Jake sneezed difficult into his hand: blood mixed with snot in his palm. In a moment the heavy rain had washed it away.
'Vous êtes chiens et démons,' shouted the old lady tugging at his left stirrup. She shouted some other words in a harsh raw voice, and shook her fist at Jake. Rain-water streamed down the gullies of her face including a waterfall of tears.
'I never speak your stupid French,' he shouted down at her in English. His horse moved skittishly beneath him and he pulled back on the reins to cease it. The old lady tugged at his left leg.
'Get off, crone!' Jake shouted.
Burnell, the tall man-at-arms, dismounted and strode towards her. With his studded leather gloves he smashed her really hard across the face, drawing blood, knocking out her final teeth to leave her sprawling with a splash in the mud. Burnell sat on her stomach, drew a dagger and held it to the old lady's throat.
'Now then you old witch,' mentioned Burnell, 'Tell us exactly where they've hidden the meals or I kill you suitable now.'
Jake turned away as Burnell hit the lady once again. He heard the pig-such as squeal of her final breath escaping as he reduce her throat. Jake clenched his jaw; he hated this war.
Jake sneezed once more, and once more. He held his nose with one hand, yet he lost his grip on the reins as his horse snorted and stamped in annoyance, and a different sneeze burst from his sore nostrils. Damn you, you old nag, believed Jake, I know you happen to be hungry also; be patient. He hadn't provided the horse a name; he hadn't believed it worthwhile as they died so promptly from lack of fodder.
Jake managed to get his sneezing below manage. The other men in the tiny foraging celebration led by Sir Robert hunted via the homes, sheds and barns. Sir Robert had taken what was left of his modest retinue, 3 men-at-arms and six archers such as Jake, and left the principal army two days ago below cover of evening. He had stated that the villages in the hills may well have meals, and maybe some manor home that may possibly supply opportunity for pillage. Yet every village they encountered were such as this one: empty of folks and devoid of provisions. The crone now lying dead in the mud was the only living individual they'd encountered so far.
'Jake! Get down. We've function to do,' stated Burnell.
As he dismounted thunder clapped such as an infernal cannon, and lightning flashed in a vibrant sheet across the narrow heavens in between the wooded hills. Each Burnell and Jake jumped in surprise. Burnell swore. He and Jake grabbed their horses' halters and ran with them to the nearest barn. The rain hammered down and swiftly the road became a muddy torrent. The other people located shelter there as well. They stated tiny as well each and every other, each and every man lost in their own thoughts.
As the rain eased to a lesser torrent, Sir Robert hauled himself up from a bale of soggy straw and pointed with a pole-axe up the hillside. 'I consider the villagers are up there, in that manor residence on the hill. Their lord is doubtless sheltering them and their victuals.'
The men looked up at the hillside, exactly where the dark walls and major drum tower of a fortified manor residence may be glimpsed above the thick forest illuminated by lightning by means of the gloom of the thunder storm.
'Appears additional including a castle to me, rather than a residence,' mentioned Thomas Wheeler, one of the archers.
'It's not as grand as it appears. If there is far more than one or two fighting men in home I would be very shocked. The nobility about here are poor at very best. Come on you laggards, get to your horses. We'll be consuming about the lord of the manor's fire tonight.'
The modest troop of English soldiers rode up the track that curled about the wooded hillside, their stomachs dreaming of meals. Jake's thoughts had been dulled by hunger, cold and fatigue, however inside him an unpleasant emotion gnawed at his heart: a guttering flame of resentment against his comrades. Rape and theft had been not what he had anticipated from war, yet day following day he had noticed modest else. There have been no real fighting to speak of, none of the excitement and heroism that he had dreamed of when he signed his indenture to Sir Robert's business in May possibly. Back then army life were a way of escaping the disappointments of life at home, however now these issues had been trifling compared to the dance of evil that had taken hold of him, the English and French armies, and the thousands of inhabitants of France who had the misfortune to reside in their path.
The band halted at a signal from Sir Robert. They have been around halfway up the hillside when Sir Robert, at the head of the column, spotted a widening in the track exactly where the way came to a bridge over a steep ravine that reduce down the hillside including a deep and terminal wound. Sir Robert had discovered the challenging way to be cautious and viewed as this a fantastic spot for a French ambush. No words had been spoken, yet with a series of hand gestures, the six archers rapidly dismounted and strung their bows. Two of the men-at-arms, Clifford and Burnell, raised their major shields and sophisticated with the archers hunched down behind them checking the forest on either side for any movement. Sir Robert and his lieutenant Richard waited with the horses and seen the progress of the other individuals. Maintaining properly away from danger, believed Jake, as he watched Sir Robert move to the rear of the group.
Practically nothing moved on this side of the densely vegetated ravine, yet they may well see a strange sight on the far side. Not twenty paces away across the narrow wooden bridge was a colourful pavilion of alternating broad blue and red silk stripes, wet with the rain, yet nevertheless of fine look. Below the pavilion's entrance canopy sat a woman, too dressed in silks, with a conical headpiece and veil of fine gauze covering the dark hair that flowed down her neck to her shoulders. She was preoccupied with some sort of detail perform in her hands, embroidery possibly.
Yet in front of her, blocking the far exit of the bridge, and dressed in dull black plate armour, stood a tall man-at-arms, in complete jousting helm. He stood motionless with arms crossed in front of him. Behind him was a tethered warhorse, too black, and a rack of weapons: lance, swords, pole-arms, maces and axes. Neither the knight nor the woman gave any indication that they had noticed the English soldiers.
You have just study the 1st portion of a new quick story by Mark Lord, entitled 'Chivalry: A Jake Savage Adventure' to come across out around how to study much more please take a look at Mark Lord's web page committed to Medieval History and Fantasy Fiction at http://marklord.information/2011/09/01/chivalry-a-jake-savage-adventure-published/
You can keep up to date with Mark Lord's weblog, Praeter Naturam, at http://marklord.information/
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