The Falls of Erith (4 page)

There
was a ground floor entrance to the keep from the kitchen. It opened into the
bottom story of the structure, divided into two rooms, which were used for
stores. A ladder led up to a trap door in the ceiling, which presumably led to
the hall above.  Peering inside the gloomy, cool store room, Braxton could see
that what little they had was neatly stacked and carefully covered.  It was
coming clear to him why Lady Gray had seem so reluctant to offer a meal to him
and his men; it was apparent they barely had enough for themselves. Now they
would have to, literally, feed an army.  With that thought, he went back to
where his men were camped.

A
couple of fires were already started in the shadows of the outer wall. Braxton
found Dallas, Graehm and Geoff standing together and talking quietly between
them. He motioned his men to him, away from the others.

“My
lord?” Dallas asked in response to Braxton’s furrowed expression.

Braxton
threw a thumb in the direction of the keep. “I believe we’ve made a mistake in
coming here,” he said. “Do any of you notice anything unusual about this place?”

The
knights looked at each other. “Other than the fact it is crumbling around us?”
Graehm asked. 

“These
people can hardly afford to feed us,” Braxton lowered his voice. “From the
looks of it, they can barely feed themselves. Our presence here is burdensome
and presumptive.”

His
knights still weren’t sure what he was driving at. “Should we leave, my lord?”
Geoff asked tentatively.

Braxton’s
pale gaze drifted across the wall over their heads. “Nay,” he said after a
moment. “But we will make our stay here worth their while.”

“What
do you mean?” Graehm asked.

Braxton
crooked a finger and his men gathered close.

***

Constance
Gray de Montfort had been a beauty in her time. A slight woman with graying
blond hair piled high on her head, the family resemblance to her daughter and
granddaughter was apparent.   She was a cool woman, bluntly so, bred from the
high nobility of England. Though her circumstances had been reduced to poverty
over the years, she still retained a haughty manner and a piercing gaze that could
drill holes through walls.

As
Constance gazed out of the lancet window facing the section of the bailey where
the mercenary army was settling in, her mind was working in a thousand
different directions. If nothing else, Constance had learned over the years to
be very resourceful to ensure her family’s survival.  And she had learned not
to discount any opportunity.

“What
do we know of this knight?” she asked her daughter.

Gray
was seated on the only chair in the room, mending in her hands. Once her father’s
solar, it was now a sad reflection of its glorious past. Anything of value had
been stripped and sold, even things of sentimental value. But Gray had long
gotten over the sorrow that selling her father’s items had provoked.

“His
name is Braxton de Nerra,” Gray said as she struggled with an uncooperative
piece of thread.  “He told Brooke that he is a knight bannerette. Beyond that,
I do not know.”

Constance’s
cool gaze lingered on the men in the distance. “A knight bannerette,” she
snorted softly. “Hardly a man of noble breeding. Why on earth did you not
refute your daughter when she offered him shelter and sup?”

Gray
was used to her mother’s disapproval at her actions. That was normal. “I told
you; it would have been rude to do so. The man had just saved Brooke’s life and
I felt as if we had to do something to thank him. Moreover, they have brought
their own food. It is not as if we shall be feeding them from our stores. We
shall even eat meat. Do you know how long it has been since we have eaten meat?”

Constance
turned away from the window, pulling her tattered shawl more tightly around her
thin shoulders. “I shall not join you for sup,” she said imperiously. “I will
take my meal in my room.”

Gray
did not look up from her mending. “Though we rarely have visitors, Mother, you
have always taught me that the true mark of nobility is impeccable manners. It
would be unmannerly of you not to at least greet our guest.”

“You’ll
not lecture me,” Constance snapped softly. “I know more of nobility and manners
than you could ever hope to.”

“Then
you will attend us.”

“I
shall do as I please.”

The
last exchange was spoken sharply, the words overlapping.  Gray would not
acknowledge her mother’s disdainful words. She had long learned to deal with
her supercilious mother who still fancied herself a fine lady of wealth and
power. In tense silence, Gray finished mending the girdle, one that had
belonged to her and she now modified for Brooke. Her daughter was growing by
leaps and bounds, developing the figure of a woman that must be property
outfitted. Though it was an old girdle, it was still serviceable.  They
certainly could not afford to buy another one. Biting off the thread, she
collected her things and stood up.

“Then
I shall excuse myself to see to the preparation of the meal,” she knew her
mother would not fight her for the task. “I would hope you change your mind
about attending us.”

Constance
didn’t reply. Her silence was her dismissal. She listened to her daughter walk
from the room, her well-worn shoes making scuffing noises along the boards. 
She continued to gaze out over the ward, watching the men in the corner of the
bailey, noting that they did not appear ragged or impoverish as traveling
armies sometimes did. In fact, she had counted four big chargers adorned with
expensive saddlery. Poor knights could hardly afford a horse much less lavish
tack. And the knights themselves, that she had been able to see, were clad in
well-made armor. These mercenaries were well-supplied and apparently with some
means of wealth.

Men
such as these did not usually take wives, but with the promise of a fortress as
the dowry, even a traveling soldier might consider. In fact, being that these
men fought for money, the lure of monetary or material gain was their primary
motivation. Constance began to see a positive side to their presence. 

She
reconsidered her decision not to join them for sup.

***

The
great hall of Erith had once been a fine place back in the days when men of
power inhabited its stone walls. It was still the nicest room in the keep, but
that wasn’t an overwhelming statement.  The hearth had been built as in the
olden days, a massive fire pit in the center of the room that emptied smoke
into the ceiling.  The hall itself was two stories tall; consequently, the second
and third floors of the keep butted up along the south side of the hall and
were a single room a piece. Both rooms were reached by a narrow spiral stair
case, one stacked upon the other.

Gray
had spent a good deal of time preparing the great hall for their visitors. The
grand old dame would once again come alive with guests, as it had in ages past.
Though still wary of the mercenary army’s presence, she found herself
increasingly excited as she prepared the room.  It wasn’t often they had
visitors, and she was looking forward to having someone new to talk to. Perhaps
there would be news of the happenings through the realm.  Isolated as Erith
was, information was few and far between.  

As
far as they knew, Longshanks still ruled, though he had been in poor health for
some time. The Scots were creating issues as far south as York, but had
thankfully missed Erith, to the west of York although still considered a part
of the disputed north.  The landscape of their region of Cumbria was thickly
wooded and off the beaten path.  In spite of their regional location, they were
protected by the barrier of the Pennine Mountains from the turmoil that gripped
the rest of country.

The
buck that Braxton’s men had brought had been roasting over an enormous pit in
the kitchen yard for several hours, creating a heavenly smell of roasting
venison.  Gray had been in the kitchen when two of the knights who had helped
rescue Brooke brought in other supplies – dried fruits, jerky, barley meal, and
a large sack of flour. And not just any flour; it was finely sifted white
flour. Gray had been momentarily speechless, but quickly found her tongue and
graciously thanked the knights. Dallas and Geoff bowed graciously and left the
kitchen yard just as swiftly as they had entered it. 

The
cook, a fat woman with a strange habit of howling like an animal, was delighted
with the supplies.  She hooted for her daughter and immediate began preparing
the flour to bake fine white bread for their sup. The woman’s equally bizarre
daughter joined her and Gray left the two hooting and barking as she continued
her duties. 

The
sunset was creating ribbons of orange and pink across the sky, signaling the
onset of a lovely night.  Normally, Gray was so busy with never-ending chores
that she scarcely had time to notice such things. But she gazed up at the sky,
enjoying the colors, her mind eased that they would actually be enjoying a
satisfying meal this night. In spite of her caution regarding the mercenary
army, they had thus far provided Erith with much appreciated supplies and her
resistance to them was beginning to wane. Perhaps she was being too harsh. 
Perhaps she should be more thankful and less suspicious.

Deep
in thought, she wandered from the kitchen yard and into the main bailey. The
keep was to her left, a big stone tower that was too cold in both summer and
winter. Passing the stables, she kicked a few scrawny chickens out of her way
and nearly tripped over a broken piece of some kind of farming tool.  Reaching
down to pick it up, she propped the piece of wood on a small fence near the
stables.

Continuing
on, she rounded the keep and ran headlong into several of de Nerra’s men.  She
recognized two of the knights but there was another knight standing with them
that she had not met yet. They were a young group, perhaps her age or younger,
yet they radiated the aura of seasoned men. All three men bowed graciously to
her as she passed, but their interest was apparent.  She was uncomfortable with
the way they stared at her. Suddenly nervous, she bobbed her head politely and
turned for the keep, running headlong into Braxton.

She
plowed right into him. He reached out to steady her as she stumbled back. “My
apologies, my lady,” he said with genuine remorse. “Did I injure you?”

Gray
rubbed her nose where she had bashed it against his chest. “Nay, my lord,” she
said, feeling her nerves and anxious to return to the safety of the keep.  “I…
I was hoping to find you and thank you for the flour and other provisions that
your men brought.  It was quite unnecessary, but very generous nonetheless.”

Braxton’s
blue-green eyes fixed on her. “We carry more rations than we can use.  If you
do not use them, they will rot, so in a sense you are doing us a favor.”

She
smoothed the hair from her forehead in an edgy gesture. “It was a kind deed, my
lord. We should have quite a feast in about an hour.”

“We
are looking forward to it.”

Though
his expression was unreadable, the blue-green eyes were intense. Strangely
unsettled, not to mention strangely intrigued, Gray dipped in a curtsey and
respectfully moved around him.

It
wasn’t that he frightened her, but he certainly had a disquieting effect on
her. There was something in his eyes that was warm and alarming at the same
time. Not knowing the man, she did not trust his motives.  She’d spent her
entire adult life protecting her emotions, first from her domineering mother
and then from an abusive husband.  She knew of no other way but to continue
that inclination. No mere knight, no matter how kind, was going to change that.

As
she moved towards the rotted steps leading into the keep, Gray could not help
but notice that there were several of Braxton’s soldiers taking tools to her
steps. She slowed her pace, watching them curiously. Several rotted boards had
been pulled off and a two of the men were using a plane on them, shaving off
the rotted portion. The others were ripping up the rusted iron nails and
replacing them with fresh ones. Curiosity turned to bewilderment. She went to
one of the men and peered over his shoulder.

“What
are you doing?” she asked.

The
soldier looked up at her; he was older, with a sun-kissed face and calloused
fingers. “Repairing your stairs, m’lady,” he said. “You have several rotted
boards. Sooner or later, someone will fall through and hurt themselves. Sir
Braxton does not wish it to be you or your daughter.”

Gray’s
mouth fell open in surprise, but she quickly shut it. “So you are fixing my
steps?”

“We
are repairing what we can for tonight, my lady,” the man replied. “Tomorrow we
shall go into the woods to seek out strong new wood in which to rebuild the
stair case. This entire flight needs to be replaced before someone breaks their
neck.”

Did
they think she could pay them for this work? Clearly, the steps were in bad
repair, but it was not for lack of notice. It was for lack of funds to fix
them. Panicked, Gray turned on her heel and rushed back to the last place she
had seen Braxton. Frantically, she her eyes scanned the area, spying his blond
head several feet away. He was standing with his knights. One of the men saw
her as she approached and he nudged Braxton. He turned to her just as she came
upon them.