Medieval Master Swordsmen(465)

Garren didn’t know what to feel. “How is that?”

“He is fighting off the de Rosas and he helped me escape to come and tell you everything. That should be quite enough.”

The last piece of metal that Garren collected was his sword, massive and lethal. He looked at it, thinking that he would soon be raising it for the greatest cause he had ever known. Fergus saw the deadly gleam to his eye as he spoke.

“Not hell nor William Marshal nor the de Rosas will keep me from claiming what is rightfully mine,” he growled. “Fergus, I swear to you, by the time this night is through, I shall have my wife. If I do not, it is because I was killed trying.”

Fergus could see a recklessness about him that was frightening. “You have come too far to die,” he said firmly. “Derica would never recover. She went for weeks thinking you were dead and it nearly destroyed her. For you to die within sight of her would be too much for her to bear. You must think of her, Garren.”

“She is all I think of.”

“Then temper yourself. We need your cold logic, not your fury.”

Garren’s jaw ticked. There was too much happening for him to be rational at the moment. Without another word, he and Fergus went back into the inner courtyard where surprise met them; Offa and Emyl, dressed in their ragged armor and weapons, stood silently in wait. Garren eyed them as he approached.

“Where do you go?” he indicated their dress.

“With you,” Emyl said steadily. “You will need our help.”

They were old knights and due their respect. Garren tried to be careful in his reply.

“Although I am most grateful for your offer, I fear this is a job for me alone. Four of us would be too many and not enough, all at the same time.”

“But there is an army in wait for you, Garren,” Offa said. “You must have aid.”

Garren couldn’t help but think how pathetic they looked, though noble were their intentions. The de Rosa knights would cut them to ribbons.

“Gentle knights, I am riding to reclaim my wife. I must do this alone. Pray that you understand and are not offended.”

Offa shrugged. “We were obligated to offer. We are knights, after all.”

“And your loyalty is appreciated. But for now, I need you here to shore up Cilgarren for a de Rosa attack. If I am successful in retrieving Derica, it is quite possible they will follow us here in their zeal to kill me and take back their daughter.”

It was an honorable duty requested of them, and a necessary one. Emyl was perhaps more disappointed that Offa was; there was a time when he lived for a good fight. But he forced down his disappointment.

“We shall be ready, Garren. Godspeed to you.”

Garren laid a hand on the old man’s shoulder as he walked away, glad they understood, now better able to refocus on what he must do. By the time he reached his charger, he was quivering with the anticipation of seeing Derica again. It seemed like a dream he’d held so closely to his heart that she was nearly nebulous, like a ghost. He could remember the smell of her, the taste of her, but the feel of her soft flesh in his hands was slipping from his memory. It had been too long. The more he struggled to keep the memory, the further it moved away from him. His whole being cried out for her.

It had been less than an hour since Fergus’ arrival at Cilgarren. In the dark of night, Garren and Fergus were back on the road, riding southwest to Pembroke.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN





Bertram de Rosa unleashed hell.

Keller, a man who was not easily impressed with battle tactics, had to admit he was somewhat respectful of not only Bertram’s cunning, but of his power. The maid that had come with de Rosa’s terms had not exaggerated when she had said the army carried around one thousand fools and men. It had to be at least that, if not more. But Keller was ready for them.

The first phase of the battle had consisted of archers, aimed high at close range so that they sailed up and over the outerwall of Pembroke but had less luck breaching the inner wall because of its distance from the outerwall and the great gatehouse. Because the archers were so close, they were in range of Keller’s Welsh archers, the finest bowmen in the world. After Bertram’s first volley, Keller let loose with his own barrage that effectively sent Bertram’s archers running for cover. But it had been a shrewd move on de Rosa’s part, designed to give Keller an overabundance of confidence and invite the hope that he would follow it up with something foolish.

But Keller held his confidence in check as he watched the de Rosa archers scatter; it was tempting to want to chase them, but he suspected a man as experienced as de Rosa would not have made such a foolish mistake. He had been correct; a few moments later, he was glad that he had restrained himself. Parting the trees as they moved towards Pembroke were two massive siege towers being pulled by teams of oxen. Keller had been momentarily surprised; so had his men up on the wall. All eyes were fixed on the siege towers that were as tall as the outerwall, lumbering steadily towards them. Once the shock wore off, Keller snorted. Then he applauded.