Medieval Master Swordsmen(113)

The block they had built was about a dozen yards away, lodged in the shadow of the great keep that was now soaring into the cold light of dawn. Elizabeau walked towards it with her back straight, somewhat in a daze of what was actually happening but knowing that somewhere, somehow, David and Geist were going to save her life. It gave her strength knowing that intervention was about to happen. But she was still rightly petrified, especially when she saw a familiar face lingering near the block.

Lawrence was waiting for her. A man who had once sworn to protect her now looked at her emotionlessly, as if she meant nothing. Even as she laid her head upon the great oak block that had seen more than one execution, she expected a miracle. She prayed for it. But God, Geist, David and the miracle would have to hurry.

Time had run out. Lawrence lifted his sword. And then….





The first arrow hit Lawrence in the back. As he lurched sideways, the second one hit him in the ribs just below his right arm. He pitched sideways and his sword clattered to the ground as Elizabeau shrieked, realizing her head was still intact. But a split second of shock gave way to a grinding sense of self-preservation and she bolted to her feet, turning to see Lawrence writhing on the ground several feet away.

His sword was a few feet away and she swooped on it, taking the very sharp and heavy weapon in two hands. She almost dropped it the first time from sheer nerves but managed to get a hold of it on the second try. About the time she turned in Rhys’ direction, she could see two arrows hitting the men around him and Rhys exploded to his feet like a mad man. Elizabeau dashed in his direction with several soldiers in pursuit.

The bailey decayed into chaos as more arrows began to fly. Lewis was hit in the shoulder but it was not a bad wound; he rushed at Rhys as the man threw off his captors, still bound, still with the rope around his neck. But Lewis had his sword up and drawn, his intentions toward Rhys obvious. Rhys could not defend himself, but he could evade the man’s frontal onslaught. As he bolted in Elizabeau’s direction, Lewis moved to cut him off and, out of desperation, Rhys hit the ground with the intention of rolling into Lewis’ shins and taking his feet out from under him. But Elizabeau saw what was happening and, having no idea what Rhys was doing, panicked and took the heavy sword in her hands and heaved it with all of her might at Lewis.

It flew through the air awkwardly, flipping end over end. Lewis never saw the spinning blade coming; he only knew what had happened when it sailed straight into his neck and lodged there. The man collapsed in a heap, his head half-severed by the extremely sharp blade. More arrows flew overhead as Elizabeau reached Rhys and the dying Lewis. She nearly fell atop Rhys as she struggled to untie his hands.

“Are you all right?” he ripped his hands free of the bindings as they came loose. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

She shook her head as he wrenched the sword out of Lewis’ neck and turned to her. “Nay,” she gasped, terrified of all of the men running around them. But her gaze inevitably fell on Lewis, the man she had half-killed. She felt ill at the sight of him. “You cannot leave him like this. You must help him.”

Lewis’ eyes were open, gazing up at the lady and her knight. He was beyond any help. “Be… merciful, du Bois,” he mumbled thickly. “Be swift.”

Rhys gazed down at the man emotionlessly. “For the courtesy you have shown the lady and me, I will ensure that you feel no pain.”

Lewis simply closed his eyes in response. Pushing Elizabeau out of the way, Rhys stood up and the blade sailed over his head. Elizabeau turned away as it came down, finishing what she had started and severing Lewis’ neck from his body. Elizabeau kept her back to the scene; she couldn’t bear to look. As Rhys put his massive arm around her in preparation for fleeing, a body suddenly came flying out at them with a crossbow in hand and Rhys leveled the sword in the man’s direction.

“Wait!” David shouted, pulling off the wrap that was around his head, disguising him. “It’s me!”

Rhys exhaled sharply and lowered the blade. “Thank God,” he muttered. “Where’s Geist?”

David shook his head, grabbing Elizabeau by the arm. “I do not know. But we must get her out of here.”

Rhys didn’t argue. Together, the three of them raced across the bailey towards the kitchen yard where a charger waited at the postern gate. Crossing into the kitchen yard, they were met by several household soldiers and a loud, violent battle ensued. David tossed the crossbow to Elizabeau as he unsheathed his sword, but Rhys was already tearing into several well-armed men. When one man came too close to Elizabeau, she whacked him across the face with the crossbow and he dropped to the ground. It was then that she realized there was one arrow still in the second chamber of the weapon and, after taking a few moments to figure out how the thing worked, she launched it at one of the men battling Rhys.