The Falcon and the Flower Read Free Page B

to whine or complain. He took full advantage of the slow-moving army, knowing he could withdraw his men for a couple of days at a time then rejoin the mass. It was early in the morn, the mists still not cleared, when Falcon de Burgh, intent upon taking a castle before the sun set that day, was taken by surprise. The Welsh band hidden in a small copse loosed their arrows upon the enemy. Retreat and cover were not in de Burgh’s vocabulary. His men were under orders to wear their armor and chain mail at all times, so any who disobeyed and were foolish enough to be vulnerable to Welsh bowmen, the best in the world, received no sympathy.
    He led the way full gallop into the woods to rout and trample the enemy. The sounds and smells of battle assailed him: arrows whistling through the air then thunking into soft flesh or pinging against metal shields; the hot metallic smell of blood and sweat and vomit and panic. The moans and sobs and screams faded away as thepounding of his own heart in his ears obliterated all else. This early in the day he wielded his sword without effort, for he had been trained to fight from dawn to dusk long after the muscled sword arm was numbed.
    He had annihilated a dozen Welshmen, some going beneath his destrier’s hooves to make the ground slick with brains and guts. Lightning, his war-horse, had been trained to be fierce and savage and attack strangers. Falcon glimpsed a leather-tunicked youth fall back from the snarling teeth and rolling wild eyes of his destrier. As the youth hit the hard earth, the impact dislodged his helm and long, black, silken tresses came tumbling down. Falcon was stunned to realize it was a female who was almost beneath Lightning’s hooves. He was off the horse in a flash. He removed a heavy gauntlet and ran his calloused hand over the girl’s strong limbs. She spat into his face. Without hesitation he brought his fist up and rendered her unconscious with the blow. He slung her limp form across his saddle and rejoined the melee.
    When the skirmish was over all but half a dozen Welsh were dead or dying, and these they took as hostages along with the girl and a herd of about thirty cattle that had been hidden in the woods.
    By the end of the first week Falcon had taken two castles, Skenfrith and Llantilio, and intended to apply to the crown to keep them for himself.
    William Marshal’s forces were only awaiting supply wagon reinforcements before they moved on to Pembroke, leaving Salisbury and Hubert de Burgh’s fighting men to take all between.
    At last the supply wagons arrived with food and fodder gathered from the marshal’s demesnes of Striguil, Weston, and Badgworth. Supplies were the one big headache for an army on the march, and later that night the atmosphere was almost one of celebration as the leaders relaxed about the warm brazier in Marshal’s tent, enjoyingthe new supply of ale and a large wheel of cheese his thoughtful wife had included.
    “You’re a lucky man, William,” said Salisbury, wiping an appreciative hand across his mouth, “A supportive wife is worth her weight in gold.”
    Hubert de Burgh slapped his nephew Falcon heartily on the back. “That’s what I’ve been telling the lad here, and now that he has three castles of his own, he’s going to be hard-pressed to manage without one.”
    Falcon grinned. “I’m not sure I want a wife, but I readily admit that I do indeed need one.”
    Hubert pressed on, for in his opinion it was time Falcon strengthened the great de Burgh family with his sons. “Warwick’s widow is available, but she’ll be snatched like a ripe plum for the lands she would bring to marriage.”
    Falcon de Burgh drew his brows together. “I’d rather win my lands in battle or through service to the crown.”
    “That’s to your credit, but don’t turn your nose up at a woman because she comes well dowered,” cautioned Salisbury. “Since I have no male heirs, my two daughters, Ela and Isobel, will inherit. I would