The Scourge (Kindle Serial) Read Online Free PDF Page B

and oarsmen are
screaming. The crossbowman at the stern is biting the flank of Tristan’s horse.
The horse cries out again and would surely have reared if its bit were not
chained down. It takes me a moment to realize that the crossbowman must have
been afflicted before he came onboard.
    A rower uses his oar
to stab at the man with the bolt in his shoulder. More hands reach up from the
dark waters to grab the boat. Sir Morgan crawls between the legs of my horse
and knocks the feeding crossbowman away from Sir Tristan’s horse. The soldier falls
backward, his helmet tumbling away, and in the lantern light I can see no
whites in his eyes.
    I hear the snap of the
crossbows as I don my great helm. Sir Morgan and Sir Tristan pull theirs on as
well. The boat rocks wildly and water splashes inside. One of the crossbowmen
falls backward and tumbles into the river near me. I reach for him, but there
are countless bodies writhing near him. He cries out once, then is swallowed by
the Thames. I shout to him, but I know it is useless.
     The horses roll their
eyes and blow as they strain at the chains securing them to the boat. A bloated
man with one eye tries to board near me, so I slash at his face, the anger at
the crossbowman’s death lending me strength.
    “Oh, Christ,” Tristan
shouts. He is still beneath my horse, kicking at a withered man with no shirt
who is pulling himself onto the barge. The man has been in the water a long
time. So long that Tristan’s boot sloughs the man’s skin from his body. The flesh
slides off the man’s chest like the crust of a half-dried mud puddle. The man
screams, and Tristan’s second kick sends him back into the Thames.
    Sir Morgan is on top
of the afflicted crossbowman, stabbing with his dagger. The boat leans upriver.
Dozens of the afflicted try to clamber aboard on that side. Gangly arms and
bloated faces and soulless eyes. They reach for us, hissing, snarling. One
pulls itself hand over hand along an oar. The two remaining crossbowmen try to
wind their weapons under Tristan’s horse.
    A pair of tiny hands
clamp on to the prow. I hack at them quickly. I don’t want to see what is on
the other end of those hands. An oarsman screams shrilly. I don’t have time to
look, because the boat tilts toward the Thames. I drop my dagger and my nails scrape
at the planks on the prow as I fall backward. I have one chance to glance over
my shoulder as I stumble. There is a legion of them in the water, dragging the
boat down. Their hands reach for me, their mouths open. I think of Elizabeth as
the boat tips and I fall toward the afflicted in a tumble of horseflesh, armor,
and screams.

Episode 1:
Historical Note

    The novel you are reading is as historically accurate as I could
make it. Edward Dallingridge (sometimes Dallyngrigg) was a real knight. As he
mentions in the story, Sir Edward fought in France during the Hundred Years
War, under the brutal Robert Knolles. Edward made his fortune in France and
increased it with his marriage to Lady Elizabeth Wardieu (sometimes Wardeux). I
don’t know how deep their love was, but you can see a carving of them at the
castle that they built together. It is in Bodiam, Sussex, and is one of the
finest, most picturesque castles in England. I imagine that two people who can
build a castle of such beauty must have had a great capacity for love.
    I am not aware of any connection between the Dallingridge family and
Bury St. Edmunds (as St. Edmund’s Bury is now called). but I wanted Edward to
travel somewhere of religious importance. Bury St. Edmunds was one of the most
sacred cities in the world at that time. And that time is roughly 1385. I say
roughly because I have taken some minor liberties with the timeline to make
events work for this story.
    Sir Tristan and Sir Morgan are figments of my imagination. John
Broke and John of Gaunt were real people. There will be more about them in
later episodes, including a reference to a real conflict between Edward