Rose Victory - Eagle Series (7 page)

The only home the young boy knew was the
little hut up on the wooded slopes of a far away mountain.  In the ten days it had taken them to walk here, he had never seen such an impressive fortress.  He saw plenty of tall stone donjons surrounded by walls and moats and even wooden towers on the long journey, but nothing like this.  The tall towers of the castle before him now seemed to reach for the sky, or for the two eagles that glided effortlessly above the turrets and battlements of the castle.  He liked eagles, the boy smiled behind the coarse scarf that obscured half his face.  When they arrived at this village early this morning Nona had told him to wear it just so.  She also gave him the soft hat that now fell over his face, leaving his features in deep shadow.  When Nona gave her instructions in that particular tone of voice he obeyed without question.

The boy looked up at the eagles again.  Eagles were wild and free, they could play and soar in the air, go wherever they wanted.  There had been a pair o
f eagles on the mountain where he lived and he would often spend hours just watching them.  The beauty of their flight sometimes made tears flow from his eyes and a lump form in his throat.

Nona said that this would be where he would now live, he was glad that at least the eagles were here to welcome him.  When he asked Nona why they
came here, she answered curtly that he came to meet his lord, the Earl of Eagle Rock.

With that he had had to be content, for the old woman refused to answer any more questions.

On arriving at the village, and observing the steep climb that reaching the castle entailed, the old woman promptly badgered a kind soul to let her ride up in his cart.  When Nona discovered that the pleasant, unassuming, red-haired man who drove the horse and cart happened to be the castle steward, the expression on her face turned shrewd and determined.

“I wish you to take me to see the earl,” Nona stated categorically, using
that
particular tone of voice that the boy knew so well.

“The steward looked back into the cart, a startled expression on his face.  “I am afraid that is not possible.  Travellers are only allowed into the Outer Bailey.
”

“I need to see
the earl on an important matter,” Nona continued, oblivious to the steward’s surprise that she presumed to insist on speaking to the nobleman.

The steward again shook his head as he guided the horse over the wooden drawbridge and through the massive gateway into the large outer bailey.  “You are welcome to rest in the quarters provided here until you can continue your journey.”  Byran stopped the cart and gestured for the boy to help the woman down.

The old woman’s brown, wrinkled face turned stubborn and unyielding, she kept her place in the cart.  Her piercing blue eyes seemed to bore right through Byran, making him uncomfortable.  “The earl must make a decision on the matter today.”

For the first time Byran
hesitated.  “Do you require a ruling from his lordship?  You do not belong to Eagle Rock.”  Byran knew he would have known the woman otherwise.  Maybe she had come from one of his lordship’s other holdings seeking justice.  “Lord Roydon will be holding court for his people two days hence.  You are welcome to wait here.”

The old woman seemed to realise that cajoling would get her further than demanding.  Her face lost its obstinate expression, to be replaced by one of such pleading defencelessness that the steward swallowed convulsively.
  “I am too old to wait, sir.”  Nona’s voice, hardly above a whisper, came through weak and feeble.  “My need is great.  I have journeyed too long and far to die before my task is done.”

The boy stifled a smile behind his scarf.  Die?  His Nona was ancient but tough as old leather and just as resilient.  He had never seen her sick in his whole life.  But the poor man did not now this and his face paled alarmingly as he watched the woman bow her white
haired head in defeat, her small body seeming to shrink in on itself.

“I will take you up to the castle and speak to his lordship on your behalf
but I can promise you nothing.”  Abruptly Byran turned on his seat and urged the horse into a fast trot towards the gate that gave onto the middle courtyard.

The boy
run along beside the cart up the sloping yard towards another pair of gates. The fast pace gave him little time to observe the incessant activity going on all around him as serfs herded animals and merchants and craftsmen went about their duties and concerns.  The man probably thought that the old woman would expire before he could find his master.

The second pair of gates were
also guarded and gave access to the middle bailey through a short tunnel-like structure that traversed the thick walls.  When the young boy came out on the other side, he skidded to a halt in alarmed wonder.  A full scale battle seemed to be taking place on the right side of the courtyard.  Soldiers with swords, pikes and all sorts of other weapons were hacking at each other, but people on the path, as well as on the other side, were going about without the least worry on their faces.

Then it hit him, the soldiers must be practicing; of course, this must be the
training yard.  The alarm disappeared from the boy’s face to be replaced with fascinated awe.  He remained rooted to the spot, his curious eyes drinking in the sight with insatiable eagerness.  How good it could be if he could learn to fight like these men.  To be able to wield a sword and ride… The second impatient call from Nona brought the boy to his senses and he hurried to catch up with the cart, although he kept glancing at the training men as he run.

The cart stopped at the third gate.  Here the guard scrutinized everyone who wished to enter the inner bailey.  No strangers, unless vouched for by a senior retainer, were allowed into the castle’s inner courtyard.

“Lord Roydon is on the training field, Master Byran.” The senior guard on duty informed the steward, his eyes roving over the old woman and the curiously muffled boy.  “Apparently I am missing one hell of a fight,” he grumbled.

“Sir Stefan?”

“Who else could even think of standing against him?”  The admiration in the guard’s voice echoed in the nods of the soldiers standing near him.

“I will look for his lordship on the field.”  Byran turned the cart around and followed by the boy, he made his way back towards the training
soldiers.

Byran stopped the cart by a small hut near the
training warriors and jumping down he tethered the horse to a ring on the wall.  Then he walked back to the old woman who still sat in the cart.  “Wait here.  I will inform the earl of your presence,” the steward shrugged his shoulders.  “I can do no more.  Can you tell me what you would speak to him about?”

“It is an important and private matter.  I can tell you no more.”  The old woman pursed h
er lips obstinately and looked away.

“Stay here by the cart.”  Byran looked pointedly at the boy.  “It is dangerous to go in among the fighting men.”  The steward turned away, already half regretting his impulse to help the stubborn woman.

The boy did not even hesitate as he followed the steward in among the training warriors.  It did not seem so dangerous he thought, if you kept alert and your eyes open.  Besides there were not so many of them fighting now.  Almost all the soldiers were gathered near the centre of the field, where the press of bodies obscured whatever the men watched.

The steward headed in that direction, so
the boy followed, taking care to keep out of the man’s sight.  Once he realised that what the men watched was the steward’s destination, he circled the ring of men and then plunged into their midst, curious now to discover what held their attention.

Several oaths, cuffs and grumbles later, the boy managed to get through the ring of soldiers and there he again froze in alarmed stupefaction.  Two giants fought against each other, without pause or respite, within the circle of men.  Huge swords rose and fell in a savage
, lethal and at the same time almost graceful battle-dance.  The boy stared in awe as the enormous men hacked at each other, their swords flashing in the sun as they descended with deadly intent, only to be blocked or parried by raised sword or defending shield. 

“They will kill each other!”

The boy’s alarmed whisper drew the attention of one of the soldiers beside him.  “Nay, boy.  They but demonstrate their skill.  They are friends.”

“Who are they?”  The boy could not take his eyes off the two warriors battling in the clearing.  Swift attacks
and counter-attacks kept the men in constant motion, their strong muscled legs, encased in steel mail hose, taking as much strain as the massive arms wielding sword and shield.

For a moment the soldier looked down at the boy but saw only the brown floppy hat.  “You new here
, boy?” he asked, and then he shrugged.  “The man in the black half armour with the golden eagle on his shield is the earl; the other is the commander of his troops and our Captain, Sir Stefan.”

The boy nodded his thanks without taking his eyes from the combatants.  Now that he knew that they were not trying to kill each other, he relaxed enough to notice that they did indeed not wear full armour.  Helmets did not cover their heads and only breast and back plates protected their bodies over thick, quilted
gambesons.

Just
watching the straining, perspiring warriors made the boy even hotter under the scarf and the hat that shadowed his face.  Conscious of the strict instructions that Nona had given him, he dragged the hat off his head and pulled the scarf down for just a moment, to cool his heated face.  Then he adjusted it back just as a foul oath brought his attention back to the swordsmen.  The commander half-sat, half-knelt on the ground, his sword arm lying limply to his side.  Even as the boy watched, the commander’s sword slipped from his numb and useless hand to the ground.

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“Damn you, Stefan!  I could have killed you.”  The earl stood over his friend, the anger generated by the near fatal incident riding him hard.  “You froze on me!”

He
had
frozen, Stefan realised.  Like prey caught in the stare of its hunter.  He had seen Roydon’s intended blow, had even stepped back to lighten the force of the downward swing of the sword.  But he had turned to stone the moment he had seen the face of the boy standing directly behind his friend.  Consequently he failed to raise his sword to block the slash that would have parted his head from his shoulders.

Only the earl’s swift reaction and superb instinct saved him.  In a fraction of a second he
had changed the angle of the falling blade and pivoted to the side, as the great sword cleaved the air in an unstoppable mass of hungry steel.

The slight pivot had been just enough to hit Stefan’s sword arm instead of this head and the twisted blade slapped, rather than cut through the unprotected limb.  Still the mighty blow had been enough to numb his whole arm and make him drop his sword.  His arm would
soon be black and blue.  He had been incredibly fortunate; he still had an arm, and a head!  Thanks to Roydon’s lighting fast reflexes he remained whole.

But not for long if his friend had anything to do with it.  The earl crouched down in front of him, his face livid.  “What the hell were you thinking, Stefan?  I very nearly killed you!”

“I got distracted.”  The sheepish reply only got the earl angrier, but it reminded Stefan of just why he had failed to react.  Ignoring his friend he rose awkwardly to his feet and looked around for the boy.

The crowd had dispersed, more to spare their commander the embarrassment
than for a desire to return to their practice.  He could not see the boy anywhere.  “I saw a boy in the crowd…”

“Good God, Stefan!”  Roydon’s roar could be heard all over the fortress.  Then clamping his mouth shut, he strode away to one of the water troughs, his anger
a vibrating force around him.

A waiting man servant helped the earl divest himself of his armour as well as his
gambeson and undershirt.  Nude from the waist up, Roydon plunged his head and torso into the cool water.  Refreshed, but his temper still simmering, he rubbed himself dry with a cloth and drew on a fresh tunic that the servant silently handed him.  The man then buckled on his sword belt and stepped back as the earl sheathed his sword as his side.

A curt nod dismissed the silent servant as Roydon turned back to survey the field, his dark, irate
gaze missing nothing.  No one dared to meet his eye, no one wanted to draw his attention at this particular moment.

“My
lord?”  No one that is, except Master Byran, his steward.

“What?”  The growl made Byran jump back startled and not a little frightened.  The earl’s dark visage
stared down at him from way up, his body a threatening mountain of muscle.  His uncle Brecov, God rest his soul, had often told him that the master’s temper was worse that his bite.  At this particular moment Byran did not quite believe him.

“Well?”  The earl’s frown deepened, if that were possible, at Byran’s continued silence.

The instinct for self-preservation came to the steward’s aid.  “Nothing of…of import, my lord.  It can wait, sir.”  Byran backed away slowly, not wanting to unleash the dark turmoil in his liege’s eyes on his head.  The old woman would just have to wait.