The Iron Knight (The De Russe Legacy Book 3) (2 page)

Well, he was just getting too damn old for such things. He’d been doing this kind of thing for nearly thirty years, ever since he had been a squire. There was no glory any longer, nothing to be proud over. It was just men dying for a cause that didn’t make any sense any longer.

He didn’t want to do this anymore.

“Lucien!”

The shout came from behind, jarring Sir Lucien de Russe from his unhappy thoughts. He turned to see a man approaching him through the crowd of fighting, wrestling men. It was a man he knew extremely well, a very close friend, and an older knight who had no real business being in the middle of this mess. Slugging his opponent squarely in the face, Lucien pushed his unworthy adversary to the ground as he turned for his friend.

“Richmond,” he said with disgust, pointing to the outskirts of the battle where men were not fighting and dying. “Get out of here. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Sir Richmond le Bec grinned at his friend, his bright blue eyes twinkling wearily. “I was going to ask you the same question,” he said. “Rokeby needs you. Come out of this mess.”

They were referring to Sir Thomas Rokeby, the High Sheriff of Yorkshire and the man orchestrating this battle on behalf of Henry. At least, that was what everyone was told even though the truth was something they all knew – le Bec and de Russe were in charge of it. Rokeby didn’t make a move without them.

As le Bec remained on the perimeter of the battle, watching the movements, Lucien was in the middle of it, fighting.
The Iron Knight
, they called him, a mixture of intelligence and strength that was uncommon in men. There was no one tougher, mentally or physically, and no one with more determination or sheer force of will anywhere in Henry’s army.

Lucien de Russe was invincible.

But that mental strength had been wavering as of late, a discontentment that had not gone unnoticed. Perhaps it was his advancing years or perhaps it was even the fact that he seemed to have developed a distaste of war in general. No one seemed to know and when le Bec had asked him about it, Lucien wasn’t sure himself. All he knew was that he was unhappy with it all. Still, his fighting resolve had never wavered. No one had ever expected that it would, not from The Iron Knight. No matter what he felt, he still had a job to do.

Now, he had an excuse to get out of the fighting with le Bec’s summons. He began following Richmond out of the mess of men but he soon took the lead and began shoving men aside, men who were trying to take a swipe at le Bec. Richmond had served Henry for more years that Lucien had and, now in his fifth decade, he’d earned the right not to have to fight any longer. His experience and tactical knowledge were invaluable, but the very big man with the broad shoulders was no longer expected to fight.

In fact, Lucien didn’t like for him to. He was always afraid that someone was going to catch le Bec unaware and then Lucien would have to explain the man’s death to his widow. Consequently, he was very protective of the man. Richmond’s demise wasn’t a thought he found particularly pleasant.

“God, this is miserable,” Lucien grunted, kicking one man aside and watching him fall face-first in the red mud. “We shall be lucky if this is all finished by dusk.”

Richmond belted some fool who came too close to him. “I know,” he said grimly. “We have been watching from the ridge. Northumberland has rotating troops, allowing most to fight but some to rest. Then he puts in the rested troops and rotates out some of the wearier men. This will go on all night if we let it.”

Lucien looked at him with some impatience. “Then we roll mounted knights in on the northern flank where Northumberland has been changing out his men,” he said. He threw up his hands. “I have been watching, too. Why have you not done this, Richmond?”

Richmond lifted his eyebrows. “Because Carlisle is coming,” he muttered, hoping none of Percy’s struggling men had heard him. “He has been sighted about two miles to the north. We also have de Cleveley moving in from the west. They should be here shortly; they were detained by the weather but their messengers assure us they will be here before dusk. Percy’s strength is limited, Lucien. We have fresh men coming in that will finish the job we started.”

Lucien wasn’t so impatient any longer. He was coming to see that whatever Percy did was futile. “Is that so?” he said, finally pleased about something. “Then what does Rokeby want to see me about?”

Richmond put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from some particularly nasty fighting. “Because he wants you to ride in with Carlisle and direct the army,” he said. “You know what needs to be done, as you have been in the heart of it.”

Lucien glanced around him, at the dead and at the dying and at the fighting. He grunted. “I have been in the heart of it far too long,” he murmured, watching as a very young Percy soldier was dispatched by one of his men. So, so young.
The waste of it all
. “I have never been out of the heart of it, Richmond. This is all I can remember, days like this and death like this. Is there really something else in life other than this? If that is true, then I cannot recall it.”

Richmond looked at his friend, feeling the despair. “I am sorry,” he said. “You have shouldered the majority of the burden of these wars for so long. I have been a fool, remaining outside of the lines while you fight. You have been fighting for all of us, Lucien. But, hopefully, you will be able to rest after this. If we can pull a decisive victory out of this battle, Percy will have no choice but to retreat to the north to lick his wounds. That means we will have peace for a time. You can return home to see your children then.”

Lucien grunted, making sure to stay out of the way of any fighting as they moved. “My son is fostering at Kenilworth,” he muttered. “He is fifteen years of age and a man grown. The last time I saw him, he would not even speak to me. As for my daughter, I have not seen her in almost a year. She still lives at home with her nurse. I have no idea how she will receive me when next we meet.”

Richmond eyed the man; they all knew that Lucien’s wife had died in childbirth with a young daughter who was born with limited use of her legs. The birth had been destructive and difficult on both mother and child. Lucien had been quite in love with his wife, Laurabel de Reyne de Russe, and her death had shattered him. He’d been a bitter and morose man for the past seven years, far from the congenial and humorous soul that Richmond had known for years. Laurabel’s death took something out of him, something that he would never regain. It was as if Lucien didn’t want it back, that spark that had made him so likable and warm.

Nay, the spark was gone and Lucien didn’t seem to care. These days, he didn’t seem to care much about anything. Everything he did was duty-bound and nothing more.

Richmond missed his old friend.

“Children are strange creatures,” Richmond said, putting a hand on Lucien’s shoulder as they cleared most of the fighting. “Young men are especially strange. I have two of them, you know. I can vouch for how odd they can be, so I would not worry over Rafe. I am sure he loves and admires you, just as we all do.”

Lucien thought on his tall, dark-haired son who was already an old and wise soul at his young age. It was a much more complicated relationship than Richmond made it out to be, a son who would not even speak to his father, but Lucien didn’t go into any details. Frankly, he didn’t have the mental strength to do so at the moment.

“Mayhap,” he said. “In any case, I look forward to this battle being over so that I can return home for a time. I may barricade myself in and never leave again.”

Richmond grinned. “Not even for me?”

“Especially not for you.”

Richmond laughed softly. “Then I may not let you go home,” he said. “In fact, I….”

He was cut off by the soft singing sounds of flying projectiles. Yew-shafted arrows suddenly landed in the mud around them and both men whirled to the Northumberland lines to the east only to see a new volley of arrows rising into the cloudy sky. Both of them began to run.

“Damnation!” Richmond roared. “I thought we eliminated his archers!”

Lucien, being faster, was ahead of Richmond. “We did,” he grunted. “This must be a new contingent. Did we have reports of reinforcements arriving for Percy?”

Richmond narrowly dodged being hit by an arrow as it plunged into the ground beside him. “Nothing,” he huffed as he ran. “We have had scouts out for weeks and no one has said anything about reinforcements.”

It was a deadly slip in intelligence with an arrival of fresh archers. The problem was that they were launching into the mass of fighting men, hitting their own soldiers as well as Henry’s. Sloppy tactics at best.

Confused and very concerned, Richmond and Lucien continued to run, seemingly escaping the barrage of arrows that were pummeling the men in the moor down below. They had come to the crest of a frozen rise with Henry’s command off to the west. They paused to turn and see the damage the hail of arrows had done.

More men were down and more blood was spilled onto the frozen tundra. As many Percy men were down as Henry men and Lucien shook his head grimly as he surveyed the damage.

“Fools,” he hissed. “Does Percy even realize he is killing his own men?”

Richmond sighed heavily. “It is a very bold move,” he said, “and a ridiculous one. One does not fire on one’s own troops.”

“He did.”

“Aye, he did.”

Lucien’s gaze lingered on the group below before turning towards the west. “Come,” he said. “Let us discuss this with Rokeby. And I want something to eat before I ride out to meet Carlisle.”

Richmond turned to follow him. “Understood,” he said. “You should have a little time. Carlisle is still well away at this point. I would guess that you will not have to leave for at least a….”

An abrupt sound from Lucien cut him off. The man grunted as if he’d been punched in the gut, a sharp and blunt exhale, and suddenly he pitched to his knees. Startled, Richmond looked down at his friend to see one of the spiny Yew arrows projecting from the lower portion of his back. As Lucien fell forward, Richmond dropped to his knees beside him, throwing his arms around the man so he wouldn’t fall face-first into the frozen earth.

“My God,” Richmond gasped, trying to hold on to Lucien and get a good look at the arrow location at the same time. “Easy, Lucien. Be easy. Let me see where you’ve been marked.”

Lucien groaned, trying to stifle it. “Great Bloody Christ,” he cursed softly. “Is it true? Did the bastards truly get me?”

Richmond held fast to Lucien, his heart pounding with apprehension. “I do not know how they managed to do it, but they did,” he said, finally getting a look at the area of penetration. It was down by his right kidney, thankfully away from the spine, but that was still a very vital area. From the blood that was already pouring out, it was clear that something important had been hit. “I must get you out of here. I’d hate to have another barrage come sailing into us both. Can you stand, Lucien?”

The man with a reputation for being as tough as steel lurched to his feet even as Richmond tried to help him. But Lucien shook him off. He wouldn’t take the help, not even from his dear friend. There was a massive spiny arrow sticking out of his back but Lucien began to walk, putting his hand back to feel at the arrow as Richmond followed alongside, astonished that the man was walking under his own power. It was a sheer tribute to the man’s strength.

“Bastards,” Lucien hissed, feeling the arrow as it was firmly stuck in his back. “Those bloody clodheads. If they think they can kill me, then they had better think again. No Percy arrow is going to strike me down.”

He was charging forward but it was clear that he was weaving even as he walked. He was unsteady. Richmond didn’t want to grab him, to insult him by insinuating that he wasn’t strong enough to walk without assistance, but it became increasingly apparent that the arrow had done some damage. Lucien was losing blood in copious amounts and Richmond fought down his panic.

“You have faced worse than this,” he said, trying to sound as if the strike wasn’t as bad as it looked. “Let the physic remove the arrow and you shall be up and about in little time. In fact, I will call you lazy if you stay down any longer than an hour or two.”

Lucien was starting to lose color in his face. “It is nothing, then?”

Richmond lied to him openly. “Nothing at all.”

Lucien believed him. At least, he seemed to but it was difficult to tell. The color was draining from his face and his lips were turning an odd shade of blue. Just as they crested the rise over the battlefield and Henry’s encampment was in sight, Lucien came to a staggering halt.

“God’s Bones, Richmond,” he muttered. “I… I do not believe that I feel very well.”

He fell like a stone, unconscious. The Iron Knight, the man who was renowned for his durability, was suddenly human. He wasn’t a statue made out of sinew and stone. He was a man of flesh and blood, and that blood was mingling with the frozen ground, pouring from his wounded body. The cry that rose from Richmond’s lips at that moment could have been heard all the way to London.

Men came running from all directions.

CHAPTER ONE