By then, the damage was done.
The first Conor realized there was trouble was when men in the inner ward bearing crossbows began firing at the sentries on the walls. Conor was barely missed by an arrow but the soldier standing next to him and one of the scouts who had seen the big army to the south weren’t so lucky; they fell immediately, as did scores of other men hit by the barrage of arrows. As Conor and the others took cover on the walls and began to return fire, the men in the ward that had initially fired the arrows then charged the gatehouse, and the gate, and the battle for control of Babylon was on.
Conor could hear the fighting as he labored to stay low, away from the flying arrows, but even as he struggled to assess what had happened, deep down, he already knew. Somehow, someway, men had breached Babylon, and he made his way on his hands and knees towards the gatehouse to defend it. He was stunned to realize that men were able to enter Babylon in spite of the safeguards he had set up and it confirmed to him then that the fire in the distance had been a ruse. It had been meant to attract, and keep, their attention, which it had. While they hadbeen watching the flames, the enemy had evidently mounted the walls.
Or perhaps they dug holes beneath them or even launched themselves over them. Whatever the case, Babylon was now compromised. Feeling very foolish, and very angry, Conor drew his broadsword and charged down the narrow spiral staircase of the gatehouse, only to be blocked by several of his soldiers who had already tried the same thing. They were dammed up by men at the entrance to the gatehouse down below, fighting to keep them from all coming down off the walls.
Conor began shoving men aside in his attempt to get down to where the fighting was. He was near the door and could see the battle going on beyond, near the portcullis. The great portcullis itself had already been partially lifted and men were pouring in through the breach. Conor had no idea where the enemy army had come from because he and his men had been keeping careful watch of the surrounding countryside. They even kept watch of the River Black, which ran to the south and west of Babylon, but there was vegetation on the banks of the river and Conor came to understand that the enemy army must have used the river itself to their advantage. While the fire burned, the army had moved in stealth upon Babylon and now, for their lack of awareness, Conor and his men were paying the price. God’s Bones, he felt like such an idiot.
He had let Kenton down.
That was the worst dishonor he could possibly imagine, letting down le Bec, a man he so greatly admired and a man who had been kind to him. And man who had survived so much and had fought many great battles. The fury of Conor’s failure breathed new life into his resolve and he shoved men aside, moving in between them, scratching and clawing to get free of the gatehouse stairs and to where the fighting was taking place. He was able to shoot through the doorway and into a tide ofincoming hostiles. They seemed to be coming from everywhere. Conor had to find a way to stop them or die trying.
As the battle for Babylon was in full swing, a ragtag army headed towards Babylon from Rochdale, a group of beaten and fleeing men who had another group of men pursuing them. There were no standards flying, from anyone, and therefore no way to know that the ragtag army was what was left of Kenton’s fighting force after the route at Manchester. There were three knights in the lead who, after seeing the siege of Babylon as it was illuminated by the big, silver moon, took their beaten and exhausted army to the south, to a minor road that ran towards the east.
There was no returning home for the fragments of Kenton le Bec’s army so the remaining knights in command acted wisely and bypassed the besieged Babylon, choosing instead to take the remains of the army to safety elsewhere. Beaten and shattered, if they wanted to survive, they had little choice.
But neither Conor nor his men saw any of it. He was too busy trying to reclaim Babylon from the men that were quickly gaining the upper hand. With only two hundred men to defend Babylon, the battle was over almost the moment it started, but Conor never gave up. Not even when he was swarmed with enemy soldiers, who managed to disarm him and beat him fairly badly did he give up. He was still fighting until the last, until someone mercifully landed a heavy blow to his unprotected head which stilled the big, red-haired knight once and for all.
Then, and only then, did Conor stop resisting.
For him, it was over.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Manchester
Three days later
It was dawnon a particularly cold morning as Kenton sat in the icy grass beneath a barren oak tree on the south side of Manchester, shackled by the ankles and wrists. It was actually the first day he could remember being completely lucid since riding to battle against an army of Edward supporters who were trying to invade Manchester so soon after he had secured it.
Kenton had charged into the heat of the fighting and had performed magnificently until someone hit him on the head from behind, so hard that he had pitched over his horse and landed on his forehead. He’d been wearing a helm at the time, but the blow had knocked him cold. He’d awoken some time later to find himself tightly bound and quite obviously a prisoner, but he’d lost consciousness again for an unknown amount of time until regaining consciousness within the past hour or two.
He’d awoken, dazed, to a horrific headache and blurred vision on his left side. He was fairly certain he had a massivebruise or some kind of swelling on his forehead because his face was extremely tender and the blurriness in his left eye seemed to be because he couldn’t open it completely. It had been dark when he’d awoken, and he’d been lying on his side, but he’d looked around enough to see that he was grouped with other prisoners, men under his command that he recognized.
“My lord?” came a hiss. “Sir Kenton, can you hear me?”
Kenton could see a pair of bound boots a foot or so away from his head. He must have groaned, or moved, or both, because the hiss came again.
“Sir Kenton?” the man said again. “Are you awake now? Can you speak?”
Kenton tried to move his head but it was very painful to do so. He ended up closing his eyes, trying to stave off the nausea. “Who is it?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“’Tis Lewis, my lord,” the man whispered loudly. “Camden Lewis. I have served you for….”
Kenton cut him off. “I know you,” he said. “You are one of my senior soldiers. You have a brother who fell at Towton.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Give me the situation, Lewis.”
It was a formal request, from a commander to his soldier, because all things in Kenton’s world were formal no matter what the circumstances. He could hear the soldier grunt, more than likely with irony.
“They got us good, my lord,” the soldier muttered. “The garrison from Conisbrough, they are. From what we can gather, they were alerted that our army was in Manchester. We heard them speaking of it. They are looking for you in particular.”
Kenton’s eyes opened and he tried to look around. “How… how long?”
“Have you been unconscious?”