The Warrior Read Online Free PDF Page B

men.
    “Some say de Vernay is Henry’s best field commander,” Simon murmured. “And his most brilliant tactician. He is known to have challenged and defeated his own father in battle. A most unnatural son.”
    Ariane fell silent. Those tales of Lord Ranulf were the most shocking. His lady mother was said to have taken a peasant lover before Ranulf’s birth, so that he might well be a lowborn freeman’s offspring. Certainly Ranulf’s noble father doubted his parentage. Yves de Vernay had refused, even after his two older sons had died, to acknowledge Ranulf as heir. The Black Dragon had claimed his inheritance at the point of a sword.
    “We should fare well enough,” Simon was saying. “Our forces are in position. We have adequate supplies—due to your own efforts, my lady. We can hold out for some time against a siege.”
    “And you sent word to my father at Bridgenorth.”
    “Two separate couriers, lady, to improve the chances of gaining through. If Lord Walter is free to come, he will.”
    If he is free.
    Ariane shook her head. Her shock at the recent turn of events still had not faded. Her father had been charged with high treason for conspiring with Hugh Mortimer against the crown. She simply could not believe him guilty; she knew him too well.
    “The drawbridge, my lady?” Simon urged gently, interrupting her troubled thoughts. “ ’Tis dangerous to tarry longer.”
    “Yes.” Gazing down at the approach to Claredon, Ariane realized that the final stragglers had entered the castle bailey. “We should proceed.”
    Turning, Simon called down to the keeper of the gate. Almost at once a tremendous grinding of chains sounded as the huge wooden bridge was slowly raised.
    The action came none too soon, for in the far distance a golden swirl of dust could be seen on the horizon—the kind of cloud kicked up by a rapidly approaching army. Ariane felt the muscles of her stomach tense with dread.
    The Black Dragon. Her betrothed. The man who should have been her husband long ere now.
    The warrior who had never come to claim her as his bride.
    Her nerves were shredded raw by the time the horde came to a plunging halt a safe distance from the castle walls. The sun had nearly set, yet she could see a force of some two hundred strong—a quarter comprised of fearsome Norman knights garbed in conical steel helmets and long tunics of chain mail, mounted on snorting destriers, with gleaming lances and tall shields at the ready. The rest were archers and foot soldiers wearing bullhide armor. A banner waved over the throng—a black dragon rampant on a scarlet field.
    Before long, a single mailed knight broke from the ranks of horsemen and rode slowly forward, bearing a white pen-non, seeking to parley. Ariane flinched when a short blast sounded from an enemy trumpet, even though she had known to expect it. She was grateful to have Simon Crecy standing beside her.
    The rider halted his bay charger within hailing distance of the stone wall and called up to the defenders on the battlements:
    “In the name of Henry, duke of Normandy and rightful king of England, you are commanded to open the gates!”
    Taking a deep breath, Ariane answered, although her voice was neither as strong nor as clear as she would have liked. “Tell me, good sir, why should we open our gates when you plainly come prepared for war?”
    There was a pause, as if her question had surprised the knight. “Because to refuse is treason. King Henry has ordered Walter of Claredon’s arrest and awarded his lands and possessions to the lord of Vernay—who demands your immediate surrender. I carry the king’s proclamation.” His gauntleted hand raised a scroll for her to see.
    Ariane forced herself to unclench her fingers, which had curled into fists. “I am the lady of Claredon. Do I have the honor of speaking with the lord of Vernay?”
    “I am my lord’s vassal, Payn FitzOsbern, demoiselle. Lord Ranulf has charged me with arranging the terms of your