been men and how else is a boy to become a man, save by performing men's tasks?'

FitzWarin made a rude sound at the speech, but it was good-natured. He was as glad as Joscelin to be going home—even if it was to prepare for storms to come.

They rode out into morning sunshine and took the road towards Ludlow. Now and again, Joscelin or FitzWarin would make a comment and the other would laugh. It was not so much the humour that caused the mirth as the release from tension. Ludlow was only twenty miles away and each stride of the horses brought them closer to home. Hugh had a good voice and struck up a bawdy song that was taken up by some of the others. The sunshine was hot and the morning was filled with the creak and smell of leather, the jingle of harness, the hollow clop of shod hoof on dusty road. Adam had to keep diving from his horse to retch into the verge. His pallid face and the deep furrows between his brows revealed that his skull was suffering as much as his stomach. The older men laughed and teased him mercilessly.

The weight of the shield began to make Brunin's spine and shoulders ache, but he endured the discomfort, determined not to show it lest his father or Lord Joscelin take the task from him. He wanted to bear the shield all the way to Ludlow and ride proudly into the bailey with it still at his back for everyone to see. He counted Morel's strides along the road and envisaged how much ground they were covering. When Joscelin enquired if he was tired, he shook his head and set his jaw.

As they began the final stretch of their journey, the forest closed in at the roadside. It was supposed to be cut back to make it difficult for outlaws to waylay travellers or ambushes to be set up, but the summer's growth and a recent lack of diligence meant that the greenery was thicker and darker than it should have been. Frowning with displeasure, Joscelin murmured to FitzWarin that he would have sharp words with the men responsible, and make it a priority to have the woodland shorn away from the road.

Adam had to scramble down from his mount and dive into the bushes again as his bowels added their protest to his malaise. Good-natured jeers followed him, but were cut off as an instant later he sprinted from the bushes, clutching his unlaced braies at his waist.

'Ware arms!' he cried. 'Soldiers in the woo—' The end of the warning was cut off in a grunt as an arrow slammed into his spine and he fell forward on the road at Morel's hooves.

Brunin's eyes widened in horror. A second arrow thudded into the wyvern shield and the force of the blow almost punched him from the saddle as Morel canted sideways with a startled snort. Instinctively, Brunin gripped with his thighs and tightened his grip on the reins.

He heard Joscelin roaring orders, but later was not to remember what they were. Two knights dismounted, ran to Adam, hauled him up and threw him across his horse. Amid a hail of arrows, the company spurred up the road to outrun the archers, but, beyond the bowmen, mounted troops and footsoldiers were waiting.

Brunin swallowed. The same terror he had felt at Shrewsbury Fair surged over him, but this time, conditioned by training and new experience, his reactions were different. Every sense was poised on a knife-edge, keen and sharp as he kicked Morel forward and brought the arrow-pierced shield to Joscelin. The faster everything became, the more time seemed to slow down. His father bellowed at him to get back, and the command was like a shout echoing in a cavern. He reined Morel about and peeled back into the ranks of men. Above his head he saw the banners snapping on the enemy lances and heard the battle shouts of Wigmore and de Lacy. The clash of weapons was hard, fast, terrifying; in a dreadful way it reminded him of a full dining hall on a feast day, save that the aggressive roars were not of laughter, but of fear and fury and effort, and the assault of blades was upon human flesh, not haunches of venison. He saw Joscelin's stallion rear, forehooves pawing, and the wyvern shield smash down into a footsoldier's face. He saw the FitzWarin banner plunge and come back up, blood running down the point and staining the bright silk, and his father's bay stallion shouldering into an opponent's mount.

A gap opened in the fighting and one of Joscelin's Serjeants yelled at him to gallop through it. Brunin slammed his heels into Morel's flanks and the pony surged forward. He felt Hugh beside him, his fist around the bridle of Adam's horse. Adam was bent over Pie's withers, the arrow protruding from between his shoulder blades. There was no blood from the wound itself, but it dripped steadily from the squire's open mouth into his mount's silver mane.

A low-hanging branch whipped at Brunin and he ducked low over Morel's straining neck. Behind them he could still hear the clash of battle, but it was fading, as if they were out of the dining hall and in a vestibule.

'Don't slow!' the serjeant bellowed. 'Not for anything!'

Brunin didn't, not until Morel began to labour, and then he sat up and slackened the rein to ease the winded pony. Through the thundering of his heart, he heard hoofbeats drumming fast from behind and his gut twisted. The serjeant drew his sword and turned, wide-eyed and grim-jawed. Then he slumped. 'Thank Jesu!' he gasped.

Brunin saw his father's bloodied banner and Joscelin's battered wyvern shield. The rest of the troop followed them at a hard pace and Joscelin was gesturing wildly.

'Ride on!' he roared. 'Don't stop, you fools, ride on!'

Brunin dug his heels into Morel's flanks and the pony gamely gave him a burst of speed, but was soon blowing hard. After a mile of this punishing pace, Joscelin hauled on the bridle and slewed his stallion to face the road behind. It was quiet save for the ticking sound of settling dust. Sunlight dazzled down, for now the trees were cut back the requisite distance, and the woods were a silence of green-gold leaf dapple.

'There's no sign of pursuit, but that does not mean they have drawn off,' he said grimly and, reining hard about, kicked his mount's heaving flanks. 'We won't be safe until we're behind Ludlow's walls.'

With as much haste as the flagging horses could muster and the injured men stand, the company hastened on to the castle. The guards had seen their approach and the gates were already flung wide. Word had gone speeding to the lady in her chamber.

As the gates closed behind them and the great walls embraced them like the arms of a mother, Brunin began to tremble. A familiar wave of nausea hit his belly. He swallowed and swallowed again, determined not to shame himself. He watched them take Adam down from his horse, the arrow protruding from his back like the stalk on some strange fruit, his chin crimson with blood, the front of his gambeson and his horse sodden with it. Joscelin knelt by him, propping him in his arms, murmuring words of comfort while the youth fought for breath and his lifeblood gushed from his open mouth.

'Brunin, run for the priest,' Joscelin commanded over his shoulder in a cracking voice. 'Make haste!'

Brunin slipped from Morel's back and sprinted towards the chapel. On his way he caught sight of Lady Sybilla running from the living quarters with her women, the smile of greeting on her face already changing as she realised something was wrong.