“Egun on, Zubiri and Elizondo.” Cardin used the friendly Basque greeting to address two of the approaching knights whom he recognized, having served with them for six years atle Château de Montmarin. “We must take Comte Ibarra immediately tola Tour Blanchefor his safety. We need to remove him from the caravan so he can leave with us—we’ve brought an additional horse for him to ride.” Cardin gestured to the saddled Friesian mount whose reins Gaultier held in his left hand. “Andoni Zilar has sent men to assassinate Ibarra, to prevent him from signing the Alliance with Aquitaine treaty. Xabi Vazquez and his men will help you defend the carriages in case you’re attacked on the way to the Tower. But Comte Ibarra needs to come with us at once.”
Zubiri, astride his gleaming black stallion, exchanged glances as he conferred quickly and silently with his companions. Ducking his chin in agreement, he took the reins of the extra horse from Gaultier’s outstretched hand. “I’ll fetch Ibarra and return at once. Elizondo and I will ride with you.”
Moments later, a harried and distraught Comte Ibarra rode up with Zubiri to join Cardin, Gaultier, and the knights fromMontmarin.
“Quickly, sir. Tola Tour Blanche!” Verifying that Ibarra was at his side, and that Gaultier, Zubiri, Elizondo, and the knights were close behind, Cardin galloped off, leading the way to Issoudun.
****
Built by King Richard the Lionheart in the twelfth century,la Tour Blanchewas a cylindricalfortress made of pristinewhite stone with thick, impenetrable walls, arrow slit windows, and a roof equipped with ahourdage—a wooden gallery with corbelling and an overhang so that defenders could launch projectiles or pour boiling oil upon attackers.Originally an English fortification of the Plantagênet dynasty,la Tour Blanchehad reverted to the French crown and was now a royal fortress of King Philippe le Bel.
As the hilltop tower came into sight, Cardin waved the French flag while Gaultier held the banner ofle Château de Montmarin.The watchtower guards, recognizing the coat of arms of Comte Eztebe Ibarra, staunch ally of their sovereign, King Philippeof France, lowered the drawbridge at the base of the hill to allow entrance across the moat.
The hairs on the back of Cardin’s neck rose in sudden alert. As a volley of arrows whizzed by, he flew up the hill, jumped off his horse, and yanked Comte Ibarra from the saddle. Arrows rained down upon them as Cardin whisked Ibarra insidela Tour Blanche,handing him over to the guards of Pierre Chalamet, Lord of the White Tower. “Get archers to the parapets. We’re under attack!”
Metal screeched as swords clashed behind him. Cardin slammed the tower door shut and spun around to find Gaultier, Zubiri, Elizondo, and their knights engaged in heavy combat. Elizondo had fallen from his horse, blood oozing from his helmet as he battled a mounted knight. An archer from a rooftop parapet of the tower fired three arrows into Elizondo’s attacker, halting the enemy sword mid-arc from swooping down for the kill. Gaultier and Zubiri were each fighting two mounted opponents, and several of the knights from Montmarin were surrounded and outnumbered. With the watchtower guard killed, the drawbridge remained open, permitting more attackers to fly across the bridge and enter the fray.
Cardin’s longbow and quiver of arrows were still strapped to his horse’s saddle. Slashing with his sword, he fought his way across the bloody, mud-strewn courtyard, retrieved his longbow, and fired at the knights approaching the bridge. He slew four, who fell from their horses just outside the entrance gate. As he nocked another arrow, drew his bowstring and took aim, a pummeling force knocked him off his feet and flung him backward. Paralyzed by a searing, burning pain in his chest, Cardin succumbed to a thick, smothering blanket of darkness.
****
A horrorstruck Gaultier saw the crossbow bolt strike his brother in the chest, piercing the chain mail armor with sufficient force to lift him up into the air and knock him flat on his back. Bleeding heavily from the gaping wound, Cardin now lay sprawled across the muck and gore of the contained battlefield in front ofla Tour Blanche.Yet before he could help his critically injured brother, Gaultier had to eliminate the two enemy knights he was currently battling. With a vicious slash to the upper thigh, he toppled one mounted combatant from his horse, impaling him with the lethal tip of his sword. Whirling around to parry the blow from the other, who had lunged forward to attack, he carried the momentum of his spin into a savage downward slice that disarmed his opponent.
Zubiri, who had slain two knights, beheaded Gaultier’s assailant from behind and bellowed to Elizondo. “Raise the drawbridge!”
Elizondo flew up the stairs into the wooden watchtower gate, cranked the winch, and raised the heavy bridge while Gaultier, Zubiri, and the knights from Montmarin slew the remaining attackers in the courtyard ofla Tour Blanche.
Gaultier scanned the bloody terrain. Two dozen enemy corpses—many with severed limbs or bodies riddled with arrows from the fortress archers—littered the gruesome battlefield. Several of their own knights had been killed, and some seriously wounded. But none except Cardin had been impaled by a crossbow bolt. Wiping sweat and blood from his injured face, Gaultier yelled to Zubiri, who strode across the courtyard toward him. “Help me get Cardin inside.”
Gaultier shouted up to the rooftop archers. “Open the door! We have wounded men!”
A few moments later, the tower guards unbolted the front entrance, permitting Gaultier and Zubiri to carry the critically wounded Cardin inside while other knights brought in the injured men. Lord Chalamet quickly led them to a large stone chamber with a high ceiling, towering walls, and narrow slits for windows. Along one side of the cavernous room, beds were lined up against the massive stone wall.
Flustered and distraught, Comte Ibarra rushed toward them, eyeing the critically wounded Cardin. “I owe him my life. He got me inside the tower.” Gratitude and grief warred in his frantic, desperate gaze.
“Lay him here,” Chalamet said, indicating an available mattress. “The healer will assess his injury.” Dark hair streaked with grey, his thick brows furrowed in concern, the lord ofla Tour Blanchegestured for an elderly robed man to approach as Gaultier and Zubiri settled an unconscious Cardin onto the straw palette.
The white-haired healer bent over the prone body to examine Cardin’s gruesome chest wound. Crusted with drying blood, the wooden shaft of the crossbow bolt protruded several inches from the punctured chain mail armor. “The metal tip of the arrow penetrated the muscle in his chest.” When the healer rose to his full stooped height, the grim regard in his bleak eyes confirmed the bitter truth that Gaultier already knew.Cardin has little chance of survival.“I dare not remove the bolt, for he will bleed to death very quickly. Yet if the quarrel remains embedded, the wound will fester. And he will die slowly…in agony.”
Gaultier gazed mournfully at his brother’s pallid face, his heart clenching at the tragic irony.Basati finally bonded with his abandoned son. The Basque Wolf of Biarritz found love once again. And now—just when he finds happiness after drowning in so much sorrow—his life hangs by a mere thread, I’ve got to get him back to Brocéliande. To Ulla. She’s an exceptional healer. She loves him with all her heart. If anyone can save him, she will.He raised his bowed head to meet Lord Chalamet’s concerned gaze. “Do you have a wagon I could borrow to transport him?”
“Yes, there’s a supply wagon you may use. But my archers report more armored knights are fast approaching the Tower. How can you leave when we’re still under attack?” Chalamet regarded Gaultier with stunned incredulity.
“We’ll get up to the roof. Fire at the enemy. See how many of Zilar’s men remain.” Gaultier turned away from Chalamet and spoke reassuringly to a still shaken Comte Ibarra. “Xabi Vazquez and the knights from Montmarin are defending your royal carriages. We sent a message to King Philippe inle Palais-Royalseveral days ago, informing him of the assassination plot and requesting reinforcements to escort you to Paris. With the king’s royal guards, we’ll ensure that you arrive in time to sign the Yuletide treaty.” With a respectful nod to each nobleman, Gaultier retreated from Comte Ibarra and Lord Chalamet. Summoning Zubiri, Elizondo, and the uninjured knights with a swoop of his arm, he raced toward the stairwell at the rear of the room. “To the parapets!”
The winding, circular steps led up to the flat rooftop of the one-hundred-foot-tall tower, where archers with longbows defended the fortress between openings of the crenellated embrasure. As Gaultier and his men arrived on the scene, they quickly assumed positions behind the raised merlon sections of the defensive wall where they nocked their arrows and fired down upon the enemy from strategic gaps in the battlements.
From this height above the treetops, Gaultier observed Xabi and the knights of Montmarin battling attackers and defending the two heavily laden carriages from within the protective circle they had formed around the valuable cargo. As he watched his brother’s closest friend valiantly defend Comte Ibarra’s royal gifts for the King of France, arrows from longbowmen atop the Tower eliminated several of Zilar’s mounted henchmen. Gaultier fired several times in rapid succession, but without the extended reach of a superior longbow, his arrows fell far short of their intended marks.
Just as the winter sun began its early evening descent, the thunderous pounding of hooves announced the fortuitous arrival of a bevy of armored knights. Clad in blue surcoats bearing the three goldenfleur-de-lysemblems of King Philippe le Bel of France, the royal soldiers swiftly and efficiently dispatched the remainder of Andoni Zilar’s attackers. Triumphant and glorious, the Parisian knights joined Xabi and his men as the royal procession continued proudly along the cobblestone road toward the entrance tola Tour Blanched’ Issoudun.
The defenders of the Tower lowered their longbows and cheered in victory. One of Lord Chalamet’s archers hollered down to the watchtower guard, “Lower the drawbridge!”
His scarred, sweaty face aglow in the golden light, Zubiri grinned from ear to ear as the royal French guards led the cavalcade of knights and two carriages across the moat and into the courtyard in front of the Tower. “Let’s go congratulate Xabi. This calls for a celebration!” As if suddenly remembering Cardin’s grievous injury, Zubiri’s jubilant expression became grim. “You must leave at once. Even a brief delay could mean the difference between life and death for your brother.”
Gaultier nodded solemnly as Elizondo walked up to join them. “I’ll take my father’s knights and depart tonight forle Château de Landuc. Cardin’s—Basati’s—betrothed is a gifted healer. So is our mother. I pray the two of them can cure my brother.”
“Zorte on. Good luck. I hope they can save Basati.” Empathy exuding from his seasoned warrior gaze, Zubiri gripped Gaultier’s shoulders in an encouraging fraternal embrace. “Come. Let’s go downstairs and greet Xabi. We’ll help you load your brother into the carriage for the trip home.”
