“Then let us get about helping these men,” she said quietly, turning to look at the crowd in the room. “The rest is up to Sir Tate.”
Althel nodded as he and Toby parted company; she went to start on the men near the entry door while Althel went to the group positioned near the hearth. The smell of smoke was growing heavier in the hall as the wooden stairs outside the entry door were fully engulfed, but inside the hall, Toby felt relatively safe. She tried not to worry for Tate, doing battle in the bailey. She’d already lost so much in the past few days; to lose him, too, would only diminish her more. She wasn’t sure if she could take another death. She couldn’t even think about it.
All they could do now was wait.
*
The battle wenton well into the day. Dusk approached and still, the battle raged on. Toby knew that because she could still hear the fighting outside the solar windows. So far, no one had made a move to breach the keep but she was terrified to look outside, terrified to see what was going on. Terrified that she would see dead knights and terrified that one of them would be Tate.
Eventually, all of the men in the hall were tended. Some of them had died along the way. The dead had been grouped into a bunch tucked into a corner, far from the hearth and its radiant heat. Toby wasn’t sure how long they would be shut up with the bodies and she didn’t want the heat hastening the rotting process.
It had been dirty, hard work. Toby was exhausted but strangely, feeling stronger than she had in days. Her body seemed to be recovering from her bout with illness and the crescent shaped wounds on her wrist that her mother had given her were healing nicely. When she looked at the scabs, it seemed as if they had happened years ago. So much had taken place since then.
Since there were no women at Harbottle, the male servants had learned to do the cooking long ago. Althel had prepared a thin soup of boiled rabbit bones, some beans and dried carrots that he and Toby had been feeding to the men who were conscious. Toby noticed, as she moved from man to man, how young many of them were. All were vassals of Tate, most having been born on his lands. A few of the older men were retainers sworn to Tate from other parts of England, seasoned men that trained the younger. Toby finished feeding Tate’s men, her mind lingering increasingly on Tate and his progress outside.
When dusk finally settled into night and the hall grew dark except for the fire in the hearth, Toby moved to the darkened solar and listened to the sounds of the battle outside. It was an eerie sensation listening to the sounds of fighting intermingled with the cries of the wounded. She had never even been remotely close to a battle, living a simple and uncomplicated life at Forestburn. This had been a swift education in the realities of life. Toby huddled on the floor against the wall, her legs drawn up against her chest and her arms wrapped around her knees for warmth as she listened to the sounds of the struggle.
As time passed and she continued to sit, it seemed as if the sounds of battle were drawing nearer. She could hear shouts, cries, and clangs as metal met metal. The sounds drew closer still. Afraid that somehow the enemy had found a way to breach the keep, she moved quickly from the solar and up the treacherous stairs, finding the smaller chamber that Althel had told her was used for weapons storage. A pile of staffs lay upon the ground, some with broken tips and some with very sharp tips. Two large swords sat propped against a wall. As she fingered through the pile of staffs, she suddenly heard a loud crash on the floor below.
Startled, she grabbed a staff with a very sharp point and hastened down the stairs. By the time she reached the bottom, she could see a man in mail climbing through a solar window. The shutters lay in pieces on the ground, having been shattered by the morning star that the soldier was carrying in one hand. Without delay, Toby leveled the staff and charged at the man with all her might.
The soldier wasn’t quite through the window and unable to defend himself as she rammed the spear tip into his shoulder. He screamed and lost his grip on the windowsill, tumbling two stories to the bailey below. Terrified, Toby jammed the staff at the next man on the ladder and stabbed him in the eye. He fellback on his comrades and the entire line of soldiers climbing the ladder tumbled to the ground.
Toby was in survival mode; nothing mattered but preserving her life and the lives of the men inside the keep. She grabbed the edge of the ladder and struggled to push it away, only to notice that below her, Tate had a hold of the ladder and yanked so hard that he almost pulled her from the window. The ladder crashed and splintered. Toby looked down at Tate just as he looked up at her. Their eyes met and Toby felt a strong sense of joy at seeing him alive.
“Are you all right?” she yelled down at him.
He gazed up at her, the visor of his helm lifted, and smiled wearily. “Now that I have seen you, I can move mountains,” he called up to her. “Are you well?”
Exhausted but elated, she met his smile. Her cheeks were flushed with fear, giving her a delightfully rosy appearance. “I am fine,” she replied. “Are we winning this battle, then?”
He gestured towards the gates, now breached and burning. “Warkworth has been sighted on the horizon. We should be done with this in short time.”
Toby felt a distinct sense of relief at the news. “Where is your squire?” she wanted to know.
“Safe,” was all he said. Then he blew a kiss at her. “Go back inside. It should not be long now.”
She nodded, but not before saying what was foremost on her mind. “Please take care.”
He winked at her and trudged off, slugging a man in the face that came at him. Toby watched him slog off across the bailey, now muddy with blood from all of the wounded men. It was a grim and horrible sight. She watched him until he disappeared behind a group of fighting men before pulling herself inside and settling, once more, against the solar wall. But the staff wasin her hand, waiting for the next fool to try and breach her sanctuary. She wasn’t going to let it go without a fight.
CHAPTER NINE
Hamlin de Roche’sforces had been forced to regroup when reinforcements from Warkworth arrived. De Roche recognized the colors and knew that they were outnumbered by the fresh army. His men had been fighting almost a full day and night. He may have been a ruthless man, but he was not stupid. He knew when to quit. As soon as Warkworth drew near, he gave the order to retreat and his men fled to the south.
Warkworth gave chase for several miles, managing to kill a good many of them as they fled. The fresh army simply overwhelmed them. But soon enough, they drew back as de Roche’s army continued on. After several more miles of running, they finally regrouped near the small town of Hesleyside.
Baron Keilder from Keilder Castle had been the one to supply troops to de Roche so he could move on Harbottle. Many of Keilder’s men trickled back home, but about one hundred remained encamped with de Roche and his generals. Fires had been lit and tents pitched. Hamlin and his men took rest and food in a larger tent, reviewing the battle and plotting their next move. As the wind blew and a rain storm moved through the area, the men around the crackling fire conspired.
“Now that we know where the king is, we can assemble an even larger force and attack,” an old general who had servedWarwick was resolute. “Harbottle was greatly compromised during the siege.”
Hamlin chewed on his bread wearily, gazing into the flicker of the fire. “They will move him,” he replied. “Dragonblade is no fool. If we return to Harbottle, Edward will not be there. They will take him someplace far more fortified.”
“Then we must strike again,” the general asserted, “before they can move the boy.”
“With Warkworth’s troops occupying the place?” Hamlin shook his head. “It would be foolish. We do not have the strength of numbers now. But we will.”
The men around the fire looked curiously at Hamlin; they were all seasoned men, having served kings and kingmakers in their time. Many of them had served Longshanks and viewed his grandson with the same fear that they had felt for Edward the Second. Like father, like son.