Rhys nodded and reined his horse around, heading back into the column of men. Keller could hear him making assignments, calling out men and rearranging the defensive line around the wagon. The church of St. Peter loomed large off to the right, the gray, squat building that Keller became acquainted with yesterday. Before they entered the structure, he would send some men in to make sure no Welsh were lying in wait for them. At this point, he didn’t trust anyone or anything. Bad tidings were on the wind and he would not be caught unaware, especially with Chrystobel and Izlyn with him. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to either one of them, and he was positive he would never recover if harm befell Chrystobel.
As the column pulled up to the church, he made sure that the men-at-arms created a defensive circle so that the coffin and ladies could be moved into the church with ample protection, and he had William send a few soldiers into the church to clear it. Even as Keller dismounted his charger and headed for the wagon, he felt distinctly uneasy. He didn’t like that they were being watched but he was very thankful that the merchant had the courage to warn him. At least now they would not be caught off guard. Or, at least, that was the hope. Still, he could feel the tension rising. Everyone was uneasy.
When he reached the wagon, he smiled at Chrystobel as he lifted her out of the wagon bed and set her on her feet. Izlyn followed shortly and he took both women politely by the elbow, steering them clear of the coffin that was just being removed from the wagon. As they stood by and watched, the men-at-arms heaved the coffin off the wagon bed and turned for the church. The pace was slow because the coffin was heavy, and as they approached the entry, the soldiers that had been sent in to clear the sanctuary emerged to signal that no danger wait beyond.
That was good enough for Keller. Taking the women by the arms, he moved in front of the coffin, heading for the protective innards of the church. It was cool and dark in the sanctuary beyond, and he could smell the pungent scent of incense. Just as he reached the doorway, he heard several high-pitched noises, sing-song, and he knew immediately what they were. He’d heard them many times before, in battle or in conflict of some kind. Keller knew the sound of an arrow when he heard it.
He shoved Chrystobel and Izlyn into the church as several arrows rained down upon them. As everyone began to run for cover, two of the soldiers holding the coffin were hit and they went down in the street. The coffin, now unbalanced, fell heavily and tipped onto its side, knocking open the lid and spilling Trevyn d’Einen’s body out into the mud.
Chrystobel and Izlyn, watching this terrible scene from the entry to the church, screamed in horror as their father’s corpse lay askew in the street. Keller was bellowing at his men to get under cover as more arrows rained down, but just as quickly as the second wave fell, men began running at them from all directions, weapons held high. Before Keller could take a second breath, they were entered into the throes of mortal combat.
And the women were right in the middle of it.
Chapter Eighteen
Keller realized early in the fight that the Welsh were aiming for him. As soon as he shoved Chrystobel and Izlyn back into the church for a second time, he was overrun with attackers. He could hear Chrystobel scream and his broadsword came out, flashing wickedly in the dim light and slashing at the nearest man as he made his way to his wife and her sister. But the doors to the church were open and the Welsh were pouring in, creating a deadly situation in an instant.
At least a dozen Welshmen had followed him into the sanctuary and the mighty de Poyer broadsword was in full swing. The Welsh weren’t particularly skilled fighters but there were many of them, so Keller backed the women into an alcove lit with dozens of candles and blocked them in with his big body in order to protect them. Men were coming at him from all sides, some with short blades, others with clubs. He lashed out a big boot to kick one man with a club right in the groin, sending the man to the ground as his colleagues tripped over his groaning form.
There were three men to his left who were slashing at him with smaller swords, fat-bladed, and ones that were easily made by Welsh smithies. Keller kicked out again, hitting another man in the gut and sending him to the ground while he used his broadsword to fend off the others. He’d managed to seriously gash one man and stab another, and the Welsh body count in the sanctuary was growing. But more were flooding in and he knew, with sickening certainly, that it would only be a matter of time until he was overwhelmed by sheer numbers if he didn’t get help soon. His men knew he was in the sanctuary and he expected help to come at any moment, so he continued doing battle against men that were determined to kill him.
He was fighting off a man on his left and one directly in front of him when another man, this one with a spear, came at him from his right. Keller saw the man moving towards him and he fell back slightly to give himself the opportunity to turn and fight him off, but as he turned, the strangest thing happened. He heard a female grunt, a yell really, and suddenly a big iron bank of candles went crashing into the man with the spear. Hot wax and fire sprayed everywhere and the man screamed as his clothes ignited.
Shocked, Keller turned to see Chrystobel on the other end of the iron candle sconce. She was wielding it like a weapon, swinging it again when another Welshman got too close. When she turned to look at Keller, all he could see was terror and determination in her eyes. Courage in the face of fear was not a quality everyone possessed, but Chrystobel evidently did. The sweet, bright woman who had been abused her entire life was finally learning to fight back.
That brave gesture from her bolstered Keller’s courage more than God himself could have. He gave her a half-grin, one of great approval, as he continued to fight off a swarm of Welsh. He managed to dispatch two more attackers when some of his men, led by Rhys, burst in through the church entry.
Rhys’ double swords were flying furiously, killing or maiming anything they came into contact with. The man plowed into the collection of Welsh holding Keller and the women hostage and, with Keller’s substantial help, managed to clear out the group. Still, it was a brutal battle until the end. Those who weren’t injured finally ran off, leaving the dead and wounded littering the cold-packed floor of the church.
“Are you well?” Rhys asked both Keller and the women. “Is anyone hurt?”
Keller shook his head, turning to his wife, who was still standing there with the iron sconce in her hands. She looked terrified. He went to her and gently unpeeled her fingers from the iron, letting it fall to the ground. Cupping her head with one big hand, he forced her to look at him.
“All is well,” he told her softly. “You were very brave, my lady. I owe you much.”
Chrystobel was trembling, white with fear and rage. “They… God’s Bones, they were trying to kill you,” she breathed. “I could not let them do it.”
Keller put a big arm around her shoulders, kissing her forehead. “With you as my defender, they do not stand a chance,” he said. He kissed her again before focusing his attention on Rhys. “How is it outside?”