A rather muscular man standing in the cell on the left moved forward; he was short but clearly strong, with a bald head and trimmed mustache and beard. He had a big gash on his cheek and his tunic around his neck was stained with blood. His hazel eyes fixed on Shain.
“I am Sir Victor St. John,” he said steadily. “You may speak with me.”
Shain fixed on the older knight. “Are you Fitzgerald’s commander?”
“One of them.”
“You know that this is all that is left of your invasion force. There is no one else.”
St. John drew in a long, slow breath. “I know.”
Devlin could see the man had a calm and rather resigned manner about him. He stepped forward and entered the conversation. “Who remains with you?” he asked.
St. John glanced around him, at the men suffering and cold and miserable. “Infantry mostly,” he said. “There are a few archers and two knights.”
“How many knights did you bring with you?”
St. John turned to look at him, showing utter defeat in his eyes for the first time. “Twenty-seven.”
“And there are only three left?”
“Aye.”
“How many men did you have?”
St. John saw no need to keep the facts to himself; it didn’t matter anymore, anyway. They had been conquered and, at the moment, there was nothing left to defend. Not even themselves. They were at the mercy of fearsome Black Sword.
“We had eleven vessels and twelve hundred and forty-three men,” he said. “That is not counting the sailors or rope boys or riggers. That is simply the number of fighting men.”
“I see,” Devlin said, eyeing the group of very dirty captives. They were so muddied and beaten that they all seemed to be the same color in skin, hair, and clothes. “Who are your knights?”
St. John pointed towards the back of the cells. “Sir William du Reims,” he said, “and Sir Trevor le Mon.”
Trevor!Devlin felt a jolt as he turned in the direction that the older knight was indicating; all the men seemed to blend into each other. “Who is le Mon?” he couldn’t help himself from asking.
“I am,” came the reply.
A young, tall knight with piercing dark eyes stepped forward; he had been standing back against the wall, allowing one of the injured men on the floor to lean on his legs. He was very tall, in fact; so tall that he couldn’t stand up straight in the cramped quarters of the cell. He was rather slender but well-built; Devlin found himself inspecting the man very closely but he didn’t want to look suspicious about it so he cleared his throat.
“And who is du Reims?” he asked.
The third knight identified himself, an average-sized knight with big hands and shoulders. Devlin eyed him, not particularly interested him, and his gaze drifted back to le Mon, who was gazing at him steadily. Then, he turned and walked away, heading back up the slippery stairs. Shain was right behind him. When they were about half way up, Devlin stopped and turned to him.
“Move St. John into the guard house,” he told him. “I will interrogate him there and see what he knows. Meanwhile, have someone bring hay down to those men so they at least have something dry to lie on. Bring them some blankets as well. Wet as they are, they’re going to catch the damp and they’ll all die from it. If I want to ransom any of them, I will not have the chance.”
Shain nodded and headed back down the stairs as Devlin headed back up. He still wasn’t quite over the fact that Emllyn’s lover was indeed among the prisoners. He couldn’t decide how he felt about it, but at least now he knew. She wouldn’t, however. He didn’t intend to tell her.
Shaking off thoughts of the tall, dark knight, he headed out to find Frederick and Iver to discuss his future plans with them. He also intended to impress upon Frederick that the man should behave himself in his absence. He knew Shain was right about him but Shain also tended to be an alarmist; Devlin had some trust in Frederick, otherwise he would not be one of his top commanders.
Still, Devlin didn’t trust any of them completely, not even Shain. Men with complete trust tended not to live long. Unlike the moon god Elathan, the good humored and somewhat naïve Celtic deity, Devlin would do all he could to prevent being betrayed by his own people. He would take the necessary steps. But before he could worry about that, he had a bigger issue tocontend with– discovering what Fitzgerald’s commander knew of his liege’s future plans.
And then he would decide what to do about Trevor le Mon.
CHAPTER FIVE
Emllyn wasn’t quitesure what it was.
It was a person, that was for certain, but she wasn’t sure if it was man or woman. Whatever it was smelled to high heaven of rot and feces, dressed in layers of raggedy clothing, and had something sticking out of its mouth that smoked up on the end of it. The smoke smelled like shite. Whatever it was had knocked on her door and when she had opened the panel, it had wandered in and taken up position on the stool near the hearth. And there it continued to sit.
