Defiant Unto Death by David Gilman Read Free Book Online

see barrels packed with crossbow bolts and swords. Spears were stacked against the wall. The French had used the garrison for supplying local lords to support the southern borders against Gascony. There was no sign of coin until Blackstone shifted some of the weapons and then pulled aside planks shrouded in old sackcloth covered with a few shovelfuls of earth. The space dug below the floor was big enough for several barrels, but he found only two remaining – enough, Blackstone realized, to keep the men who served him until they raided again next year, and enough to deny the French King the means to pay his vassals in the area. It would be a good, long year when Blackstone’s men could rest and he would lie with Christiana beneath the shade of the great willow down at the riverside. They would make another baby and the year would end with its birth. This fight had been worth every damned minute of its misery.
    Within the hour Guillaume and Perinne, barely conscious from their hours spent lying in the cold water, were wrapped into blankets and kept close to a blazing fire the men built in the centre of the courtyard. They lay with their backs to the warmth, with their booty gathered near them, and let the fatigue of battle finally claim them.
    When the distant church bell rang for matins, Jean de Grailly’s troops moved down the narrow road between smouldering reed beds. He had kept his word and secured the route from the south. A sentry, barely awake, called out the challenge and then allowed de Grailly to ride forward with a handful of his men, taking in the sight of the battleground within the walls. It was too soon after the fighting to see anything other than Blackstone’s filthy and exhausted men. Their bodies, caked in dried mud and blood, gave them the appearance of a wild, ancient tribe. He had a fleeting thought that he would rather have this scarred fighter on his side than not. French defenders’ bodies lay scattered where they had fallen across battlements and courtyard, as smoke still drifted over the wasteland. A handful of dead men lay butchered in front of a building, their stench already rising like the morning tide. De Grailly had half expected to ride down the road and find the French garrison intact. He had planned for skirmishers to ride out and lay ambush should the French come at him in force. There would have been no shame in turning back and admitting he had gone too far north.
    But Thomas Blackstone and his savage-looking men had offered him glory.
    â€˜You will have made a grave enemy of the King of France for this success, Thomas,’ said de Grailly as he dismounted.
    â€˜I took it in the name of Edward. You’ll hold it for him, my lord?’ said Blackstone, aware that de Grailly had not extended the hand of friendship, nor made any gesture to embrace a fellow knight.
    â€˜I’ll garrison it with a hundred men and send a messenger to the Prince. Is there food here?’
    â€˜I dare say, but we’ve slept this past couple of hours. We needed that more than food.’
    De Grailly nodded, looking about the scene. And saw the boar-head shield lying near one of the dead. ‘You slaughtered Sir Henri. A ransom could have been earned.’
    â€˜He placed too high a price on himself.’
    De Grailly studied the Englishman. ‘As have you after this attack. They’ll want your head on a pole for the King to see. The hornet’s nest has been badly beaten with a big stick. You will soon be even more famous than I am. In truth, you are already. Very well, Thomas. I’ll have the rest of your men brought from the rear of the column.’
    â€˜Thank you, my lord. I need your barber-surgeon for my wounded.’
    â€˜Then you will have him. And my cooks will feed you. I’ll have Sir Henri’s body sent home for a Christian burial; the others we’ll let the tide take out to sea.’
    Blackstone looked at those who had survived the