Six Welsh littered the muddy ground, speared by their English counterparts. Rhys still had his swords in his hands as he went to a couple of them, rolling them over to see the extent of the damage and to make sure they were dead. He gazed down at one young man, who couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen years. He must have gazed at the youth for an extended length of time because beside him, an old soldier spoke.
“They grow younger all the time, m’lord,” the man muttered.
Rhys nodded slowly. “He should be sitting at his mother’s hearth still,” he said quietly. Then, he began looking around the yard. “Is this all there is?”
The old soldier nodded. “Aye, m’lord,” he said.
Rhys turned his back on the young man and headed for the bailey to see how the fight in the kitchen is progressing. The rain was loud so he couldn’t hear anything of the outcome. He needed to have a visual sighting. He was even thinking about joining the kitchen fight if it seemed as if it was still going strong. Eyes on the skirmish near the kitchens, he had no idea what was transpiring behind him.
The youth with the stab to the chest was not dead. He was fading, but he wasn’t dead. He was still mobile enough to roll to his knees when the English knight’s attention was elsewhere. The postern gate was about eight feet from him and he crawled towards it, on his hands and knees, unable to breathe for the hole in his chest but knowing he had to complete his mission. He knew he was going to die and he didn’t want it to be in vain. Just as he reached up for the bolt that secured the postern gate, Rhys happened to turn around and see what was happening.
“Nay!” he roared.
Rhys bolted for the postern gate just as the dying young man managed to throw the bolt. The gate swung open and all of Wales began to pour through. Rhys’ double blades began swinging in earnest as the soldiers who had been guarding the gate raced forward to block the flow, but men were streaming in and the battle was bad from the onset. Now, the English had a serious problem with two points of entry and they hadn’t been able to stem either one of them. The Welsh were, if nothing else, determined, and one of the English soldiers who had been guarding the postern gate ran out to the bailey to announce the turn of events.
“Breach!” he screamed.
William, over by the kitchens, was the only one who heard the cry. He could see men fighting in the stable yard as it began to spill out into the bailey. Dispatching the man he had been fighting, he began shoving men out of the way as he made his way into the kitchen.
“Keller!” he bellowed. “The postern gate has been compromised!”
Keller was still back near the open hidden door, still fighting Welsh who were trying to enter the kitchen. He yelled over to Gart.
“Forbes!” he boomed. “To the postern gate! William and I will handle the kitchen!”
Gart broke the neck of the man he was fighting and charged out of the kitchen, killing another Welshman when the man happened to get in his way. Gart roared and beat at his chest, fueled by the blood lust, as he plowed through the crowd and out into the bailey. He could see the fighting going on over by the postern gate and made haste to join Rhys as the man tried to prevent a larger tide of Welsh from entering the castle. When Gart entered the fray, it became more horrific than before. It became a blood bath.
Keller was now the only knight inside the kitchen but he was handling the Welsh efficiently enough. There were several dead sprawled out across the kitchen floor and the tide coming in through the hidden passage had stemmed somewhat. Either there were no more men or the ones that were coming through had guessed the carnage beyond and had turned around. Doing away with his last opponent, Keller managed to shove the hidden door closed and, with the help of several English soldiers, blocked the door up with a heavy butcher table and a barrel of water, which made it nearly impossible to move. Satisfied that no more Welsh could come through, he left four men guarding the door while he headed out into the bailey.
There was a massive fight near the postern gate as the Welsh had come through but had been effectively stopped. Now, it was just close quarters fighting, but a few Welsh had managed to make it through the fighting and were heading for the keep. Keller wasn’t too terribly concerned about the keep being breached because it was a nearly impenetrable structure, but he did want to prevent the Welsh from making an attempt on it. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see William battling a fairly large Welshman so Keller came up behind him and shoved his broadsword between his ribs. The Welshman went down and William stepped over his former opponent, pointing to the keep.
“They are heading for the keep, Keller,” he said, wiping the water from his eyes.
Keller nodded. “I know,” he said. “But they cannot get into it. The only way they could marginally breach it is if they set fire to the door, which they cannot do because of the rain. I am not concerned with a few paltry men. What I am concerned with, however, is finding Gryffyn. He is here, somewhere. You and I are the only knights who will know him on sight so it is up to us to find him.”
William nodded, looking around the bailey where the Welshmen who had been running for the keep were now being fended off by soldiers from the gatehouse.
“You did not see the man come in through the kitchens?” he asked.
Keller shook his head. “It was very dark in there,” he replied. “If he did, I did not see him. Go to the postern gate and see if he is there.”
William nodded and fled, into the rain, into the night that was filled with pockets of fighting. Keller’s gaze lingered on the bailey for a moment longer before thinking he should perhaps check the identities of the Welsh who had been killed in the kitchen. It was quite possible that one of them was Gryffyn and it had been too dark for him to see. His eyesight wasn’t particularly good, anyway. Just as he took his gaze off the bailey and turned for the kitchen, something hit him so hard on the back of the head that he pitched forward, onto his face. He struggled to push himself up but something hit him again, a second time, and the world abruptly went black.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gryffyn had been positioned two men behind Colvyn when the man shoved the hidden door open and was subsequently gored by an English knight. The next man, too, had been killed, making it instantly and abundantly clear that the English had set a trap.