Honor & Roses (2 page)

“Don’t tease me,” Cecily chided, though with an answering smile. “I know you can’t disobey a king.”

“We’ll be back in a few months,” Alric assured her. “The king has summoned nearly all the fighters he can. David of Scotland is threatening the northern border, but with a large show of force, the scoundrel will back off quickly. David can’t hold the cities he’s already taken.”

“He thought Stephen would be distracted because he’s new on the throne,” Luc added. Luc prided himself on knowing the political details of a situation. “But Stephen will move swiftly and put down the rebellion.”

“You mean
we
will.” That last comment came from Rafe, who emphasized his point with a swing of his sword. “We knights will do the fighting. The king will be back behind the lines.”

“I heard King Stephen is a very brave warrior,” Cecily ventured. There had been many stories about the new king. Since the death of King Henry the previous year, the matter of who would ascend to the throne had been a topic on everyone’s lips. Even in the west of England, with the Welsh border so close, people were concerned about such things. It meant the difference between peace and war.

“I’ve heard the same. We’ll see what he does in the north,” Luc said. “We all owe him our allegiance. Bishop Henry said he was the old king’s choice.”

There was some dispute about that, Cecily knew. Maud, the daughter of the old King Henry, had also claimed the throne. But it seemed her claim was ignored. If she remained in France with her husband, perhaps she had accepted the decision.

Alric suddenly interrupted her musings. “I must have left my poniard in the stable. Too much to think about this morning. I bet it’s fallen into the hay in the stall and got lost already.”

“I’ll help you find it,” Cecily offered.

The pair walked to the stables. Cecily was glad for the extra moment with Alric—anything to put off the inevitable.

The stables were still dim, but it didn’t take long to spot what Alric was looking for. His poniard lay near the back of the horse stall, safely in its scabbard.

“That’s a good sign,” Alric said in relief. “This was my father’s. I’d hate to lose it.”

He turned to lead them back outside, but Cecily put her hand on his arm.

“Wait, please. I have a gift for you.”

He stopped and turned, looking surprised. “For me?”

“Yes.” She presented him with a ribbon. The fabric itself was deep blue, covered with embroidery in white thread. The images included a simple sword, a hawk in profile, a few little flowers, and the phrase
Lord Protect Me
written in Latin. “I made it last night. Burned an extra candle to finish it in time.”

Alric took it, handling the ribbon gently in his hand. “Thank you.”

“Will you carry it with you? For protection.”

“I will. I promise.” He paused. “You only made the one?”

She looked down at the ground. “I had no time for more. Besides, you need it most. Luc has three squires about him all the time. They’ll watch out for their master.”

“And Rafe?” he asked.

“Rafe can take care of himself!” Cecily said, sniffing. “Or the devil will look after his own.” Rafe was one of the most daring, impudent boys she’d ever known. Not like Alric, who was much more steady and dependable.

“Well,” he said, putting the ribbon away in his tunic. “I feel safer already.”

“Alric?” she asked nervously.

“What?”

“Do…do you want a kiss too? For luck?”

Without waiting for his answer, for fear she’d lose her nerve, Cecily reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck, my dear friend,” she whispered. “May God keep you safe.”

She pulled away abruptly, suffering a rush of unfamiliar feelings. They were alone, and he was leaving, and her heart had never ached so before. Her cheeks grew hot all of a sudden, and she hoped he wouldn’t laugh at her.

He didn’t. Instead, he reached out to take her hand. “I’ll…we’ll…be back before you notice we’re gone.”

“Just be careful. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you. Send word when you can.”

“I promise.” He stared at her for a moment, as if memorizing her face. “Cecily, if ever…” he began to say.

A shout from the courtyard interrupted him. “They’re ready to leave,” he said.

“I’ll miss you,” she blurted out.

“And I you. Be careful while we’re gone. When I come back, I want to see you safe and sound.”

“Yes, Alric.”

She followed him back outside to the courtyard, wishing she could stop time.

Her uncle Theobald, the lord of Cleobury, stood by the massive doors to the manor house, surveying the whole party. Alric murmured for her to go join her uncle, then he walked to his horse.

Theobald gave a brief speech to the gathered men. She scarcely heard it. She assumed everyone was waving farewell, but her eyes were blurry with tears.

Come back to me
, she prayed.
Come back to me, Alric.

England, 1141

The afternoon sun blazed down
, pitiless and unyielding. It glinted off chain mail and polished blades. The once green fields outside the town were trampled to dust under the weight of so much violence. Bodies lay in heaps. The still air carried no breeze, only the yells of warriors and, beneath that, the moans of the injured.

Alric of Hawksmere swung his sword up to block an attack from yet another nameless opponent. Steel clashed on steel, and Alric pressed his advantage against the other soldier. He parried, thrust, shoved, and feinted, until he saw an opening. Then he sliced the man’s neck, just where his armor and his helmet failed to meet.

The man’s eyes widened behind his battered helmet. Alric saw the life leave those eyes a moment later.

Kill or be killed. There was no other way. At least it had been quick.

“Watch your back, Hawk!”

Alric spun around at the sound of Luc’s warning.

A huge man barreled down on Alric, his face contorted with rage. Even as Alric readied himself in a defensive stance, he knew he’d be unable to stop the man’s charge. Still, Alric centered his sword in front of his body.

He’d be knocked down, laid flat on his back. Luc was already injured and many paces away, unable to do more than watch. Alric would face this fight alone. If he was lucky, he’d be able to roll out of range of the man’s first blow. But he knew pure fury when he saw it.

Is this the moment I die?
he thought. Was the calm he felt a gift? Or a trick to stop him from fighting to the last?

He didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Alric felt the ground shake under the charge of his opponent.

The man howled something incoherent just as he raised his broadsword above his head. He intended to strike Alric down with one blow. Alric had to deflect that first strike. He bunched up his shoulders, preparing for the impact, knowing it wouldn’t be enough.

But just as his opponent began his strike—a huge sweeping circle of steel—the man halted, his sword arm jerking to a stop.

Then he fell to his knees, the blade clattering to the ground.

“What…” the man said, looking down at his legs in complete confusion.

Behind him, Alric saw another knight clad in chain mail, his surcoat dyed black, with the emblem of a raven on the chest.

“Some men never learn to protect their legs,” Rafe said cheerfully, then brought the pommel of his sword bashing down on the kneeling man’s head. He collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

“Well done,” Alric said. The other knight doubtless saved his life.

“You’ve done the same for me,” Rafe said, then glanced around, gauging the tides of the battle. “We’d best pull back to the others.”

They retreated to the low hill they’d been ordered to defend. The company of knights and foot soldiers had done exactly that, holding back countless sallies. The cost was high. Several of their number were wounded, including their leader, Luc of Braecon. Several more had died.

But they held their ground.

As Alric and Rafe rejoined the company, they automatically looked to Luc, who leaned against the low wall of a hastily constructed earthworks.

“I thought I warned you too late!” Luc said to them, concern still tight in his voice.

“Almost, but Rafe had other plans.” Alric smiled at his friend, though he wasn’t happy at the sight he saw. Luc was pale from pain and blood loss, clutching a hand to his side where he’d been wounded. But he still stood upright.

The battle continued to rage.

“Men! Form up,” Luc ordered grimly, his eyes scanning the whole field.

The twenty or so remaining formed a circle, facing outward so they could see what was coming. It was a maneuver they practiced often, and it served them well over the years.

They held their ground, and slowly established a bulwark against the seemingly ceaseless assaults. Rafe suffered a minor injury to his left leg. A foot soldier fell to a stray arrow, forcing them to watch the skies more closely, which they hadn’t needed to do since morning. The small rise where they stood was barely a hill, but it was enough to give advantage, and also let them see what was happening across the field.

“Who’s winning?” Rafe asked once, as the sun slipped behind a cloud.

Alric shook his head. “We’ll only know at the end.”

“Look!” Luc used his sword to point at a figure some fifty yards away. It was a knight, his white surcoat stained with dirt and blood. He fought off another soldier using both blade and body, the scuffle looking as much like a wrestling match as a sword fight.

“Octavian’s still alive,” Rafe noted. It was easy to recognize the young man, even beyond his unusual fighting style learned from his upbringing in the Holy Land. His skin was several shades darker than that of most Englishmen, the result of his African parentage.

“Not for long if he fights alone,” Alric added. “I’ll be back.”

Alric broke ranks and plowed his way across the field. The battle had changed from one massive clash to a hundred small skirmishes, as the remaining soldiers on both sides fought to maintain whatever ground they could. Alric jumped over several bodies as he made his way to Octavian.

“Fall back, Tav!” he yelled as he came within striking distance. “You have cover.”

Octavian obeyed instantly, allowing Alric to step into his place and finish the fight, which he did with a minimum of fanfare. He used all his years of practice to destroy his opponent, delivering a final blow that dropped the soldier before he could utter a sound.

“Don’t spar with your enemy,” he told Octavian when he turned. “It’s not a tournament.”

“Yes, sir.” Octavian wasn’t looking at Alric, because he was scanning the field, just as he should. “Where do we go?”

Alric pointed to the rise. “There.”

When they reached safety, Octavian explained what happened. “My company was split, and I had to stand alone. But I saw a signal about ten minutes ago. We can regroup near that line of trees to the east.”

“Then we should go.” Alric knew that if Luc wasn’t tended to soon, his chances of surviving the night would be slim.

“Wait,” Rafe said, his voice hoarse from a day of yelling. “The enemy is moving.”

The enemy was indeed regrouping. Alric watched with narrowed eyes. No, not just regrouping…

“The empress’s forces are retreating,” he said. “Keep an eye out, but I think we’re past the worst danger.”

He was right. Following an unheard order, the remaining troops on the side of Empress Maud suddenly withdrew from the field. It was an orderly retreat, but a retreat nonetheless. Cheers broke out from the king’s soldiers.

“The Lord blesses our cause,” Rafe said dryly. “The king is now king of this sodden, muddy ground.”

“So he is,” said Luc, with no trace of sarcasm. “And everyone will talk of how the king maintained his hold, despite the empress’s recent gains. This will hearten those whose support was wavering.”

The company prepared to regroup with the main army, using planks to carry the wounded who couldn’t walk. But just as they were about to march out, Octavian gave a warning, pointing to an approaching rider.

They tightened their formation. But when they saw that the rider wore the king’s colors, the assembled knights relaxed.

“Stand down,” the rider said, “and take heart. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed. By holding this point, you prevented a company of the empress’s men from flanking us. That is why we hold the field today. Come. You are ordered to follow me.”

“Follow you where?” Rafe asked.

“To the king.”

Everyone halted in a moment of honest surprise at the summons.

Then Luc, lying on a plank, broke the silence. “We serve at the pleasure of the king. I don’t suppose he’ll offer us something to drink?”