“Do what you must. You are a de Velt and we do not fail.”
Julian nodded firmly. “I will not be the first to do so.”
“Good,” Cole muttered. “Gather the men close. Those on ropes need to be pulled forward so they can touch the ground. I am going to distract these Scots as much as I can, but we must all rise from the river in a group and charge them. No survivors, no witnesses. Is that understood?”
The men nearest him nodded, passing the word back. When the men on ropes were being pulled onto the shore where they could stand, Cole turned his attention back to the Scots in the distance.
“We move,” he said. “Julian, you and Es get to that gate. Don’t even try to fight any Scots trying to stop you. Leap over them if you have to. Just get to the gate.”
Julian and Essien were laying low, moving closer to the shoreline, as Cole finally stood up and started walking towards the shore.
“Bhràithrean!” he called, lifting a hand. “Tha sinn air teicheadh às na Sasannaich. An urrainn dhut mo chuideachadh?”
Brothers, we’ve survived the English. Can you help us?
The Scots saw him coming out of the water, a dark silhouette against the night, and instantly moved into a defensive position, but his words were purely Gaelic. He sounded very much like a Scotsman. It was enough of a pause for Julian and Essien to gain their footing and bolt, running straight at the group of Scots. The sun was mostly set, and there were a few torches lit, so they had enough light to see by. They could see the shocked faces of the Scots, having no idea why men were charging out of the water towards them.
“Bhràithrean, an cuidich thu sinn?” Cole said again.
Brothers, will you please help us?
The words, the actions, were confusing, enough to stump the Scots. Julian and Essien barreled through a group of them, seeing an open iron grate in the wall of one of the stumpy towers. As Julian rushed through it, he realized that it led to a barbican that protected a staircase all the way to the castle.
And there was no one between them and the castle.
“Cole!” he cried. “We’re clear!”
That was all Cole needed to hear. Unsheathing his broadsword, it was the signal to his men to charge, and charge they did. One hundred Englishmen rushed the shore where about forty Scots were standing and they never had a chance. The problem was not letting anyone from the castle see what was going on, so they shoved them back against the walls at an angle that made it difficult to see from the castle. More importantly, they had to eliminate their ability to shout, so throats were cut from the outset.
Bodies were falling in groups.
Almost as quickly as it started, it was over.
“The castle, Cole,” Addax said, his dagger dripping with blood. “We must breach the castle now.”
Cole knew that. There were still some Scotsmen alive, but Cole gave the order to kill every last man and throw their bodies in the river. He left ten men down on the river’s edge to accomplish this and watch the river gate while he took the rest of his men and began to charge up the steep staircase towards the castle. With Julian at his side, and Addax and Essien behind them, they were prepared to do battle.
The sons of Jax de Velt were on a rampage.
Once inside the castle, they encountered far more resistance. A few hundred Scots were caught by surprise, but once they realized they were being infiltrated by the English, the swords and axes came out.
The fight for Berwick Castle began in earnest.
“What happened?”
The question came from Christopher to a wounded soldier. There were several more wounded soldiers littering the area, most of them old men who had been stationed to the rear with the provisions and surgeon’s wagons. Several of them were badly injured and there were even a few dead.
It was clear that something bad had happened.
This was the scene that Christopher and Alastor and Teviot came across as they moved their armies towards the Ord Crossing – the encampment they’d left behind in shambles. Those men that were able to walk were heading in Christopher’s direction like the walking wounded.
It was a shocking sight.
“The Scots,” the wounded soldier said. He was being propped up by Peter, who had leapt off his warhorse to help the man stand. “The Scots came over the bridge and out of the trees and took what they could. They drove several wagons back over the bridge.”
Alastor turned white as he started to look around. “De Bourne,” he managed to say. “Where are the de Bourne wagons.”
“They were the first ones taken,” the wounded soldier said, looking at Alastor with great sadness. “These dead are mostly de Bourne. They drove off with the wagons and took Teviot and some Savernake wagons, too. They came so quickly, out of the trees, and started jumping on wagons and driving them off. Those closest to the bridge were the first to be hit and de Bourne was the closest.”
Alastor thought he might vomit. Ares, next to him, suddenly charged out towards an area where several men were laying dead in the grass and began calling for his sisters. He was followed by Atlas and Anteaus, who began shouting for their sisters as well, begging for a reply.
“My God,” Alastor breathed as Christopher grabbed him for support. “My daughters… Cori and Gaia… where are they? God help me, where are they?”
Adam, whose own Teviot wagons were taken, sent his son to look for their men, but Christopher passed a concerned glance at Peter, who let go of the wounded soldier and jumped onto his charger. He followed Ares in the search for the de Bourne daughters, but Christopher turned to his brother, next to him.
“Search the trees for them,” he hissed. “Hurry!”
David thundered off with about thirty men behind him. They plunged into the woods and began searching all around the road that led to the bridge. All the while, Alastor sounded as if he were gasping.
“Not my daughters,” he breathed, trying not to panic. “God, please. Not my daughters.”
“We will find them,” Christopher reassured him. “The Scots would not take them simply to kill them. They make valuable hostages and hostages are not treated poorly. Remember that, Alastor. I am sure they are quite well, if not a little scared.”
But Alastor found no comfort in that. He put a gloved hand over his face, trying very hard not to weep. He could hear his sons calling for their sisters, and the guilt and terror he felt was overwhelming.
“She did not want to come,” he whispered tightly. “My youngest, Gaia. She did not want to come. She wanted to stay at home, but I forced her to come with her sister. Dear God, what have I done?”
Christopher had his hand on the man’s shoulder in a supportive gesture, watching as men rushed about the scene, looking for the wounded and searching for the women.
It was a chaotic situation, but one that couldn’t take priority. He knew that. The Scots were watching them, closely enough to use the Ord Crossing to capture some of their wagons and women along with them, which changed the dynamics of the situation.
Now, the Scots had English hostages.
That changed things considerably.
Christopher waited a few minutes, watching the de Bourne brothers search in vain for their sisters. Some of his men, including his brother, were already helping the wounded, while still others were dragging the dead into an organized pile.