Free B00B9BL6TI EBOK by C B Hanley

around the room, ostensibly to dispense what comfort she might, but mainly to try and ascertain how many might survive and return to duty. She jumped as an agonised scream came from the next room, but didn’t flinch as it went on and on – another poor devil having a crushed limb removed in a futile attempt to save his life. Occasionally someone survived such surgery but most died, either within hours from the bleeding, or lingering for days before being poisoned by the festering of the stump, even if it had been cauterised. The sizzle of burning flesh accompanied by another shriek told her that this was what was happening now. The scream broke off as the man finally lost consciousness. She sighed. Another one gone – even if he survived, he would be no use for fighting.
    Downcast, she paced back out of the keep. As she reached the night air, welcome after the fetid and blood-soaked space within, one of the garrison ran up to her, panting.
    ‘Dame Nicola!’ He stopped and gasped for breath before continuing. ‘If you please, my lady, Sir Geoffrey asks you to come up to the west wall – someone is approaching over the open ground.’
    Immediately she thrust the torch at him and hurried as fast as her skirts would allow across the ward and up the steps to the west wall. Once at the top she was met by de Serland, who pointed out into the darkness of the countryside.
    ‘Who?’ She was curt. ‘How many?’ Could this be the long-awaited relief force, or was it some new danger from the French? She stared out over the land but could see nothing, despite the fleeting moonlight. The torch she had been carrying had ruined her night sight.
    Fortunately de Serland and the man next to him had been in the darkness for longer.
    ‘It looks as though there are just two men, approaching on foot, my lady.’
    Two? Hardly a relieving force, but presumably not an invading one either, unless this was some sort of trick. She ordered archers to the wall to cover their advance, instructing them crisply not to loose until they were sure that those approaching were enemies.
    In a very short space of time six men were ranged along the wall, bows strung and at the ready, clothyard arrows with vicious hunting barbs nocked. The two figures creeping through the darkness continued to draw nearer, either unaware of the terrible and imminent death which awaited them, or unafraid of it. Before long, they were almost at the wall, where they stopped. Dame Nicola could now make out their shapes.
    A whispered address came from the men outside. ‘Hail, the castle! I know there must be men watching us.’
    Dame Nicola nodded to de Serland, who replied. Around him, the archers tautened their fingers on their bowstrings and flexed their arms. ‘Who are you?’
    The reply was terse. ‘John Marshal, nephew to the lord regent.’
    De Serland stepped back in surprise, but the man without was continuing. ‘For the love of God, open the postern! If the French see us …’
    The knight wasn’t about to fall for that. ‘Open the gate? Are you mad? How do I know you are who you say you are?’
    The whisper came again. ‘Summon Dame Nicola – she and I have met and she will know me. But do it quickly, for all our sakes!’
    De Serland turned to Dame Nicola, a hope dawning in his eyes. She nodded. ‘I do indeed know John Marshal by sight, but I can’t tell from here. We’ll have to risk opening the gate to let them in so I can see for myself. Have men ready.’
    De Serland relayed the message, and she hastened back down the steps.
    Once down she moved towards the small postern which opened out on to the country. Was she about to make a catastrophic mistake? But there seemed genuinely to be only two of them, and at this stage she was willing to take any chance which might help. Besides, even if there were more of them lurking out there, the postern was so narrow that no more than one or two would be able to get through before they were all skewered with