“The army before us isnotall of the men The Rough has to offer,” he said, pointing to the hills. “If I know William, he is lying in wait, up there where the smoke is. Therefore, I will keep the Scots at this bridge busy while you take your army and de Velt and cross the other bridge. You are right; we should control it now. You can come around to the rear of the Scots to the north and keep them from reinforcing the ranks in the city.”
Christopher was looking around. “I will,” he said. “But I will take Teviot and de Bourne with me. You keep de Velt with you and put him on that castle. That is what the man does best. If we want to take Berwick Castle, he is our best chance. Jax, do you have anything to say to that?”
Jax was looking across to the castle, a behemoth structure that was one of the more impenetrable bastions in England and Scotland. He was listening to the conversation between The Marshal and Christopher, but all the while, his mind was working.
“Nay,” he said. “But I will take the castle my way.”
Everyone looked at him. “What do you mean?” The Marshal asked. “Honestly, Jax, I am afraid to even ask that question. Of course you can do it your way, but do you mean in the same fashion you took Fountainhall?”
Jax simply looked at him, those dual-colored eyes making the hair on the back of The Marshal’s neck stand up. Understanding his silent meaning, he put up a hand.
“Jax, I am in full support of whatever you wish to do with the occupants of Berwick but leave the castle intact,” he said. “I want it. Can you do this?”
The corner of Jax’s mouth twitched. “I can do anything,” he said. “But you are taking all of the fun out of it.”
Christopher started to chuckle. “Ah, Jax, my good and true friend,” he said. “Everyone wants to spoil your good time. I’m so sorry.”
Jax’s grin broke through as he looked over at the castle again. “Especially the Scots,” he said. “And they are going to pay, just like their brethren at Fountainhall did.”
The Marshal could see there was no use in holding him back. Jax was the warlord they all feared, brutality personified.
He was going to put that to good use.
“Do your worst, de Velt,” he said. “I will get you across the bridge, but you must be prepared to act once I do.”
“I will be ready.”
As Jax spun his black warhorse around and headed towards his army, The Marshal turned to Christopher.
“God help us all if I do not get him across that bridge in a reasonable amount of time,” he muttered. “He may start taking his frustrations out on the rest of us.”
Christopher snorted. “Then that is prime incentive to take that bridge,” he said. “If we do not want to be the focus of his aggression, then we had better do what we say we are going to do. Now, may I make a suggestion?”
“Please do.”
Christopher pointed to the bridge. “Put de Winter and Savernake on driving the Scots across the bridge and away from the town while de Velt attacks the castle,” he said. “De Winter and Savernake are your best war machines right now, so use them. Have East Anglia watch your flank and rear. We are close to the border and there could be a flanking maneuver, just as we are about to do.”
It was the truth and William knew it. Their plans of splitting the army still held true, as those were their original plans, butnow that they had a better look at the topography and the position of the Scots, those plans had to be flexible.
“Very well,” he said. “Take Teviot and de Bourne and root them out of those hills. How far behind is Richmond?”
Christopher looked at him. “At least a day,” he said. “We received word from Maxton last night. They’re moving as quickly as they can, but Richmond is a big army.”
William digested that. “When Cai and Maxton arrive, direct them to the mouth of the river,” he said. “Tell Cai to put a line of archers with flaming arrows around the mouth and then in the sand to the north. As soon as they see those ships, launch the arrows. Burn those bastards at sea.”
“I will tell them,” Alexander said. “I am keeping a watch on any armies arriving from the south, so once they are sighted, I will move them towards the river’s mouth.”
“Excellent,” The Marshal said, turning to Alexander. “And everyone else? What does your gut tell you, Sherry? How far behind us are they?”
Alexander sighed faintly. “It is difficult to know,” he said. “The messengers I sent out last night have yet to return, so they are not close in any case. The last I heard, Gart and Pembroke were at least a week behind us, so that would put him at possibly five days or more. I would assume everyone else is still the same– Canterbury, de Lara, de Nerra.”
That wasn’t exactly what William wanted to hear, but that’s what he’d known all along. Perhaps he was hoping for Alexander to tell him something different and come up with a miracle. He motioned to the soldier next to him, the man who always carried The Marshal’s standards.
“Send for the commanders now,” he said. “Bric, Dash, Kress, Achilles, Peter, Alastor and Ares, Addax and Essien… send them to me. Quickly.”
The man was gone, yelling to other Marshal soldiers to seek out the Executioner Knights, who were now leading their armies. Spies who worked in small groups, or sometimes alone, were in truth seasoned knights with vast command experience. Like Dashiell and Bric, they commanded massive war machines.
Those war machines were about to get down and dirty.
