The Red Fox Clan Page 15

  The keep was lower than the four towers. But it was joined to them at the fourth-floor level by four arched stone walkways, which gave the entire structure the appearance of being ready to spring into the air.

  “You grew up here. Don’t you know?” Cassandra replied.

  Maddie shook her head. “I never spent much time there when I was a kid,” she said. “But I was in there today and . . . it seems kind of empty. There are no rooms or apartments—well, hardly any—in the lower floors. It just seems sort of superfluous. Maybe that’s why it never interested me when I was growing up.”

  “I suppose not,” Cassandra replied. “Actually, it’s what we call our ‘retreat of last resort.’”

  That phrase caught Maddie’s attention, Cassandra thought, seeing her daughter sit up straighter. It had implications of adventure and action and, as such, it would inevitably fire her daughter’s interest in martial affairs.

  “That sounds fascinating,” Maddie said.

  Cassandra elaborated. “In the event that Castle Araluen’s outer wall were breached,” she said, “we would fall back to the keep as our penultimate line of defense. But if that fell in its turn, the defenders could access the south tower by way of the arched stone bridge. The south tower is much more defensible and is set up to survive a long siege.”

  “How so?” Maddie asked.

  “The top levels are served by a single spiral staircase, which could be easily defended by a few men. It’s the only access.”

  Not quite, thought Maddie. But she said nothing.

  Cassandra continued. “The upper two floors are kept stocked with food and weapons. And within the spire there’s a large cistern that collects rainwater—that would be even more important than food supplies in the long run. Even a small force could hold out there for months.”

  Maddie nodded thoughtfully.

  Cassandra mistook her expression for concern and added reassuringly, “Not that it’s ever likely to come to that, of course. The outer wall has never been breached.”

  “Of course,” Maddie said.

  That explains why it’s the only tower served by a secret staircase, she thought. If all else failed, the occupants could escape down to the cellar level and out through the tunnel under the moat.

  Cassandra rose from the table. “Well, I’m afraid I still have work to do,” she said.

  Maddie looked up at her. “Don’t stay up too late.”

  Cassandra smiled. “I’m supposed to say that to you,” she said. She started toward the door that led to her office, then, as a thought struck her, turned back. “Oh, by the way, don’t disappear tomorrow. I have people arriving that I want you to meet.”

  Maddie grinned at her. “Not more smooth-talking Iberians?”

  Cassandra gave a short laugh. “Not these people. They’re quite rough and ready.”

  “Rough and ready?” Maddie replied. “They sound like my sort of people.”

  “They are. I’m pretty sure you’ll like them. They’re Skandians.”

  21

  The eight archers broke ranks and ran for the riverbank, where horsemen were waiting to help them across the ford. Handing their bows up to the riders to keep them clear of the river, they seized hold of the horses’ harnesses, grabbing stirrup leathers or girth straps. Some of the horses had leather harnesses around their necks as well, and these made excellent handholds. The riders waited until their “passengers” were settled, then urged their horses forward at a walk into the river.

  Seeing that his men had started crossing, Gilan paced backward to the riverbank, keeping a keen eye on the Foxes.

  As he had expected, their discipline and their willingness to fight had evaporated. They skulked among the trees, seeking protection from the deadly arrows—even though they were well out of range. Their commander, his left arm in a sling and a bloodstained bandage around his shoulder, railed at them in vain, challenging their courage, threatening to withhold their pay and have every fifth man whipped.

  They avoided his furious gaze, turning away and sinking to the long grass, physically and mentally exhausted by the ordeal they had just gone through. Reflecting the opinion of the sergeant who had led them back to safety, they occasionally cast angry glances at their shouting commander. It’s fine for you to shout and threaten, they thought. You stayed safe here in the trees while we were providing target practice for those cursed archers.

  A leader who refused to share the discomforts of campaigning and the risk of combat with his men rapidly lost their respect and their willingness to obey his orders. But their commander was too obtuse to realize that. He thought bluster and threats could take the place of respect.

  Eventually, by dint of threatening and punishing those who disobeyed, discipline would be restored among the Foxes—to a certain extent. But it would take time, and in that time, the enemy were escaping across the ford.

  * * *

  • • •

  Gilan waited on the southern bank, keeping a keen watch on the enemy force, until the second group of archers were almost across the river. Then, seeing no sign that the Foxes had rallied, he turned Blaze’s head and urged the mare into the river.

  She pushed strongly, half walking, half swimming. She wasn’t as long in the leg as the taller cavalry horses, and the water came up almost to the saddle. But Gilan was an expert rider, and he maintained his balance against Blaze’s lunging progress, staying in the saddle as the horse forced her way across the ford. Then he felt the water level dropping away as the river shallowed.

  Blaze’s gait steadied and she trotted up the bank, pausing to shake herself, sending a shower of water that gleamed silver in the sunlight.

  Horace, who had been waiting for Gilan, took the brunt of it. “Thank you very much,” he said sarcastically, wiping river water from his face.

  Gilan grinned easily at him. “If you don’t know that’s the first thing a horse does after it’s been swimming, don’t blame me.”

  Horace shielded his eyes with one hand and peered back across the river. “No sign of movement there?”

  Gilan stood in his stirrups and followed the tall warrior’s gaze. “It’ll be a while before they get them moving again,” he said. “They’ve taken two drubbings from our archers, and they won’t be keen for a third.”

  “Of course, things might change once they see we’ve moved out,” Horace said.

  Gilan considered the statement. “You think they’ll keep after us then?”

  Horace nodded. “Don’t see why they wouldn’t. They lured us here for a purpose, and so far they haven’t accomplished it.”

  Gilan scanned the ground around them. The terrain here was similar to the side they had just left, with relatively open ground for a hundred meters or so, then thick trees. Forty meters from the river, he saw a line of low bushes—fifteen meters long and about chest high—that would provide concealment for a small group of men.

  “I’ll keep four men here, under cover,” he said, indicating the bushes. “Once the Foxes get their nerve up and try to cross, we’ll do what we can to change their minds.”

  “And what happens when you leave?” Horace asked.

  Gilan shrugged. “With any luck, they won’t know that we’ve gone. I’ll get the men to fall back one at a time, staying low until they reach the trees. If you leave some horses tethered there for us, we should get a head start on them.”

  Horace considered the plan. “That should work,” he said. “Without horses, they’re going to have to try to get ropes across the river so that their main body can cross. So the first men to cross will have to swim, carrying the ropes.”

  “And they should be easy targets,” Gilan agreed. “If we pick off three or four of them, the rest will be reluctant to try crossing. By the time they realize we’re gone, we should have a good lead.”

  “I assume you’ll be the last to
leave?” Horace said.

  Gilan met his gaze evenly. “Of course,” he said. “I’m not going to ask someone else to stay behind. Besides, I’m the best shot, so it makes sense for me to stay till the end.”

  “Just checking,” Horace said mildly. In Gilan’s place, he would have done the same. Besides, as the Ranger said, it made sense for the best shot to be the last to leave.

  “You’d better get moving,” Gilan told him now, in a brisker tone. He gestured toward the far bank, and the small figures moving among the trees. “They won’t stay moping around over there forever.” He dismounted and strode quickly to where the archers were waiting. Most of them had stripped off their soaked outer clothing and were working in pairs to wring the water out. They looked up as he approached.

  “All right, get dressed and move out. Find the horses you were riding and mount up. Nestor, Clete, Gilbert and Walt, you stay with me. Have you all got full quivers?”

  Two of the men nodded. The others indicated their quivers. One had three shafts left. The other had five. “Right—collect more from the supply wagon. In fact, get extra for the rest of the men. On the double!” he snapped, and the two archers trotted off to the supply wagon, where two thousand spare shafts were stored in arrow bags.

  A few minutes later, Horace led the force into the tree line and turned to the west. Horses for the four archers who would remain with Gilan were tethered in the trees, out of sight of the far bank. Horace led Blaze into the trees and let the reins fall to the ground once they were in the shadows. The Ranger horse would wait there until Gilan came for her. Staying low to avoid being seen, he then returned to the line of bushes, where the others were waiting. They crouched in the cover of the bushes while he outlined the plan.

  “Stay out of sight,” he told them. “We don’t want them to know we’re here until we start shooting. Then, one by one, make your way to the trees and follow the main party. Try to stay out of sight. I want the enemy to think we’re still here, even after we’re long gone.”

  The four men nodded. They grinned at one another. They were enjoying this fight. Usually a battle meant they stayed in a line and shot shaft after shaft into the air in a solid hail of arrows. It was fairly impersonal, and most of the time they couldn’t really see the effect their shooting was having. This encounter was different. They had seen their shafts taking down the men who were advancing on them, seen the havoc and uncertainty their shooting caused.

  And so far, they had been untouched themselves.

  “Might as well make yourselves comfortable while we’re waiting,” Gilan told them. “I’ll keep an eye on our friends across the river.”

  They settled down on the soft grass. Like all soldiers, they were experienced in taking any opportunity to rest. In the space of a few minutes, two of them were even snoring gently, their heads resting on their packs. Gilan looked at them and smiled.

  Nestor, the oldest of the group, saw the look. “They’ll sleep anywhere,” he said, grinning. “If they’d stopped halfway across the river, they probably would have dozed off there.”

  The sun was warm on their backs, and their clothes were quickly drying. Not that they’d be completely dry, of course, but they were no longer heavy and sodden. Gilan pulled his cowl up to put the pale oval of his face in shadow and crouched behind the line of bushes, finding a gap through which he could watch the far bank.

  A mayfly buzzed around his head. He was tempted to swipe at it but resisted the urge. The movement might be seen by the enemy. Instead, as it hovered close to his face, he screwed his lips up and tried to blow it away. The mayfly ignored the attempt.

  Time passed, and the faint noises of Horace’s group—the jingle of harness, rattle of weapons and thudding of hooves on the soft grass—gradually died away. The mayfly became more persistent, and in spite of himself, Gilan found his eyelids drooping heavily. He shook his head and changed his position into a less comfortable one, kneeling on one knee. Clete and Walt continued to snore softly.

  He saw movement across the river and came more upright, looking closely, although remaining concealed behind the bushes.

  A dozen or so men were advancing from the tree line, heading for the riverbank. They moved cautiously, expecting any minute to be assailed by a hail of arrows. As this didn’t happen, they became more confident. Initially moving in a crouch, they stood and began to move faster. Gilan, from his hiding place, could see that three of them had heavy coils of rope around their shoulders. He nodded to Nestor, indicating the two sleeping men. The old archer reached behind him and shook the two men gently. Experienced warriors that they were, they came awake without any undue noise, instantly ready for action.

  “They’re coming,” Gilan whispered. “Get ready.”

  The four archers slowly changed position until they were kneeling on one knee behind the covering bushes. They had each slipped an arrow from their quivers and had them ready on the bowstrings. They looked expectantly at the Ranger, now half concealed in the bushes, where he had moved forward for a better view.

  “Not yet,” he said softly.

  The three men carrying the ropes had reached the river’s edge. They shrugged the rope coils off their shoulders and began to attach the loose ends to anchor points on the bank—sturdy saplings or deeply embedded rocks.

  They stripped down to their undergarments and tied the ropes around their waists.

  “They’re going to swim the ropes across,” Gilan whispered. “We’ll wait till they’re halfway across and start shooting.”

  Watched by their comrades, who were crouched behind their shields on the bank, the three rope carriers waded into the river. One of them cried out in surprise as he felt the unexpected strength of the current. Then he recovered and continued to wade out.

  Within a few meters, they were shoulder deep in the water and forced to begin swimming. As soon as their feet left the bottom, they began to drift quickly downstream. But they were all strong swimmers, and Gilan could see they were making good progress across the ford. He selected the first man who had entered the water. He was obviously the strongest swimmer of the three and had gained a lead of several meters over the others.

  “I’ll take the nearest one,” Gilan said, rising slowly to his feet. “You take care of the others.”

  His four archers also rose, their heads and shoulders now above the screening bushes. But they went unnoticed. Understandably, the men on the far bank were watching the swimmers, slowly paying out the rope behind them as they fought their way across the river. The fact that they had been unmolested so far had given them a false sense of confidence.

  Gilan brought up his bow and sighted on the leading swimmer. Beside him, he sensed the other shooters were doing the same.

  “Now,” he said softly, and released.

  22

  Maddie rode out early the next morning on Sundancer, heading for Warwick’s farm. Mindful of Cassandra’s instruction not to “disappear,” she had checked with her mother and ascertained that her Skandian guests wouldn’t be arriving before midday.

  “But that means you have to be back here by half past the eleventh hour,” her mother warned her. “I want to ride down to the dock to welcome them.”

  Maddie promised that she would be back well before that time, and went to saddle her horse.

  She rode through the portcullis and across the drawbridge, nodding a friendly greeting to the sentries there, who came to attention to salute her. Once she was in the parkland, she set Sundancer to a gentle canter, enjoying the wind in her hair as the Arridan loped across the neatly tailored grass, his hoofbeats sounding a dull tattoo on the soft ground. When she entered the forest, she had to slow down to a trot. The trees grew too close together here to permit any higher speed, unless in the case of a dire emergency.

  She whistled as she rode, and Sundancer, sensing her cheerful mood, tossed his head and shook his mane at her.
She leaned forward and patted his neck. He was a good horse, but her mood was caused by the fact that she would be seeing Bumper. She hadn’t visited the farm in several days, and she was missing her shaggy little companion.

  “If it weren’t for him, you’d be my favorite horse,” she said, and Sundancer tossed his head once more at the sound of her voice. Unlike Bumper, however, he didn’t reply.

  Warwick was working in the barn when she rode into the farmyard. He had the big doors open to admit light and was repairing the leather traces on a plow. He strolled out to meet her as she dismounted and then tethered Sundancer to the post by the farmhouse door.

  “Morning, Maddie,” he said cheerfully. “Come to see Bumper, have you?”

  “That’s right, Warwick. And you, of course,” she added with a grin, which he matched. She had her Ranger cloak rolled up and tied behind her saddle. She took it down now, shook it out and swung it around her shoulders. The simple act of wearing it made her feel more positive, more confident. The cloak was a symbol of who she was and what she did.

  “Thought I’d scout around the area,” she said. “Has anything been going on?”

  Warwick screwed up his face thoughtfully before answering. “Not sure,” he said. “Barnaby Coddling at Coddling Farm says he thought there’d been people up at the abbey again the other night. But Barnaby’s inclined to imagine things. Once he hears there’s been activity there, he’s bound to think he’s seen it. Likes a bit of drama, does Barnaby.”

  “Maybe I should take a look,” Maddie said. She had loosened the girth straps on Sundancer’s saddle and was heading for the barn to saddle Bumper. “Can you feed and water Sundancer for me?” she asked.

  Warwick nodded. “Be pleased to,” he said. He had set down his tools and moved to where the Arridan was standing patiently. He rubbed the velvet nose. Sundancer snuffled and nuzzled his jacket, searching for the apple that was always there for a hungry horse. Warwick chuckled and fed it to him.