This was supposed to be home.
Gilbert let his eyes wander up the familiar road to the castle standing tall and proud beyond. The castle itself was new, as the Norman castle that stood there before had been destroyed when his father took possession of the place, but the old outer walls remained, shored up and finished with new stone.
Even from here, he could see a row of men standing on the wall. A challenge had been sent last night, a formal declaration of their intent to come this morning and attack if his uncle would not surrender. The whole business made him sick at heart, both for those who had suffered already and those who now would. Even if his uncle surrendered without trouble, Gilbert would live with the sting of his uncle’s betrayal and the weight of guilt—unmerited though it be—of turning on the one man of his kin who had taken notice of him.
“This place is more run down than I would have expected from your talk,” Walter commented from where he rode at Gilbert’s right side.
Ralph and another man had snuck back to the cave during the night and retrieved their horses and other things. Thankfully, it was undisturbed, but they were still uncomfortable staying so near the castle of Éochythe. Ralph and Aleric were afoot now, but Tiffany, on Gilbert’s left, had been persuaded to ride Walter’s destrier. Walter kept the courser, which was less well-trained, for himself.
“It has character, though, does it not?” Gilbert asked. “I always thought it sad that the old castle was broken down, but at least the best parts were incorporated into the new. It was larger than this. There is another wing outside the walls on the other side that was turned nearly to rubble and was not rebuilt. I used to play there as a lad when I was supposed to be at my lessons.”
“It has a certain charm, I suppose.” Tiffany looked up critically. “It seems perfectly structured for a few good archers to shoot us all.”
“We have the advantage in that. My uncle has very few archers,” Gilbert answered, thankful of the fact for the first time. How often had he told his uncle they ought to have more trained archers among their men?
Scattered clouds drifted above, casting shadows on the great stone walls, the men standing above them, the travelers on the path. No, not travelers. Gil and his company were enemies of those they were going to visit. It was the strangest feeling. They hadn’t brought the entire company they had gathered—or were gathering—but their key players were all here: Ralph, Walter, Gilbert, Tiffany, Ansel, Aleric, and a man who called himself Birch—a nickname, no doubt. He was much like Ralph in grimness, but lacked the intense protective nature that was ingrained in Ralph, and seemed to have a higher education. Ralph said he was a master of archery and military tactics. Gil would take his word for it.
They stopped their approach just within hearing range and hopefully out of arrow range. His eyes ranged from the gate to the men above, now recognizable. His uncle was not there; rather, the steward of Éochythe stood above the gate, flanked by the leaders of their men.
“Hail, Edgar. Is my uncle within?”
“Your uncle will not deign to speak with a backstabber,” the steward answered, a hard edge to his voice.
Gilbert flinched, but his voice grew more stern. “It was not I who betrayed his kin. Tell Sir Ranulf that I am here to speak with him.”
“That I cannot do, my Lord.” The steward lifted his hand, and a line of archers appeared on the walls, arrows nocked. “For he gave orders to have you killed when we laid eyes on you. We are already in opposition to him by allowing you to speak this long.”
His hand fell, and the bows bent, letting loose their arrows with a hiss of wind. Walter’s hand shot out, catching Gilbert’s bridle and jerking his horse back with such force that the horse reared. Gilbert slid off before he could tighten his hold. Scrambling to his feet, he saw a shaft quivering in the ground where he had sat mounted a second before. Walter and Tiffany backed their horses rapidly, then wheeled and rode for the forest edge. Walter still held Gilbert’s rein, and his horse was far from manageable, so Tiffany offered him a hand as she rode past, and he swung up behind her. His weight jolted her in the saddle, and he reached around her for the pommel to steady them both as she steered.
“I thought you said he didn’t have archers,” she ground out as they rode. “They almost killed you.”
Still short of breath from hitting the ground, Gilbert just grunted in response. Catching up to Walter where he had halted out of range to calm the horses, Tiffany reined in the destrier. Gilbert slid off, wincing as he landed on his left ankle.
“You alright?” Walter asked, dismounting.
“I think I sprained it. Better than hitting my shoulder, though.” He looked around. “Where are Ralph and the others?”
“Shaft and Aleric are going round to the men.” Birch materialized from the trees next to them, face hard and voice flat. “They have been waiting in readiness for my word since dawn. None can go in or out of Éochythe without my knowing of it.”
Walter and Gilbert exchanged a look.
“I thought it was decided on that there would be no hostilities unless they made it necessary,” Gilbert said slowly.
Birch glanced past him into the trees as he spoke. “You may have agreed among yourselves. But your uncle started a war with the forest when he sent our man back half-dead. If you want out of this, go. But your presence will not stop our fight.”
~~~
From her perch on Walter’s horse, Tiffany watched Gil and Walt’s jaws tighten in tandem as they stared at the strange woodsman. Birch’s eyebrows rose a fraction when he finally looked at them.
“Ye di’n’t think we were here on your behalf, did ye?”
Tiffany crossed her arms. “Why are you here? It’s not like you run the forest.”
The slightest hesitation crossed his face before he said gruffly, “I get paid well for my work.”
He disappeared into the trees, leaving the three alone.
“I do not like to think of my uncle at that man’s mercy,” Gilbert said tensely. “He is more callous than even Aleric, I believe.”
Tiffany scanned the trees where he had disappeared, half expecting to see him still lurking there, listening. She saw nothing.
Callous is right, she thought. Callouses form from hardship and protect from injury. A calloused heart is a wounded heart. “I am more concerned by the idea that he is being paid,” she said. “I know Ralph doesn’t have the money to hire mercenaries, and he would not trust Aleric’s method of obtaining the funds.”
“Does it matter?” Walter cut in. “He is here, we are here, and your uncle has turned down your olive branch without any room for doubt, Gil.”
“If I had just been able to talk to him!” Gilbert slapped his leg in frustration. “Edgar has never been so intractable. He did not even summon my uncle.”
“Like as not, Sir Ranulf was within earshot,” Walter said dryly. “I cannot imagine a faithful steward turning so completely upon the rightful heir without the supplanter near at hand.”
“I do not like to think of him that way,” Gilbert muttered.
Tiffany finally dismounted. She felt small beside the massive steed, not like the feeling of flying above the earth that she had on its back. She crossed her arms and looked between the two men.
“Do you intend to keep lamenting a truth we knew beforehand—that your uncle has turned against you—or can we get out of sight and regroup with the others?”
“We do not even know where they are. Birch said they were busy, though when in that madness they had time to make off, I cannot say.” Gilbert looked around suddenly. “Where is Ansel?”
Tiffany froze. “He was riding behind us to the gate. I did not see him in the confusion after. Did you, Walt?”
He shook his head, looking back toward the empty roadway littered with arrows. “Birch did not mention his whereabouts.” He glanced at Gilbert. “His horse might have spooked, as yours did.”
“He is a good horseman, and mine would not have spooked if you had not grabbed it.”
“Because you were sitting there waiting to be shot!” Walter’s eye flashed angrily. “Is that the thanks I get for saving your life again?”
“I did not ask you to do so,” Gilbert snapped back.
“Then you are an idiot.”
Gilbert’s hand dropped to his sword hilt, and his voice hardened. “Say that again?”
Walter gripped his pommel, half lifting his sword from its sheath. He took a step closer to Gilbert. “I said—”
Tiffany pushed them apart, her own anger hot sparks in her chest. “You’re both idiots, and I don’t have time for any of it. Arguing about dying, of all the stupidest things!”
They stared at her, still breathing heavily with pent-up energy. She crossed her arms, standing between them and looking back and forth at their red faces.
“We have to find Birch again. If anyone knows where Ansel went, it’s him. It wouldn’t hurt to find Shaft, either. Are you two going to behave?”
Huffing a breath, Gilbert extended a hand to Walter.
“My apologies, friend.”
Walter shook it tensely. “This conversation is not over. But we must find Ansel.”
A Note from the Author
I hesitate to say this will be the last time a chapter is published late, because frankly, I am still behind on loads of projects and am just beginning to catch up. But I hope I’ll be on time next week! In the meantime, if you haven’t caught up on the first four chapters of If I Could Save Just One, you are missing out on one of my favorite stories (that is tied to my contemporary novels-in-progress).
If I Could Save Just One
“Speak up for those who have no voice, for the justice of all who are dispossessed. Speak up, judge righteously, and defend the cause of the oppressed and needy.”
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The next chapter comes out (hopefully) next week, only on Substack! Did you miss the last one? Here it is!⤵︎
The Plot Thickens
Ralph tried to keep the thrill of his words from taking root. He didn't want battle of any sort, but when the inevitable came in sight and there was justice …
Until next time,
Blessings!
~Lexi
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