The Revenant, Part 2

CHAPTER 2. THE ROAD TO WHICCHURCH

“Is this Aldford?” Stephain asked as he curbed his horse alongside his father. The high pitch of his voice exposed his concern as his hand rubbed the crucifix of his rosary. “What happened here?”

Henrie stood in his saddle and craned his neck in a slow circle. To either side of the road were a series of abandoned hovels half-concealed by the tall grass. Their once-thatched roofs had all either collapsed or fallen away leaving only skeletons of wooden beams and crumbled walls; a few even had full-grown trees standing in their midst. “Another nameless hamlet likely abandoned after the great mortality,” the knight finally replied, his eyes canted down, scanning the roadside under the high afternoon sun.

“Plague?” Stephain blurted out.

“Shush. Use your eyes instead of your mouth.” Henrie’s hand crossed over to grip the hilt of his sword as he whistled softly at Morgan. Locking eyes with one another, the knight made an exaggerated sniffing motion with his nose.

“What is it?” Stephain asked in a low voice. “Are we in danger? Should we turn back to Chester?”

Henrie turned back and leveled his gaze at his son who immediately fell silent. The boy’s eyes were wide with alarm. “Walk on,” the knight said in a soothing voice causing his horse to start moving forward.

Morgan slowly scanned the buildings on the left side of the road as he slid a hand back and pulled an arrow from his bag. He held it up momentarily for the others to see before nocking it onto his bowstring and holding it in place with his index finger. James and Lynard quickly started fumbling with their own arrow bags.

“What’s happening, father?” Stephain’s voice was low but shrill. Henrie shook his head in reply, his eyes squinting at the shadows.

Morgan eased his horse forward, holding the reins loosely between the fingers of his bow hand. As he scanned the line of ruined buildings, he plucked several more arrows from his bag and tucked them into his belt.

Henrie led the column slowly through the abandoned village. His eyes darted side to side along the road, occasionally glancing back at the other horsemen. Dickon had wedged himself between James and Lynard; both men had arrows nocked. Morgan had let his horse trail behind a bit to keep an eye to the rear.

“I could smell smoke,” Henrie finally offered after they had gone a couple hundred paces beyond the ruins. He let his hand slip from his sword. “It was either some distance away or had died out hours ago. I also noticed that there were paths through the grass. Without dismounting, there was no way of knowing if they belonged to wild swine or outlaws.”

“Outlaws?” Stephain exclaimed. “You said the roads were safe. You said that no one would try to rob us.”

“I said they were safe enough. Outlaws have left behind their former lives to avoid the hangman’s noose. They’re cowards. The last thing they want to do is pick a fight with a knight and his retinue.”

“What retinue? We don’t even have all the men we left with. Why are we even doing this?”

“Stephain,” Henrie said calmly. “To be honest, I was afraid your mother wasn’t going to recover, so I put my hand on the Holy Scriptures and swore an oath to the Blessed Virgin Mary.” The knight shrugged. “Perhaps it was foolish, but I gave my word, and that is something I don’t take lightly.”

Stephain rode silently for a moment in contemplation. “So we’re safe now?” he finally asked. His eyes carefully searched his father’s face for reassurance.

“Everything’s fine, Stephain.” Henrie nodded to his son then to the men behind him. They stuck their arrows in their belts before switching their bows to their free hands. “They said it was only 7 miles to Aldford. We’ll walk the horses a bit further then hasten the rest of the way.”

“I don’t understand why we didn’t just spend another night in Chester.”

“It’s still two full days to Glastonbury, and another six days back. I don’t want to be away from the manor for an entire fortnight.”

Henrie heard the swish of grass to his left an instant before Abbot startled, tossing his head back and taking several rapid steps to the right, almost colliding with Stephain. The knight’s hand instantly reached for the hilt of his sword as he struggled to gain control of his mount.

Before he could draw his blade, a hooded figure emerged from the tall grass, his bow half-drawn. An instant, later another figure stepped forward and leveled a heavy spear inches away from Abbot’s neck preventing the knight from spurring him forward.

“Easy lads,” the knight said as calmly as he could manage. “They only want a bit of silver.” Henrie quickly surveyed the opposition. The bowman to his left was still at the ready. The spearman had shifted his weapon to his off-hand and grabbed Henrie’s reins. A third outlaw brandishing a sword moved to stand next to Stephain. Others swished onto the road somewhere behind.

“Sir Henrie, is it?” the figure next to Stephain growled. It was the voice of the wayfarer.

The knight nodded slowly. Henrie felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. He realized he should have trusted his earlier suspicions. “And I remember you from the White Hart. You were supposedly there to pay a debt to the innkeeper.”

The man grinned smugly. “We have something of an ongoing arrangement.”

“By arrangement, you mean that you pay him to alert you when wealthy travelers pass through?” Henrie met his son's gaze with all of the calm he could muster.

“Yeah, something like that. Except you weren't supposed to see us together.”

These are desperate men, Henrie suddenly realized. They’ll kill us all if we surrender our weapons. Keep calm. Wait for your opening.

“You mentioned silver?”

“It’s in the bag behind my saddle,” Henrie lied. He had entrusted most of their coin to Stephain, which he now regretted. The knight held his hands open but kept them close to his waist. He slowed his breathing and kept his muscles tensed.

“Ran, keep hold of his horse,” Rabbie said as he moved past Stephain’s mount.

The spearman nodded as he tightened his grip on the rein.

Amateurs. He should have grabbed the top of my head stall.

“Gregor?”

“I got him,” the archer replied coldly. His bow was for poaching small game, not a war bow like Morgan’s.

Rabbie rested his sword blade on his shoulder as he approached the knight then reached out with his free hand to lift the flap on the bag.

It’s now or never. Henrie suddenly spurred Abbot and jerked his reins, causing him to wheel around, first knocking Rabbie to the ground with his haunches and then sending the spearman stumbling backwards. “Go, Stephain!” the knight shouted as he reached under his arm and drew his sword in a rising arc, intending to quickly cut down the archer.

The archer was quick; he stepped to the left and pulled the nocked arrow back to his ear.

Henrie opened his mouth to shout a curse as he twisted in the saddle and sliced down, knowing the blade would likely not reach its target having to cut across his horse’s neck but having no better option. Time seemed to slow as the archer opened his fingers. White goose feathers lunged streaked forward an instant before his sword cleaved through both stave and hand. Before he could even blink, a loud clash of steel rang out as Henrie’s head was thrown backwards. The screams behind him were barely audible over the sudden ringing in his ears.

It took a moment for Henrie to regain his composure. He remembered he was wearing his cervelliere; the helmet had saved his life once more. As the brigand archer recoiled from his wound, the knight raised his sword to the ready and looked for another target. The spearman was on his feet and moving forward.

Suddenly, Abbot bellowed and screamed and shuddered to one side. The knight had to clench his knees to stay in the saddle. Glancing down, he saw Rabbie struggling to rise, a bloody sword in his hand. Henrie had not choice but to yank Abbot’s head to one side to keep him from bolting, hoping his panicked hooves would trample the swordsman on the ground.

“No!” Stephain yelped. Henrie looked up to see a pair of hands dragging his son from his saddle. Before the knight could react, a sharp pain hit him squarely in the side, pushing him back onto the cantle of his saddle. He looked down and saw the spearman had lunged forward in an attempt to skewer him, but the maille had held catching the man off guard. Henrie quickly cut down with his sword, hewing through the haft with a loud crack, but Abbot continued to spin, moving him out of range for a second cut.

“Unhand him or I’ll kill you all!” Henrie twisted again in the saddle to look for his son. He managed to steal a backwards glance. Morgan was on the ground atop a brigand despite having a pair of arrows protruding from his back. Lynard was swinging his bow stave wildly about as if it were a two-handed sword.

A shadow moved off to Henrie’s right. He craned his neck to see a burly archer in a yellow coat step forward, out of sword range. The yew stave creaked as it was drawn back until the nock of the arrow was just above his sinister smile.

“Stephain,” was the only word that came to mind. Henrie could not help but close his eyes as the brigand let loose his arrow. White-hot light immediately seared his vision as if he had looked directly into the sun. The pain was excruciating.

Then he fell backwards into the dark void of unconsciousness.

Ambushed on the road, Sir Henrie and his retinue have fallen prey to desperate men. Will any be spared the sword? If so, what evil plans do the outlaws have in store for them?

The story continues with The Revenant, Part 3: The Empty Grave.