Siege Read online

  Siege

  By Virginia Farmer

  Copyright 2014, Virginia Farmer

  Cover by Coveted Covers:

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  Edited by Susan Greene

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected].

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

  www.virginia-farmer.com

  Author’s Note

  I never know what will trigger a story idea. I can see a basket of crystal doorknobs, or walk down a flight of stairs, or mop the kitchen floor and wham! The beginning of a new book is born.

  Siege began when I was mopping my kitchen floor. Not my favorite job, so to distract myself I started thinking about my favorite actors. Which actors would I like to see in a movie? For me, the trifecta would be Sean Connery, Liam Neeson and Mel Gibson. I love historical novels, especially those set in the Middle Ages.

  One event that changed England was the Norman invasion. When such an historical event happens, opportunities abound for plotting. So why not cast Sean Connery as my leading man, Rosard FitzGillen, an older Norman warrior who longs for peace. Liam Neeson I cast as Royce, the eldest son with a chip on his shoulder and Mel Gibson as Gyfton, the youngest son, a lady’s man who sees life as an adventure.

  Now, my hero needed a worthy heroine, and Julianne Moore was perfect for the part of Lady Anora, the strong, determined Saxon widow who stands up to Rosard. I have the characters and the setting. It didn’t take the characters long to start telling me their story.

  This is Siege.

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank my editor, Susan Greene, who unceasingly tries to pound grammar into my brain. Thanks, Suz. Eventually I’ll understand it. Yeah, right. How many times have I said that?

  And to Kimberly Spear, a beautiful person, inside and out, who read the story, caught some typos and still liked it!

  Chapter One

  Fairhurst Castle, 1073

  “William the Bastard’s minion is not so confident fighting a woman.”

  Anora stood on the battlements, the early spring breeze freshening the air and ruffling her linen veil. Moving between the crenels, she swept her gaze over the Normans arrayed on the muddy, open approach to Fairhurst Castle. The sun reflected off the warriors’ helms, their curved, wooden shields held before them in readiness. Harnesses jingled as the nervous horses stamped and snorted, eager to be in battle.

  “I estimate some twenty-five archers and twenty-five mounted warriors; the foot soldiers number fifty, my lady.” Sir Godwin stood behind her. He had commanded the castle garrison since before her marriage to Lord Edmund some seventeen years ago. Glancing over her shoulder, she noted the haggard, weary look in the guard’s eyes. His scraggly beard and thinning hair sparkled silver in the sunlight. It had been just six months since Edmund’s death, and Godwin had aged years.

  “Seems rather a lot of men to engage a widow, think you?” The smile she offered him felt stiff upon her face.

  “Mayhap your reputation precedes you, my lady.” Godwin’s smile was a mere tightening of his lips, but a twinkle lit the brown depths of his eyes. He nodded, directing Anora’s gaze back to the men before the castle.

  Three destriers, flanked by two smaller geldings, detached from the main body of warriors and trotted forward. The men on the larger horses sat with confidence, their bearing straight and formidable. From this distance, Anora could make out nothing more as they were covered in chain mail and wore helms.

  She bit back a cry. ’Twas the end of Fairhurst and its people, for it was well known the Duke of Normandy had no use for Saxons. His mercenaries had killed entire villages, setting fire to the abodes of those they’d slain. She but put off the inevitable.

  “By order of William, by the grace of God, King of England, Fairhurst Castle is awarded to Rosard FitzGillen. Open the gates for the Earl of Fairhurst.”

  Air whooshed from her lungs and her throat closed. A blinding fury surged up through her body.

  FitzGillen.

  She spun around and paced a short distance along the battlement, swallowing the stream of invectives surging up her throat.

  She turned, and her angry strides brought her back to Godwin’s side.

  FitzGillen. The name she’d heard uttered on the lips of one of Fairhurst’s dying soldiers.

  “Murderer.” The single word rumbled up from her throat. Before her was the Norman who killed her husband.

  Glancing at Sir Godwin, she said, “’Twould seem another Norman bastard is foisted upon us, sir. Like attracts like.” Disgust curled her lips. Why could he not return to Normandy? Kill and maim there? The embers of hatred sparked anew in her heart. She stubbornly pressed her lips together. There would be no response from her, no matter that every part of her being yearned to shout her thoughts.

  Several minutes passed in silence.

  The order was repeated, in Saxon this time, and by the large man in the center of the group. Surprise lifted Anora’s brows and suspicion brought them together.

  What trickery is this? A Norman speaking Saxon? They were a cunning lot, these Normans. No doubt this FitzGillen has been here these seven years, learning our language and then murdering us in our beds.

  “Bloody Norman bastards!” Sir Godwin’s oath echoed along the battlements, shared by the other Fairhurst soldiers as this order they understood.

  Blinking back the tears of fear and frustration burning behind her eyes, she questioned again the course they set. “Mayhap I should have sent everyone away and faced these demons myself, for I doubt there will be leniency.”

  “Nay, my lady. ’Twas the decision of all to stay, to make the Normans pay for what they take. We’ll see many in their graves before Fairhurst is in Norman hands.”

  “But the children—”

  “My lady, if you sent them away, how would they live? Where would they go?” Sir Godwin shook his head. “Nay, ’tis best to stay and fight. There is no other choice.”

  Anora took a deep breath, her heart squeezed painfully within her ribs. “Aye. Knowing does not make it easy, though.”

  “Do you yield the castle?” The deep timbered voice sent a shiver of foreboding through her. For a moment doubt assailed her again, and she considered surrender. She stopped the thought short. Were not Fairhurst and its people ready for this? Had they not prepared for it? Spent every waking hour the past six months in anticipation of this?

  She turned her gaze from the army before the castle to the outer bailey, filled with Fairhurst people; the older children were tending the milk cow and the two hens pecking around in the dirt, mothers were soothing their babes and the men were arming themselves with axe, hoe and stick. They were all thinner now, their stores perilously near the end. But still, they were prepared and knew the risks. Each and every one of them, women included, had chosen to resist the invasion of their homes. How could she doubt their decision?

  At Anora’s nod, Sir Godwin stepped forward between the crenels. “Nay. Fairhurst does not cede to the Norman Bastard.”

  Peering over Godwin’s shoulder, she watched the men below, heard the muffled sounds of their voices as the three on the destriers conferred. The one in the center, the Norman who spoke Saxon, trotted his mount forward.

  “Surrender Fairhurst Castle and
no harm will come to the people.”

  “Nay,” Anora whispered near Godwin’s shoulder. “No doubt ’tis what they’ve all said, and know you the stories we’ve heard.”

  “You have our answer.” Godwin’s voice, strong and sure, did not reflect the fear and uncertainty trembling within her as she stood behind him.

  She held her breath. The warrior sat his horse, looking up at the curtain wall. She could not be certain, but he appeared surprised. She bit her lower lip, fighting an insane urge to throw back her head and laugh hysterically. The odious cur thought she would capitulate simply because she was a widow? The foolish Norman underestimated the determination of a Saxon woman.

  In a flurry of hooves, the knight spun his mount around, galloping back to the main army. With a glance up at the battlements, the other four men fell in behind him.

  Now, they would set the village to burning, but they would find no livestock to slaughter, nor any stores to destroy. All that Fairhurst had was behind the walls of the castle. She squinted beyond the army. “Sir Godwin, see you any siege engines?”

  Godwin’s head swiveled back and forth. “Nay, my lady, but they do not travel as fast as the army. They will be along. Have no doubt.”

  “Send word to me when they arrive.”

  * * * * *

  “Gyfton,” Rosard called to his youngest son, as he rode toward the main body of his men. Stopping a short distance away, he turned his mount to face Fairhurst.

  “Aye, Father?” Gyfton brought his horse up beside Rosard. His son followed Rosard’s gaze. “’Tis a wonderful castle, is it not? Think you there are many maids inside?” Gyfton smiled boyishly.

  “You’re to be thinking with this head.” He reached over and thumped his finger on the younger man’s helm. “Not the one betwixt your legs.”

  “Just looking to the future, Father.”

  Rosard turned in his saddle and checked his men and the track beyond. “For now, see to the siege engines. How far behind are they?”

  “Not more than an hour or two, I should think.”

  He turned back, and Gyfton shook his head as he gazed at the castle. “’Tis a shame to damage such a fine fortress.”

  “Your thoughts are mine.” He followed his son’s gaze. “’Tis why we’ll only load the trebuchet with small rocks to signal the beginning of the siege. They will do the least damage. The belfry and mangonels will be of little use.”

  “But certainly if we display them all, they will see our might and surrender.”

  “Aye, son, ’tis what I hope.” Rosard looked over to Gyfton. “Find your brother and have him search the huts and inventory the resources available to us. I would have his report.”

  With a brief nod, Gyfton left him with his thoughts.

  Rosard studied the stronghold. The gray stone castle curled lovingly around the base of a rocky mountain. A wide moat protected the twenty-foot-high curtain wall, and four evenly spaced guard towers curved outward from the battlement, each with several narrow arrow slits. The gatehouse guarded the entrance, the drawbridge having been hoisted to block the gate. It was a castle made for defense and seemed impregnable. He smiled. King William knew not what he gave away.

  ’Twould be his home soon. A home he craved.

  Unlike William’s father, Rosard’s had forgotten about the child he’d fathered upon the daughter of a smithy. There were no holdings for Rosard to inherit; the property instead went to his half-brother.

  But he had no regrets. Thanks to William, he had married well twice. When his wives died, the property had reverted back to their families. Once his sons were fostered, he had dedicated his life to soldiering for the Duke of Normandy.

  He wearied of warring. He longed for the comforts of a bed in which to sleep, a table upon which to eat, and food well prepared and served by someone other than a warrior.

  All he craved was within the formidable stone walls of Fairhurst. He would not fail, especially at the hands of a doddering old widow and a handful of guards.

  William might find humor in Rosard’s situation, but his laughter would die quickly and Rosard’s pride would follow should the widow prevail.

  Nay, he would take the castle and retain the respect and trust of his liege.

  He blinked, bringing his thoughts back to the siege.

  He would allow the occupants of the castle to gaze upon the machines of war for a few hours. Laying siege to a castle was not only about the physical acts of war, but about the mental ones as well.

  At the sound of an approaching rider, Rosard gave one long look at his castle before turning to meet his eldest son.

  Royce reined in his horse. “Father?”

  “Aye. What have you found?”

  “’Tis abandoned. I could find not one villein. Most of the huts are in need of repair. There was an attempt at spring planting, but the yield will be sparse. There is but one small vegetable garden, though it fares no better. I found no stock, be it swine, fowl, sheep or cow.”

  Rosard listened to his son’s precise information. This son tended to the business of war, letting no emotion cloud his vision. Just beneath the surface though, Rosard detected a quiet anger—it was there in his deep brown eyes. Was it directed at him, or William, or the Saxons?

  “Assign men to the huts.” Royce nodded. “And Royce, see that they do not harm that which is not theirs, eh?” Rosard arched his brow.

  “Aye, sir. They’ll be informed.”

  * * * * *

  Several hours later, Anora glanced across the inner bailey to see Sir Godwin striding purposely toward her, a grim set to his mouth.

  “My lady.” He gave a pointed look to the village women behind her intently watching his approach.

  Anora nodded to the women. “Distribute the extra blankets to families with small children.” Dismissing the women with a glance, Anora fell into step with Godwin as he led the way to the battlement.

  “The siege engines have arrived, my lady.” He slowed his step. “The barrels of lime are at the ready as well as the pots of tar. The archers have a goodly supply of arrows and the water to put out fires is standing by.”

  “You’ve done a good job, sir. We shall get by.”

  At the battlement stairs, he stepped aside, allowing Anora to precede him.

  The sight that met her stunned her speechless. Though she’d heard of siege engines and the destruction they could wreak, never had she actually seen any. The sheer size of them stole her breath.

  “I would have you explain them to me.” Though she kept her voice steady, even she could hear the stress in her tone.

  Pointing at the nearest end of the line, Godwin began. “The mantlet is a moveable shield to protect the archers.” She looked to the line of barriers on wheels, noticing the men and their bows standing behind them.

  “Beside the mantlets, you see the mangonels. Rocks are loaded into the basket and will be sent flying into the castle walls. The purpose is to weaken the wall and later miners will tunnel under the section of the castle wall, causing it to collapse.”

  “But, sir, there is the moat.” Anora turned her gaze to Godwin.

  “Just so, my lady.” Anora smiled at the humorous twinkle in the man’s eyes. “’Tis apparent our adversary did not have advance knowledge of Fairhurst, else he would not have gone to the trouble of bringing the mangonels or the belfry.” Godwin pointed to the largest of the engines.

  “And what is its function?” The massive structure filled her with awe. It was as tall as the walls of the castle and covered in hides.

  “The belfry is brought to the wall, and its drawbridge is dropped over the battlements, allowing the soldiers within to swarm over the walls.”

  “But the moat is too wide for the belfry to be of use. Is that not correct?”

  “Aye, my lady.” A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, countering Anora’s softer chuckle.

  She gazed out at the line again, noticing a device similar to the mangonels, but much larger. She pointed towa
rd it. “And that?”

  “’Tis the trebuchet, used to catapult large boulders and diseased carcasses over the walls and into the bailey. Until the first volley, we can honorably surrender.”

  “Are we not well prepared, Godwin? Would you advise that we surrender?”

  “We are as well prepared as possible. I only sought to explain the details of a siege.”

  She placed her hand on his arm. “My thanks.” She turned back to look at the bailey. “Pray, have the baileys cleared of our people. I’ll not have them easy targets.”

  “Aye, my lady.” He signaled to one of the soldiers on the battlement and with a quiet word, sent the man down to clear the areas.

  A movement in the line grabbed Anora’s attention and she touched Godwin’s arm as the Saxon-speaking Norman from earlier rode forward.

  “We are here by order of William the First, King of England. You are herewith ordered to surrender Fairhurst Castle. Surrender will ensure that no one is harmed.” The horse pranced in a nervous circle, but the man quickly brought it under control. “What say you?”

  “The people of Fairhurst Castle do not yield.” Sir Godwin’s voice echoed in the sudden stillness.

  The Norman canted his head, then turned his horse around and, in a flurry of hooves and dust, rejoined the line of mounted warriors. The trebuchet was loaded, but from her vantage point Anora could not see its contents.

  There was a loud crack followed by a thud. A barrage of stones flew through the air, arching high overhead. Anora spun around as the missiles descended into the outer bailey, landing with a dull thud on the ground. A few found their marks; one crashed through the thatched roof of a storage shed, another bounced off the stone wall of the smithy.

  The siege had begun.

  * * * * *

  “What manner of woman is this that stands against me?” Rosard paced, his long legs carrying him from the shade of a beech tree into the afternoon sunlight and back again.