“Alary of Mercia cannot best us,” he told them in a tone that suggested pure confidence. “Although we cannot know what the end of this battle shall bring, suffice it to say that it shall end and whatever that end shall be, know that I look to each and every one of you as the bravest men I have ever known. It has been a privilege to fight at your side, good knights. It is you who have given me a sense of purpose and I shall always be grateful, no matter what comes. Et pro Gloria dei.”
The knights were looking at him by this time, pride and loyalty reflected in their expressions. They knew, as he did, that they were facing terrible odds. There was a very good chance that one or more of them would not make it through. But still, they were willing to risk their lives for their brother, for their comrade. There was nothing more worthwhile or noble in life.
It was the most important battle they had ever faced.
“Et pro Gloria dei,” Téo whispered to him.
Instead of the usual handshake, he embraced him as a brother would. In fact, all of the knights embraced Gaetan and each other. That was not usual with them but, in this case, it was vitally important to make that contact because if any of them met their deaths, then it was important for the parting to be well-made with embraces of brotherhood and of love. And those words, For God and Glory, were a blessing to each and every one of them, for if the end was near, then God would certainly be waiting for them. If they died, it would be with the love and devotion of their fellow knights.
It was time.
Gaetan headed out to the road, knowing that his men were taking positions in the trees behind him. Once he came through the trees and onto the road, it was dim with the setting of the sun but he knew, at any moment, he would not be alone.
He had a man to meet.
Gaetan was standing right in the middle of the road as he began to see shades of Alary’s army. The sun was setting and the scenery around him ever-dimming and, true to what Wellesbourne had said, the army was moving at a clipped pace, clearly wanting to make it to Tenebris by nightfall.
Gaetan wasn’t sorry he would have to disturb those plans. With his crossbow in one hand, though not raised, he simply stood there as the army entered the portion of the road where there was a dense collection of trees on both sides.
As Gaetan watched them approach, he couldn’t help but notice they hadn’t slowed down. He knew they saw him because men had pointed in his direction but, still, the pace remained swift. The men were noisy, kicking up dirt as they went, and the sheer rumble of many feet, hooves, and wheels gave the army a steady roar.
Wellesbourne and St. Hèver had been correct; there were many mounted warriors, heavily armed. But Gaetan held his ground, even when they came closer and he began to see facial features of the men. Not knowing what Alary of Mercia looked like since he didn’t have Ghislaine to identify him, he would have to ask. As the army drew nearer still, he raised his crossbow.
The gesture was unmistakable.
“Halt!” he bellowed.
The men in the front of the army heard him and were looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. But they didn’t slow down; they kept coming. Gaetan was forced to encourage them to obey his command; he released his crossbow, landing the arrow right in front of one of the men on horseback. A split second after he launched his arrow, several more came sailing out of the trees, all of them landing on the road in front of the advancing army.
It was enough of a startling move to cause horses to rear up and men to come to a halt purely out of fear. But the middle and rear portion of the army kept coming, running into those who had stopped, and now there was a great commotion as the army folded up on itself because they couldn’t go any further. When those in the rear tried to back up, more arrows hit the ground on the road behind them, blocking their escape.
Effectively, the army had been trapped.
Gaetan reloaded his crossbow and began to advance on the uncertain huddle of men. “Give me Alary of Mercia!” he shouted.
The men looked at each other fearfully, hissing and whispering, but Alary was not immediately produced. Gaetan advanced on them until he was about twenty feet in front of them. He leveled off his crossbow at one of the warriors on horseback.
“Give me Alary of Mercia or you men will die in a hail of arrows,” he said, looking to the well-armed warrior. “And you shall be the first.”
The warrior sat tall in the saddle. “I am not afraid to die.”
Gaetan’s answer was to let the arrow fly, right into the man’s throat. He hit the ground, dying a slow and agonizing death as Gaetan reloaded.
“Know that I have a thousand men in the trees with their arrows sighted on all of you,” he said loudly. “I would speak with Alary. That is all I wish. But if you do not produce him, then be prepared to die.”
The confusing situation, for Alary’s army, had just become deadly serious. There were more whispers about as Gaetan pointed his crossbow at another mounted warrior, who turned to run but there were so many men behind him that he couldn’t. Therefore, he leapt from the saddle and hid behind his horse to protect himself. Gaetan cocked an eyebrow at the cowardly warrior.
“Is this how a Saxon fights?” he asked. “Hiding from his enemy?”
“What madness is this?”
A man suddenly came up through the center of the army but he had a very big shield in front of him. Obviously, he’d seen the arrow take down the first mounted warrior and he was smart about his approach. He looked at the man dying on the ground, his features contorted with anger.
“By what right to you kill my men?” he demanded. “Who are you?”
Gaetan focused on the man; he was moderately tall, and slender, with a massive scar across his face running from his left temple, across his nose, and ending by the right side of his jaw. His hair was dark and he was rather unattractive. More than that, he had a sinister look about him. Gaetan took several long moments to digest the appearance of Alary of Mercia.
“Your men,” he said. “You must be Alary.”
Alary was in no mood for whatever this man wanted. He was positively enormous, dressed in mail and heavy tunic, with a sword on his side, a kite-shaped shield slung across his back, and a wicked-looking crossbow in hand. It took him a moment to realize he was looking at a Norman knight, for no Saxon warriors dressed as this man did. The light of recognition went on and the anger on his face changed to astonishment.
“He was right,” he said as if a great idea had just occurred to him. “His brethren were about!”
Gaetan heard him and he was fairly certain he knew what he meant. “You have something that belongs to me, Anglais,” he said. “You took him. I want him back.”
Alary kept the shield up but he took a few steps in Gaetan’s direction as if to get a better look at him. “So it is true. You have come for my Norman.”
“I have.”