*
Arrows did awaywith some of the dogs that had attacked them the day before. The troops from Harbottle were settled on the eastern side of the enclosure and the party of eleven men bearing the seal of Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, entered from the west. One of them had been witness to the slaughter yesterdayof seven colleagues and had unknowingly escaped from young King Edward’s men. He’d gone in search of the other Mortimer men that he knew to be in the area and found them south of Cartingdon, searching the village of Warton.
Merchants in Cartingdon loved to gossip. It wasn’t difficult to discover that Tate de Lara was at Forestburn Manor, a guest of the mayor. With that information, they wasted no time.
It was a brazen daylight attack. They killed the dogs and made their way across the vast enclosure and gardens, five of them heading for the house and six of them moving to thegarçonnaire.The two windows of the small house proved to be convenient points of entry, but also deadly ones. The knight inside was as fast as he was large, and deftly killed two of their number in swift succession. But others were able to break in, doing battle with the two men-at-arms that were also inside. The young king managed to throw himself out of one of the broken windows and race for the manor at the far end of the enclosure.
Unbeknownst to the occupants of the manor, three of Mortimer’s men had made it inside the large house by way of the kitchen. The cook was killed and two servants beat unconscious. They were waiting for the king when he flew into the house, yelling for the man that Mortimer knew as Dragonblade. The lad was in a panic and was nearly hit by a sword that came flying at his head. He managed to avoid being decapitated and raced into the great hall, pulling a sword down from the hearth and defending himself admirably. All of this happened in quick succession, but the fiercest battle was yet to come.
Two massive knights came hurling off the stairs, racing into the great hall to join the melee. Tate and Stephen were without armor or weapons and at a distinct disadvantage; Stephen grabbed the long, slender iron pole that was used to stoke the hearth and drove the dirty end into one man’s neck. Tate picked up the nearest stool, used it to block a strike against him, thenswung about and used it as a weapon to disarm his adversary. It was a smooth move, accomplished in a matter of seconds. An additional move took his foe’s legs out from underneath him and he collected the man’s sword before it hit the ground. In a deadly turn, he used it against him.
There was still another attacker in the room, going after young Edward. Stephen did away with the man, putting the fire pole between his ribs. As the man fell, the knight caught his sword. Now, at least they were armed. Their odds were increasing.
Edward was exhilarated and terrified. “In thegarçonnaire!” he yelled. “There are more!”
“Go help Kenneth,” Tate ordered Stephen. He looked at the young king. “Up the stairs, now.”
The tone of command left no room for debate. Stephen left for thegarçonnaire, but Edward had yet to move.
“I can fight,” he insisted.
“It was not a request,” Tate replied. “Get up the stairs to the mistress’ chamber and lock the door.”
Edward was about to argue further but he suddenly paused. “I smell smoke.”
Tate smelled it, too. He suspected what was happening and his plan of attack shifted. Before he could say anything further, a body abruptly stepped from the shadows and hit him squarely across the back of the head. Without his helm, Tate went down like a stone. Edward’s eyes widened as the figure came into the weak light.
“De Roche,” he gasped. “What… what are you doing here?”
Hamlin de Roche was big, dark and ugly. His armor was of the finest grade and his demeanor gave him the ambience of the devil. He grinned at Edward, evil and death bleeding from every pore of his body. He stepped over Tate’s supine form.
“My king,” he greeted in a deep, raspy voice. “As Mortimer’s finest servant, the earl does not pay me for my good looks or pleasant nature. I have come for a reason.”
Edward was backing up as de Roche moved towards him. “Stay away from me, you bastard. You will not lay a hand on me.”
“I do not intend to lay a hand on you,” de Roche said calmly. “I intend to take you with me for Mortimer’s pleasure.”
Edward was to the stairs, backing his way up the steps and unaware that he was about to corner himself. He had a sword in his hand but dared not strike out at de Roche; as deadly as Tate de Lara was, de Roche had nearly the same reputation. He was a powerful warrior, Roger Mortimer’s most valuable knight. Catching Tate unaware had been a first; Tate had gotten the better of de Roche many times.
“Stay away, de Roche,” Edward raised the sword in a weak threat. “I will kill you if you come any closer, I swear it.”
De Roche laughed low in his throat. “You are brave, sire. You have grown since last we spoke.”
Edward was nearly to the top of the stairs and increasingly fearful of his fate. He was at a disadvantage and he knew it. But unexpectedly, a wet figure pushed past him, a blur of hair and ashen flesh. Toby suddenly wedged herself between Edward and the dark knight, causing Edward to trip and fall back on the steps. Truthfully, he was so startled to see her that he had fallen over his own feet.
Toby was pale and shaken, her nightshift damp from the bath she had taken to save her life. She had awoken on her bed, hearing urgent voices in the hall and wondering why she was all wet. Ailsa was asleep beside her and she had not the strength to wake her sister and ask what had transpired. When the voices drew closer, men she did not recognize, she was curious more than she sensed danger. But a terrified young man’s voice told her something was amiss. Rising from the bed, which was noeasy feat, she had stumbled to the door in time to see Tate’s squire heading off with an enormous knight.
The lad was frightened, that much was evident. The big knight looked as if he was about to do the youth serious harm. Having no idea who the man was, she instinctively took a defensive stance. She was enraged that someone would violate the sanctity of her home, no matter what the circumstances. Staggering over to the hearth, she grabbed the fire poker, the only weapon-like instrument in the room.
De Roche was soon aware of a poker staring him in the face.
“How dare you enter my home without permission,” Toby hissed. “Leave this boy alone. Get out of here.”
De Roche’s gaze drifted over her in a way that made Toby feel dirty and exposed. “Lady, this matter does not concern you. I shall leave your home gladly as soon as young Edward lets go his sword and comes with me.”
Toby’s mind was fogged with illness and she did not comprehend that the man had called the squire by a different name. She lowered the poker as if she meant to attack him.
“Get out. I will not tell you again.”
