Lynn Wood - Norman Brides 03 (16 page)

The celebration in honor of Michel’s ascension to the throne of his grandfather seemed to go on endlessly before Michel finally excused himself and sought the comfort of his chambers.  It was not surprising his ale-dampened thoughts dwelt on the comfort to be found in gentler companionship than he’d shared for the majority of his first day as king.  A vision of Elena’s feminine beauty swam before his eyes and he instantly banished it.  Accepting such comfort from a young, nobly born virgin was accompanied by a high price he was not yet certain he was willing to pay.  He wasn’t even certain he was in a positon to offer just recompense for such comfort.  Not that there was any shortage of opportunities for him to enjoy the kind of casual feminine companionship his body yearned for in the hours before dawn broke on the second day of his kingship.  His new friends and subjects were not only willing to provide him such entertainment but they seemed anxious to render him the service of arranging for a feminine companion for the remainder of the night. 

Under other circumstances Michel would not have been reluctant to accept such a service.  He realized part of his unwillingness to do so stemmed from the thought of Elena’s devastation when she heard the rumors of how the new king spent his first night as king, and with whom.  Though such activities would normally not come to the ears of an innocent young maid, he comprehended it would be all but impossible to keep Elena from learning of such intimate details of his life when they would be sharing the same roof for the foreseeable future.  There was always someone eager to gossip about such matters and he doubted the wagging tongues would be overly careful about Elena’s feelings on the subject.

But it was not only the thought of her disappointment in him that fueled his current celibate state. The fact was his manly passions had recently centered around a single subject.  Elena.  It came as a shock to him to discover he missed his shadow and her wide serious gaze fixed upon him.  His musings engaged his attention until he was at the door to his chambers.  He bid his accompanying guards a good night and then passed through the double doors into his large, elegantly appointed chambers. 

His lips curved in amusement at the contrast between the luxurious bed in the accompanying room and the damp pallet he’d rested on for the past several months. The bed was large enough to accommodate any number of female companions if he was so inclined.  He thought it might take a harem of women to fill the bed and wondered if any of his ancestors had availed themselves of just such an opportunity. He crossed the intricately inlaid floor into the adjoining chamber and crossed to the window to throw open the coverings allowing the cool night air to enter.  Though most men would likely consider the warm chamber and the fire that burned in the hearth inviting, Michel spent the past several months in the elements and rather than find comfort in the warmth, he found it oppressive.

As he stripped out of his clothes and prepared for bed, he realized this chamber was very likely the same room his grandfather was murdered in.  Murdered by a close friend.  He wondered if his grandfather had awakened in time to see his attacker, or had the cowardly traitor who ended his life simply slit the sleeping king’s throat? Not exactly a restful mystery to contemplate as he sank down on the thick mattress, but he was exhausted enough from the events of the day and the pressures of the previous months leading up to it that he fell into a dreamless sleep almost before he was fully stretched out upon the luxurious bed. 

Despite his exhaustion, Michel’s sleep was restless and burdened with violent, conflicting dreams where both a dead, bloodied Raulf played a starring role opposite the maid Rowena and the strange voice that spoke through her. In his dream state he engaged in earnest conversation with the voice and walked by the side of the young witch as the voice escorted him through scenes from the bloody past of the kingdom he now ruled.  Bells could be heard in the distance, just as Gabriel described sounding the bells to alert Calei’s defenders on that pivotal night when his grandfather was murdered and his grandmother was forced to flee for her life into the wilderness.  In the course of his dreams, the ringing bells tolled loudly and often as Michel wandered through his country’s misty past, a testament to the constant strife that assailed Calei over its long history. 

Despite Michel’s fervent urging, his misty escort seemed disinclined to reveal the secret behind the inception of the ancient curse laid against his family’s blood.  Michel stirred restively on the bed as the clanging of the bells became more insistent, distracting his attention away from his bodiless companion who shared his dreams. 

An odd pounding sound now accompanied the ringing bells and even as Michel turned to demand an explanation from his misty escort, the significance of the noise assaulting his overtaxed senses suddenly forced its way through his foggy brain.  He shot up in bed and was already on his feet getting dressed and reaching for his sword when Amele thrust the door open. The grave expression on the older man’s face told Michel everything he needed to know. 

“The city is under attack.  Fortunately, despite the celebratory mood prevailing throughout the streets, the guards in the watchtowers remained vigilant enough to spot the enemy swarming down the mountain passes.  They sounded the alarm and the gatekeepers managed to shut the gates before the enemy forces were able to enter the city.  Our men are engaged even now in a fierce struggle to defend the gates.  If the gates fall we will soon find ourselves under siege.”

“Gather the commanders who are not actively engaging the enemy. How many of the nobles remain within the city?” Michel demanded as they left his chambers and strode quickly in the direction of the great hall.  He could hear distant shouting and the echoes of frightened screams giving evidence to the chaos in the city.  In the distance were the unmistakable sounds of men and horses engaged in armed combat.

He could find irony in the realization his unspoken dissatisfaction with the largely peaceful transition of power and the resulting wasted years of training for his men was about to be challenged.  His premonition he would face a fight for his grandfather’s throne would come true after all. There were already a number of men gathered in the hall and they looked up expectantly at their entrance.

“Gabriel, along with several companies of our most experienced soldiers are engaging the enemy in front of the gates, always our most vulnerable point of defense.  If they fail to force the enemy away from the gates and the attackers enter the city, we will not be able to protect everyone.  Likely we will have a slaughter on our hands.” 

Michel turned to address two of his own commanders who accompanied him to Calei. “Melos, Amister take your men and reinforce the defenses at the gate.  My guess is whoever planned this heard of King Barnabas’ passing and thought to take advantage of the uncertainty of the transition to a new ruler.  It is very possible they are unaware of our arrival or the fact that we brought with us an additional thousand fighting men, who are itching for just such a confrontation.”

“Yes, my king, I do not doubt your words.  The enemy is in for a very great surprise and we are just the men to give it to them,” Melos replied grinning.  Then with respectful bows in Michel’s direction, the two men hurried off to gather their men, their light-hearted expressions giving evidence of their great anticipation at the thought of the battle ahead as if they had just been handed an unexpected boon.             

When the nobles were gathered around him, Michel prepared to give his instructions for the defense of the city.  At the same time, a single soldier rushed into the hall and hurried to where Michel stood in the center of the gathering.  The soldier’s tunic was covered with blood and grime, but he appeared uninjured.  He quickly knelt before Michel and rose at his command.  “Your Highness, forgive my boldness, but Captain Gabriel sent me to report to you the news he has gathered of our enemy.”

“Then please do so,” Michel commanded, motioning a hovering servant to bring the man water and food.

“Captain Gabriel states there are three waves of attack.  Forgive me Your Highness, but he indicated I should tell you the enemy’s strategy appears similar to the attack you planned to execute on the city.”

“What is your name soldier?”

“Hunter, Your Highness.”

“Take a moment to refresh yourself, Hunter, and then return to your captain with the order to hold the passes for an hour’s time, and then sound the retreat.”

“Retreat, Your Highness?” the veteran soldier appeared aghast at the idea.

“Yes, my friend,” Michel responded.  “It will take us an hour to align our soldiers behind their rear flank. When you retreat, we will swarm down from the hills behind them.”

“And they will be caught in our vise and be crushed between us.”

“Exactly.”

The soldier’s eyes gleamed with excitement and he bowed before Michel then gratefully accepted the tray the servant held out to him. He quickly swallowed the fresh water and meal the servant provided and then hurried from the hall to deliver his welcome message to his captain.

“Amele, you and I will reinforce our soldiers at the gate. Barons Timothy and Paul, you and your men take the east passes, Barons James and Donnell, your men will lead the attack from the west.  Wait for the bells to sound to signal all is in readiness, and then force the enemy down against the walls.  We will prepare a suitable welcome for them.”

“But King Michel, surely it would be safer for you to lead one of the forces down the passes.  The fighting will be fiercest along the wall.  We have only just regained our true king. I am loath for you to take such a risk.  Allow me and my men to reinforce the soldiers at the gates and you and your men to accompany Baron Paul along the east passes.”              

Michel shook his head, denying Timothy’s request, even while he smiled over the evidence of the older man’s concern. “Thank you, my friend, but the defense of our homes is a king’s worry therefore it is a king’s duty.  Let us not waste this opportunity provided us to send a message to our enemies that if they think to come and steal our treasure they will pay a high price indeed for their foolishness.”

A rousing cheer sounded from the gathered men and as one, they turned to see Michel’s commands carried out.

For the defenders at the gates, their reinforcement arrived not a moment too soon.  Michel immediately grasped the enemy’s strategy, as it so closely mirrored his own.  If the gates fell and the enemy was able to enter the city, chaos would erupt among the residents, hindering their own soldiers’ ability to protect them.  He could see from the maturity and the skill with which they wielded their weapons that the enemy’s leaders had sent their most experienced men to breach the gates.  He suspected some of the enemy’s forces were being held in reserve until the gates were opened, and the city’s defenders were in retreat.  At that critical moment, another wave of enemy forces would overwhelm the depleted defenders in both force and spirit.

Concluding his reasoning was just Michel wasted no further time contemplating the enemy’s strategy or his own planned response.  There came a time when strategy took a second place to a man’s willingness to stand in the face of an enemy assault and defend himself and all he held dear with the strength of his sword and his will.  Michel rose in Arden’s stirrups and let out a fierce battle cry that was echoed in brutal unison by the soldiers riding behind him and forged his way into the center of where the enemy’s assault was at its most savage, hoping with their fresh reinforcements they could hold the gates for the hour it would take for the others to gain their places in the mountains.

Within moments of engaging the enemy, the clash of swords, the screams of dying men and the grunts of the combatants engaged in a life and death struggle for survival occupied all of his senses.  Michel put every thought from his mind except that of his sword and his skill in wielding it.  Rivers of blood, more blood than he had ever seen in a single place, even in his clashes with the northern enemy of his Saxon king, stained the white stones surrounding the artful gates announcing the entrance to the wealthy city.  He wondered idly even as shifted in his saddle to defend the back of one of his men against an enemy sword, how those responsible for such menial tasks would ever manage to remove the deep red stain from the previously gleaming entrance. 

The smell of death assaulted his senses and pervaded the air of the new dawn being birthed over the east mountains.  Accompanying the unmistakable scent, he thought he detected the echo of a subtle whisper drifting through the ranks of fighting men, inciting their hatred of the enemy and prodding them to take greater risks, to shed even more blood.  For a moment, Michel felt the familiar whisper resonate with some dark, deeply buried part of him before he quickly dismissed the notion.  He’d spent the past day engulfed in the mysticism of his new kingdom, but this was not the time to allow himself to fall victim to it unless he wanted to join the dead and dying on the ground at his feet.

Arden shifted his weight, alerting his attention to the deadly threat from his right.  Michel turned in instinctive response and raised his shield to deflect the blow aimed to split his head open.  At the same instant he swung his sword with all of his considerable strength in a downward sweep that cut through the helmet of his attacker and sank deep into the bone and softer flesh it protected.  He didn’t waste time watching the man slide off his horse and crumple to the ground, already dead before his blood joined the river of his comrades’ as another enemy soldier boldly took his fallen comrade’s place, his sword brandished in a confident swagger and bloodlust in his eyes.