Medieval Master Swordsmen(4)

Through the sheets of driving rain, lights became evident in the distance. Du Bois increased his pace, entering the small berg of Ealing and heading for the fortified manor to the north and west of the town that belonged to Thomas Courtenay, Earl of Osterley and strong supporter of the John’s opposition. Even through the rain and wind, he could see it in the distance as he passed through the main street of the town, though he made sure to keep his attention on his surroundings in case dangers lurked. As they approached the manse, he unstrapped his double-barrel Welsh crossbow and perched the weapon on his left knee as he switched the reins to his right hand. Being left-handed, he was deadly accurate within several dozen yards.

Courtenay’s manor was separated from the main part of town, secluded behind enormous walls that were manned by sentries. Rhys could see them as he approached. When a man on the wall lifted his hand to Rhys in greeting, Rhys lifted his crossbow and neatly shot the man off the wall.

He dug his spurs into the charger’s sides, prompting the exhausted animal on again at a harried pace. Elizabeau grabbed hold of the saddle lest she slide to the ground.

“What’s wrong?” she cried.

Rhys tried to hold on to her, his crossbow and the reins at the same time. He didn’t answer her as he drove the horse into the nearest bank of trees. Behind him, he could hear shouting over the driving of the rain.

“Sir knight,” Elizabeau ducked as a small branch came at her head; it missed her but struck du Bois and did nothing more than glance off. “What’s wrong? I thought we were…?”

“It would seem that Courtenay’s house is occupied,” he replied, somewhat wryly. “We will have to find alternate quarters for the night.”

She almost slipped off as the charger made a sharp turn in the bramble. “What do you mean? How do you know this?”

Rhys grunted when another branch caught him heavily in the shoulder. “Be still. If we’re being pursued, they’ll hear your voice.”

Elizabeau gripped the saddle with white knuckles. The horse took another sharp turn in the darkness and she suddenly lost her grip, sliding off the wet saddle before Rhys could grab her. She fell heavily, landing in the muck.

Du Bois turned his weary horse about in a flash. To their left was a heavy cluster of trees and overgrowth and he plowed the horse into it as far as the beast would go. Dismounting swiftly, he secured the horse and raced to where Elizabeau was picking herself up. Grabbing the woman by the arms, he yanked her into the brush.

“Are you injured?” he asked with quiet urgency.

She shook her head, a bit dazed. “I… I do not think so.”

“Then stay here and be quiet.”

It was not a request. Elizabeau looked at him with wide eyes but she did as he commanded. Rushing back to the area where she fell, du Bois used a fallen branch to sweep their tracks clean. Even though the rain would very shortly wash away any evidence, still, he wanted to make sure they were not detected. Dropping the branch, he raced back to their hiding place and made sure the horse was adequately concealed.

He dropped to his knees, taking Elizabeau down with him. His brilliant blue eyes scanned the forest, ears attuned to any sound. But the rain continued to fall around them and the trees remained relatively silent. After several long, tense minutes, he let out a sigh and turned to the lady beside him.

“Are you sure you did not hurt yourself when you fell?” he whispered.

She looked at him, his features barely visible in the dark night. “I am sure,” she breathed. “What happened back there that we had to flee? Were we being chased?”

His gaze lingered on her a moment before returning to the forest beyond. “Not chased.”

“Then what?”

He paused a moment before replying. “The sentry.”

“What about the sentry?”

“No sentry would have lifted his hand to me in greeting. He would have demanded my name before ever showing me a measure of welcome.” When she opened her mouth to question him further, he cut her off. “Be quiet now. Your voice carries a mile and I’ll not have you give our position away.”

It was an insult, but he was probably correct. In fact, she couldn’t get too angry over it so she plopped on her rump and tried to huddle under the oiled cloak, which was now completely covered with mud. It was freezing, wet and miserable but, contrary to her nature, she didn’t open her mouth to complain. She wouldn’t give du Bois the satisfaction of commanding her to be quiet again. He seemed to like it too much.

The charger swung its big head, knocking her on the side of the face with his foamy lips. Features contorted with disgust, she wiped the saliva from her cheeks and spread it on the leaves beside her. She looked up to see du Bois watching her. His gaze lingered on her a moment before turning back to the dark forest beyond. There was no compassion in his expression at all. He only wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to make a sound; he could have cared less about her comfort. Tired, wet, and disgusted, Elizabeau scooted away from the horse but du Bois stopped her.