The Warrior Poet (3 page)

"I am a knight. I am supposed to protect the
church, not threaten it."

"As a knight, the church belongs to you to do with
as you please. You serve the church, the church serves you. There is a good
deal of give and take within the holy sacrament of your vows, Christian. You
must not be afraid to utilize your links with the church to your advantage.
Certainly, God and his holy order take advantage of their devoted knights
however the whim suits them." He nudged his son encouragingly. "When
you acquire the girl, consider it a gift from the church to her most loyal son.
You are simply collecting what they have been gracious enough to retain until
your arrival."

Christian sighed, shaking his head in dispute. "I
cannot say that I agree with your logic," his gaze raked the distant
scenario, tendrils of smoke filling the darkening sky like dancing snakes.
After a moment, he sighed heavily.
"Very well.
Suppose we decide to abduct the girl. Then what? Certainly you would not have
me bring her back to Eden where she could possibly escape and make her way home
again. Eden and Winding cross
are
a mere eight miles
from one another."

"She would not escape from the vault."

"You would put a lady in the vault?"

"She's a de Gare, Christian. I would most certainly
put a de Gare in the vault."

Jean's chestnut destrier was brought around by a pair of
young squires. Christian watched his father mount the steed with some
difficulty, indicative of his advancing years.

"I would take her to the woods and tie her to a
tree before I would allow you to put her in the vault," Christian said.
"That bestial hole is hardly fit for the rats that inhabit it."

Jean snorted with humor as he gathered his reins. Beside
him, his son mounted effortlessly and secured his heavy boots into his stirrups
as he collected his reins. "Then take her into the woods and hang her from
her thumbs,” he told his son. “Better yet, take her to Scotland and let your
mother's clan have their way with her while we demands Alex's surrender."

Christian sighed with disgust at his father's ideals.
Normally, he was an amiable man with a good deal of moral sense. But when it
came to the de Gares, he seemed to lose all of his dignity. As if no punishment
was too horrid to bestow upon his mortal enemy; even the de Gares of the female
gender.

"Taking her to Scotland would be better than the
vault of Eden," he muttered, reining his charger in the direction of the
failing fortress. "From the looks of things, however, it would appear we
need not worry about your alternative plan. Winding Cross is deteriorating
rapidly."

Jean smiled beneath his lowered visor as they advanced
toward the scene of destruction. The chargers slowed as the two men closed in,
noting the collection of soldiers wading about the moat in anticipation of the
complete collapse of the drawbridge as several knights struggled against the
burnt, crumbling wood. The hole in the partially-ruined wooden viaduct afforded
the St. John army an ample view of the interior of the keep; there was little
movement, mostly a glimpse of a panicked soldier here and there as he scampered
for cover.

A perfect siege was near completion, thanks to
Christian's brilliance and Jasper's strength. Quinton was in the middle of the
struggle to completely obliterate the bridge and Christian could hear his
brother shouting over the roar of weapons and activity. As Quinton roared
commands, a knight the size of a bear moved from his heavily armored charger
and clung to the edges of the disintegrating bridge, using a double-edged
battle axe to widen the chasm for complete encroachment. Christian smiled at
the sight of his cousin, with intelligence equal to that of a rosebush, as he
used his unearthly strength to single-handedly destroy the remains of Winding
Cross' bridge.

"Dear God, Christian, I can taste victory,"
Jean inhaled deeply, drinking in the sight of his near-success. "Once
Jasper has opened the rupture, triumph shall be ours."

Christian didn't reply; he was studying the scene with a
flare of apprehension. They had come closer this day to breaching Winding Cross
than in all the years the de Gares and the St. Johns had been doing battle and
Christian was increasingly curious as to the reasons behind their success.

Certainly, there had been a good deal of resistance, but
not as much as in previous skirmishes. Additionally, there should be dozens of
soldiers opposing Jasper as he clung to the drawbridge, hacking away at the
widening opening. But there was no sign of resistance, no indication of any de
Gare defiance whatsoever.
 
It was coming
to occur to him that nothing seemed as it should.

Fighting off a rising apprehension, Christian's eyes
skimmed the battlements above, noting that there were no longer soldiers
gracing her ledges. They were gone. Good Christ, why hadn't he noticed the
absence before? He had been consumed with his father's conversation and the
activity at the bridge that he had failed to note the lack of movement along
the ramparts.

Being a seasoned warrior, he suspected subversion of
catastrophic proportions. But at the moment, he could not isolate the form by
which this treachery would come. As his gaze moved from the deserted
battlements to the nearly-destroyed bridge, he suddenly had an inkling of idea
as to the fashion of sedition - he'd seen it before, many a time; in fact, he'd
been a party to the same type of double-edged betrayal in his long career and
horror flooded his battle-weary veins. Good Christ, had they played into de
Gare's hands with their confidence and intensity? Had Alex turned their
arrogance against them in order to lure his enemy into a most destructive
position?

He didn't know why he suspected Alex de Gare's
intentions, but he did nonetheless; the man was a cunning tactician. He always
had been. Somehow, he knew that Alex wanted the St. John army to swarm the
bridge as they were doing now in assurance and fervor. Somehow, he knew it they
were about to meet their end.

Christian's heart stopped beating.

"Get away from the bridge!" he suddenly
roared, startling both his charger and his father's. As the animals danced
about excitedly, he continued to vent his panic. "Move away from the
bridge
now!"

Quinton, by the edge of the moat, turned curiously to
his brother as did several other St. John soldiers. But they did not do as
ordered and Christian spurred his charger toward the writhing, wet mass of men
in a desperate attempt to divert disaster. But even as his exhausted steed
thundered across the moist dark earth, Christian knew already that he would be
too late; Jasper was nearly finished hacking away at the charred bridge and the
St. John army was poised and waiting to enter, intent upon devouring their
mortal enemy. It was the perfect set-up.

The Demon had been tricked. He cursed himself for not
being alert enough to see it sooner. As Christian watched in horror, the
drawbridge suddenly let loose with amazing speed. Completely vertical not a
moment before, it was horizontal in a brief, terrifying second, slamming with
bone-crushing force onto the dozens and dozens of St. John soldiers that had
been waiting to violate Winding Cross' bailey.

Man and animal alike suddenly found themselves crushed
into the moat, covered by a massive expanse of devastated bridge, unable to
escape the confines of the mucky water. In one crushing blow, Alex de Gare had
managed to kill more men than he could have possibly hoped for by trapping them
in a watery, permanent grave.

Christian reached the lowered bridge just as an entire
horde of de Gare soldiers came rushing from the exposed fortress, relatively
fresh and prepared to do battle. Unable to help his own men as they drowned in
the murky depths of Winding Cross' moat, he found himself in the heat of a
vicious battle. Undermanned as a result of the soldiers that had been smashed
into the muddy
waters,
the assured victory he had been
anticipating after a day of fervent effort was rapidly slipping through his
fingers.

In faith, he wasn't surprised
nor
angry. He should have expected as much from a seasoned adversary like Alex de
Gare. All that mattered now, however, was doing as much damaged as possible
before retreating to Eden to regroup. Wielding his massive broadsword against
the collection of zealous warriors, he caught a glimpse of his armored cousin
as the massive knight emerged, wet and obviously shaken, through the hole in the
drawbridge he had been expanding.

Jean appeared by his son's side, hacking furiously at
the enthusiastic de Gare soldiers. Stunned and disappointed that his victory
had been cruelly destroyed, his rage was boundless. With every chop, every
parry, he vented his rage on his most bitter enemy.

Surrounded by a multitude of fiercely-fighting men,
Christian was caught up in the fervor of the battle. As the sun set into the
dark-blue recesses of the western horizon, he was vaguely aware when his father
lodged himself against his right flank, the aged face of a weary old man
flushed and perspiring beneath the lowered visor.

"The girl, Christian!"
Jean roared above the noise of death. "Go get the
girl!"

Christian dispatched a particularly powerful warrior,
immediately engaging another foot soldier as a de Gare knight maneuvered his
way toward him. He eyed the approaching knight as he exchanged heavy sword
blows with the common trooper, his father's words sinking deep into his
comprehension. Doing away with his opponent in short order, he dared to divert
his attention for a brief, aggravated second.

"What am I supposed to do with her?" he
shouted.

Jean was well beyond the realm of fury. He wanted to
destroy Alex de Gare in the worst possible way, however he could. "Take
her beyond the borders to the Galloway territories!" he roared. "Take
her as deep as you can go and stay there until I send word!"

The de Gare knight was closing in on Christian with
malevolent intent and he turned away from his father in time to witness an
extended broadsword aimed at his head. Fending off the sharp blow, his
concentration moved to the fight at hand as his father persisted to deliver the
final understanding of his directive.

"Galloway Forest!" he hollered to his son,
watching as the massive man engaged the de Gare knight. "Do you hear me,
lad? I said Galloway..!"

"Forest!"
Christian bellowed to complete the nagging command,
terribly irritated that his father seemed intent on aiding the de Gare knight
in his quest to do away with him. He leveled another heavy chop against the
powerful knight before issuing a concluding reply. "I heard you the first
time! Now, shut up while I fight for my life!"

Jean wasn't the least bit concerned that the de Gare
knight could best the Demon of Eden in battle, hence his demand to occupy a
portion of the man's attention. Whether Christian agreed or not, Jean was
determined to see his orders carried through; the violation of St. Esk and the
abduction of the Lady Gaithlin de Gare.

'The intensity...
the marvel

I was in awe;

Though I was
loathe to confess

my
veneration of a
de Gare's forbearance.’

~Chronicles of
Christian St. John

Vl. III, p. CCLIX

CHAPTER TWO

Not surprisingly, the tiny convent of St. Esk was built
to withstand a siege. As Christian watched his men take a battering ram to the
heavy oaken door of dark-stoned abbey, the fact that he was reluctant to
violate the sanctuary of God's holy house only added to the aversion of
procuring the de Gare wench.

 
Still, he could
scarcely believe the mindless folly his father had forced him into, using words
of cunning and cruelty to coerce his reluctant son. No matter what Christian's
convictions, Jean bullied the much larger and much stronger man into compliance
with the powerful weapon of family honor.

You are my son and will do as I say.

Certainly, he was the man's son. But he was also a
knight, and being a knight of the realm meant upholding the sanctity of the
church. It was distressing to realize he was walking the fine line between
sustaining his knightly vows and the loyalty of his family's honor, not quite
devoting his full allegiance to either. As he listened to his men grunt and
curse in their efforts, he wished there was an easier way of going about his
father's objective. He wasn't pleased with the compromise his dedications had
taken.

 
Shifting
impatiently on his massive legs, he let out a weary sigh; given the heavy
losses Eden had sustained during her most recent siege of Winding Cross, he
would have been entirely happy to rest and regroup before attempting the siege
of St. Esk. But there was no time for respite, as Jean had sternly suggested.
Better to gain the de Gare wench immediately and Christian had been sent north
with all due speed.

Certainly, he was not looking forward to isolating
himself with the woman while his father forced Alex de Gare to come to terms of
surrender. Sequestered in the woods of Galloway Forest, he wasn't warm with the
thought of spending an indeterminate amount of time guarding a woman he could
just as easily do away with.

His jaw ticked at the latter thought, realizing he was
coming to think like his father more and more every day. Normally, he
strenuously adhered to the moral and chivalrous codes of an honor-bound knight;
women were creatures of grace and beauty and completely removed from the realm
of violent thought or action. But when it came to a de Gare female, he found
himself willing to make an exception and the idea greatly distressed him.

He wondered if close-quartered isolation with his mortal
enemy would bring about the woman's death regardless of his personal
convictions; hatred had a strange way of clouding one's moral beliefs.

He was jolted from his darker ponderings as a shout
pierced the night air, indicating the main door to the abbey had been breached.
Spurring his charger forward, he trampled across the wide garden of precious
summer vegetables and ripped through a small wooden fence in his resolve to
reach his destination. Dismounting with purpose, he shoved past his excitable
men and made his way into the depths of the convent.

There were dozens of St. John soldiers on his heel,
armed to the hilt with weapons and mail and fully prepared to tear the
structure apart in their quest to reach the intended target. But Christian's
broadsword remained sheathed as he surfaced into a wide common room; shadows of
frightened nuns ducking for cover flitted across the dim walls and Christian's
advance came to a halt as he sized up the non-resistant situation.

"I would speak with the abbess!" he roared.

Certainly, there was no man in the realm louder or more
terrifying that Christian St. John. King Henry remarked once that the man's
voice could bring a response from God himself and, without a
doubt,
he was used to complete obedience in all matters. But his sharp command was met
with silence and his ice-blue gaze scanned the room with rising irritation.

"Bring me the abbess and no harm will come to this
place. Deny my request and I shall burn it to the ground."

He could hear faint splinters of hissed whispers,
accompanied by the shuffle of feet. Jaw ticking as his annoyance
grew,
he opened his mouth to once again issue his demand
when a slight, huddled woman emerged into the weak light. Christian focused his
attention on the quaking gray form.

"Are you the abbess?"

The woman didn't reply for a moment. "Wouldst thou
violate our haven, my lord?"

"Gaithlin de Gare. I want her."

Christian could see the woman's average features in the
soft illumination as they twisted with puzzlement. "The Lady Gaithlin... who
art thou, my lord?"

He moved toward her, shoving aside a small table and
setting it on end with a startling crash. "It does not matter,” he said. “Give
her to me and I shall leave you in peace."

The woman visibly swallowed and Christian could hear more
hissed whispers, presumably directed at her. She was obviously terrified,
confused with uncertainty, and he took another step in her direction to hasten
her compliance.

"My patience grows thin,” he growled. “You will
deliver the woman to me or face my wrath."

The nun took a step back, nearly tripping over her
woolen robes. "I... thou hast violated God's house, my lord. Punishment
will be severe."

Christian's jaw ticked again, hearing his own thoughts
in the woman's shakily-uttered threat and he found himself again wishing he had
refused to do his father's bidding. Nonetheless he had been foolish enough to
come and refused to leave without his objective.
Irritated
with himself as well as the resistant nun, his manner hardened.

"Where is she?" It was a demand, not a
question.

The woman's courage was rapidly failing. "She has
sought sanctuary, my lord. Thou art forbidden her company."

"I have not ravaged your door only to be denied the
object of my endeavor. I will not ask you again."

More urgent whispers came from the shadows and the
slight nun was growing increasingly agitated. Although she was rightly
terrified of the massive knight before her, Christian lacked the patience to
extend the understanding he was capable of demonstrating; instead, he moved toward
her with deadly assurance and the woman stumbled away from him, falling to her
knees and raising her hands as if to ward of his evil. Her fear, her abject
panic, was a palpable entity as she cowered at his feet.

"Up the stairs!" she cried, her voice quivering
with terror.
"In the communal infirmary!"

"Nay!"
Another nun came screaming from the shadows, her palms
extended to Christian as if to physically stop him. "You have no right!
The woman is under God's protection!"

He raised a dark-blond eyebrow at the woman, his
expression impassive. "She is mine and you will not interfere."

The nun was older, wiser, and far less terrified of his
mighty presence. Instead, she seemed deeply angered at the intrusion and after
a lengthy pause, she forcibly calmed as if to realize that paralleling the
knight's fury and power was an improbably feat.

"Are you from Eden?" she asked.

Christian was momentarily caught off-guard as he faced
off against the seasoned woman; his icy stare glittered in the weak light.
"What do you know of Eden, other than the Biblical reference?"

The nun met his gaze evenly, perhaps knowingly. Calming
further, she cocked a worn eyebrow. "I am told that a demon resides there.
At least, according to Gaithlin de Gare.
Are you
perchance that demon, my lord?"

His irritation with the situation faded somewhat as he
gazed into intelligent, shrewd eyes.
"To some."

The woman's attention lingered on him a moment and he
heard her sigh heavily; with a touch of resignation, mayhap. "I have
granted the lady sanctuary and I will repeat my subordinate's denial of your
request,” she said evenly. “You may not have that which you seek and I beg you
to leave us in peace."

Christian realized that he might be forced to carry out
his violent threat and he was loathed to do so. Issuing his own heavy sigh, his
massive gauntlet rested on the hilt of his sword. "I will leave you in
peace if you turn the woman over to me." Almost as an afterthought, he
added: "I will not harm her, I swear it."

Clearly, the nun was unconvinced. "But you are her
enemy, Devil. You are our enemy as well, which you have proven by raiding our
sanctuary."

"I am not your enemy nor am I a raider. Were I
either, your abbey would presently be on fire and your nuns would be fodder for
my men. As you have witnessed, I am attempting to gain my ends with the least
violent means possible. Whether or not I commence with my threats is your
choice alone."

"There is no choice to be had. If you leave now
under peaceful conditions, I shall not mention your violation to my superiors.
I vow the entire event will be forgotten."

Christian sighed again, feeling his fatigue and disgust
all over again. After a moment, he turned to one of his men and rumbled a
series of orders. The man promptly disappeared, retreating to the waiting
horses outside while the standoff in the common room remained brittle. When the
soldier eventually reappeared, he thrust a small parcel at his liege before
falling back into the ranks of heavily armed warriors.

Christian slowly unbound the top of the silken pouch.
Eyeing the elder nun, he motioned for her to step closer. With a good deal of
reluctance, she did as she was bade and gasped with fear and surprise when he
grasped her arm.

"For your troubles," he
said,
his deep voice considerably softer. Opening the woman's palm, he proceeded to
dump the contents of the purse into her hand.

Several gold coins glistened in the soft illumination,
flickering
their wicked intentions as loudly as if Christian
had shouted the bribe. It was more money that the poverty-bound abbey had seen
in a great while and the ancient nun licked her lips with unconscious glee as
she examined the monetary persuasion before her.

Torn between the desperate need for the coinage and the
sanctuary she had granted a despairing woman, she could scarcely isolate her
thoughts; she could purchase enough supplies for years to come with the
shimmering trinkets in her hand and the thought of sustaining her abbey through
harsh winters and bleak years alike worked a powerful magic in her heart. But
in the same breath, she was undermining the very purpose of God's law of
sanctuary by considering the bribery that was soiling her palm.

It was a cruel dilemma. The nun licked her lips again,
praying God would forgive her for weighing the needs of her abbey over the
preservation of a single woman. After all, the towering knight had promised no
harm would come to her; but could she trust the word of a knight who would
violate the haven of the church simply to gain his objective? A knight who was
willing to bribe her for her own sinful considerations in the matter?

"I await your answer, sister," Christian's
deep, melodious voice drifted upon the stale air like a symphony.
"Certainly my donation will make compensation for your troubles."

Distracted from her desperate thoughts, the woman
struggled to swallow away her guilt. Aged eyes met with those of ice-blue.
"Are you aware of what you are asking?"

"I am."

"You are being most unfair with your solicitation.
Wealth such as this will feed my people for years."

"I realize that."

The woman swallowed again, her indecision ripping her
apart. Her gaze moved to the gold coins once again, feeling strangely like
Judas Iscariot as her beliefs were strongly swayed by the scent of money.

"How, may I ask, am I to explain my weakness to her
family?"

Christian took her softly-uttered plea for a positive
response to his resourceful inducement. "You will not," his voice was
soft, incredibly soothing. "You will tell them that she mysteriously
vanished and you have no knowledge of her whereabouts.

Turning on his heel, he silently ordered half of his men
to mount the stairs to the second floor. With a subsequent gesture, he sent the
rest of his soldiers to the foyer to restore the battered door as best they
could while their liege went about acquiring his goal.
 
Leaving the nuns shaken and pondering what
sins had managed to infiltrate their isolated abbey in the form of forty gold
crowns,
Christian found his way to the deserted corridor on
the upper level of the structure.

It was dim and still as the soldiers sent on ahead
examined chambers in sequence, searching for the common infirmary. Opening and
slamming heavy oak panels, their exploration was not a quiet endeavor and
Christian harshly admonished his men not to destroy the abbey in their haste.
But the scent of a de Gare was a strong intoxicant, feeding their blood-lust
and hatred, and they were determined to find the woman no matter who, or what,
suffered in the process.