Chapter I, Part II

Chapter I Part II

And he (Talbot) was right. Not b******s, but a b*****d had been scouting the marching company. He had been shadowing Talbot’s men since they departed from Newport several days earlier.

The company was well supplied, he thought.  He was right there, in the bushes, under the trees, well hidden. It would be great for the insurgency he said to his-self, as he, hidden in the bushes, glared to the passing mounted army.

He had his allegiances. A man of twenty-eight, Sir Francis William de Douglas, commonly known by his folk as Sir Francis Douglas or Sir Francis of Douglas, was born in Bettehelm to William Douglas of the powerful clan Douglas of Bettehelm, which was renamed by the Gloucesterian conquerors as Newport, acting capital of New Gloucester. He was trained as a man of machine and science since teenhood but with the imminent Gloucesterian invasion ten years ago he was forced to become a knight in his father’s company along with his elder brothers.  But fate had stroke his tablet, and his company was obliterated along with the King and his court in the Battle of Galleckburn. And Sir Francis, aged eighteen at the time, swore to avenge his father’s death.

Sir Francis though, was not alone in that forest. His twenty men-at-arms and crossbowmen were hidden and camped all along the forest. And when it was the time, another two hundred men would come to their aid and obliterate the unalerted Gloucesterian force. The insurgency were formed from peasants, yeomen, knights, and nobles who opposed the Gloucesterian occupation, both frontally and behind the shades. Their purpose was to take down the Gloucesterian occupation and restore the old clans back to their rightful position. And fight between each other again? Francis thought of the matter, over and over. What the Picts needed was a King. Before there was Gloucester the Pictish clans fought over each other for supremacy in Pictland since their inception. They rarely ever united; most recently in not more than ten times, it was due to the arrival of King Farris’ banners on the southern shore of Pictland.

And even with a common enemy at the gates they still fought over each other, leading to their ultimate defeat and subjugation by the ‘just’ cause of King Farris Lionsword. Galleckburn was a painful memory for The Clans, and those who still had spirit to fight on for ‘freedom’ were in little numbers and old in age. But Sir Francis’ uncle, Lord William Douglas, was known plotting their steps back to utter victory Beyond The Wall. And we shall tear down the iron curtains, and take back what is ours.

But considering the current economical condition, the commoners- farmers, craftsmen, serfs- were happier and much more bountiful under the rule of Gloucester than when they were under their clans, since they continuously fought over each other’s land. It was peace now in New Gloucester, and the people would not risk another war.

And there was Douglas and his men; moving slowly, side to side, shifting, as their enemy passed… like Wolves hunting prey.

“Where do you think they are going, my lord?” a crossbowman, his weapon on his back, had just slid down from a higher slope next to the knight, who wore but a leather jerkin. “North’s End, obviously. Do we have anybody in camp, Gus?”

“None, as far as I know” he said. “and I know everything.” They talked slowly, to not alert the passing army. The archers had smart eyes.

“Very well. Put this shift to rest and get Rory up. Send two scouts to screen the two roads to Dwelynfield and North’s End. I don’t want these people to reach where they want to go.”

“Aye, sir.” Gus the crossbowman climbed up the small slope and ducked as he walked. And Talbot’s men did not know what they were about to face.

***

Not long after the sun began to set. Talbot ordered his men to set camp for the night. Several of his archers were told to spread out to hunt for supper.

Rabbit was the main menu for that night; Hugger and Galloway were sent out to hunt some deer but they couldn’t get one, so instead they brought three rabbits and some mushrooms. Ben Roberts was the cook. Rabbits were roasted on a stake which was spun around and touched by the wonderful sauce Ben made. Before being levied he was a cook. Many of his friends considered his profession as dull, but Ben took the art of cooking as an art. And now he knows why it was so handy.

“God Ben” said Galloway. The men sat on a circle around the fire where they roasted two rabbits at once. “How did you make this sauce?” his mouth was full and dirty. Sauce was all over his lips and he tried licking it off often. “My mummy told me how to make it” the big man said. “family recipe, she says. Damn good family recipe it is”

“Ain’t got this kind of food back in my home” said Galloway. “Place’s full of p***y crooks”

“P***y… crooks?” asked Hugger. Meanwhile Ben took a slice of rabbit of his own and put it on a makeshift eating platform, a simple clean cloth and sat next to the two.

“Yea. Crook p*****s. Dickless b******s!” “They could scare girls but ain’t got the bloody balls to face men.” And Galloway was hardly a man. He looked sixteen, young… He’d probably ran away from home Tom thought, but soon ignored it and ate the wonderful rabbit. He praised the sauce, which tasted between sweet and spicy. “Thanks” Ben said. He was this big man who had a thin beard and cropped hair. To Tom it seemed that his hair was longer before he was an archer, but in favour of flexibility in war he cut it off. “Wish my wife could cook like this” said Galloway.

“You have a wife…?” said Tom, mockingly.

“No, of course not! I’m just twenty!”

“You’re bloody sixteen, Liam. Get over it. Ain’t no use lyin’ to us” said Ben. “Besides. I even doubt you have anything between those legs” and Tom laughed. “Grow a beard there, fellow” Ben said to Liam. Tom had finished his food fast and was ought to sleep. He told his two friends and stood up to go to his sleeping place.

The night was warn. But it was, very, creepy under the branches of the gigantic trees in that forest. Owls sang and squirrels glanced about the men. An hour after the small feast of rabbit and wonderful Ben Roberts Sauce (what they call it), the camp was silent. Hugger could even hear the slightest wind. Hugger slept in an opening, with a stack of autumn leaves as a substitute for bed straw. He was looking up the sky, at the white stars on God’s dark blue sheet. And by God, he thought, it was beautiful.

But the sky and forest and squirrels weren’t the only things on his mind, nor was it the delicious rabbit and Ben Roberts Sauce; It was someone.

And someone special. He had been an archer three years now, going back-and-fro to multiple garrisons in Gloucester. Starting from his native Preston, to the mainland Scotman’s Westerham Castle, Newport, and Castle Black. And there was this one girl that kept his fire alive through the silent and lonely nights that passed. But she had gone now, and it was not for him to think about. What he had to think about was his duty to lord and liege, to king and realm. He wore his padded mail coat that night, his man-height longbow beside him and sword on the other side. He pulled the cheaply blade out of the scabbard, holding it up and sideways with his right hand, admiring the beautiful crudeness of an old blade. He looked at it as the blade glinted from moonlight. The sword was given to him by his father. “I’ve been with this bade since God knows. Always protected me, it has, now it’s yours.” His father said when he gave it to him.

“Not a bad blade” a voice came from behind. An experienced and familiar voice. Hugger turned up about from his leaves. It was Centenar Snow. His gray eyes were like glitter under the night ray, along with his gray mail coat. “Not a particularly good one either, though” he walked sloe. He had his mail hood on and the striped-shield on the indistinctive field of dark blue upon his chest. His linen arrow sheave was kept on his side, next to his crude ace, and his bow was slung across his body.

“John” said Hugger.

“Good place, you chose. You weren’t thinking of running, were you?”

“Of course not!” said Hugger.

“Really? I tend to see some stupid b******s trying to desert Gloucesterian armies from time to time. Saw ‘em hung, too. Poor b******s.” Lately there were no deserters, and Talbot’s force was in good shape and morale.

“Goddammit, John. No.”

Snow laughed. “Of course not, Tom. I know you. You don’t run.” Snow walked a bit beyond Tom’s leaves and looked at the dim and dark woods. “Place gives me bloody creeps” he said, turning his head to Tom.

“So why are you here?” Tom asked. He was still on his ‘bed’.

“I was bored, and I couldn’t sleep. So I decided to go here. Then I found you here, what a coincidence.” He looked towards the trees again. He sighed, and put his back on one of the huge trees that trunk was larger than the width of his shoulders. He closed his eyes. “Good place to sleep.”

“Best place there is. Wish my home was like this” Tom said. “I wonder. What place did you come from? Preston?” The archer centenary didn’t reply. He was asleep, leaving Tom alone again. “Aye goodnight then” said Tom, and he decided to let his back rest and closed his eyes. And he was asleep.

***