Defiant Unto Death Read Online Free Page A

He had promised Christiana that, once he had resupplied the towns he held and paid the men who followed him, there would be time for them both before his son’s birthday. There were few raids undertaken over the winter months so he had scraped out the foundations of a new wall, embedding stone so that the winter rains would sluice through them and not damage his planned construction. They had carted rock from the fields and quarry and he had spent two cold months in his barn cutting and shaping the stone to his liking. When they had first taken over the old Norman manor house after they were married, he’d discovered signs of an ancient settlement. In their time the Romans had laid cut-stone pathways and built shelters for the animals with defensive walls, but like many old French towns they had tumbled and lain shrouded by undergrowth. Ancient warriors had encamped in these parts until wars of conquest had dragged them away. The place gave Blackstone a sense of belonging, somewhere he would live in relative peace with Christiana and the children. And they had desperately wanted another child. That was all part of his promise to her. Six months before this raid for food and supplies she had lost the child from her womb. The women who attended her had wrapped the infant and hid it from him, but Blackstone had unfolded the bloodied linen and gazed at the small creature that lay curled in sleep-like death and who would have been his second son.
    A friend, Joanne de Ruymont, who had never shared her husband’s friendship with the Englishman, had comforted her. She was a woman constrained by the manners dictated by her high-born family, a woman who held a deep-rooted resentment against Thomas Blackstone, an archer who had slain members of her family at Crécy. It was her husband, Guy, who served as peacemaker between the two families, given his close friendship with Blackstone’s mentor, the Norman lord Jean de Harcourt, but it had been Christiana that Joanna visited when the men were away fighting. It had been she who had held Christiana through the torturous time of her miscarriage.
    And now all Blackstone wanted was to go home, comfort his wife, and build his wall.
    â€˜Sir Thomas?’
    Meulon’s voice broke into Blackstone’s thoughts.
    â€˜What are your orders?’
    Blackstone looked at the men who awaited his command.
    â€˜Can any of your men swim, Master Jennah?’
    â€˜Swim? Other than me – no. I’m the only man aboard with a chance to reach the shore if we were ever wrecked. There’s no swimming to be had here, Sir Thomas. Not with this current.’ It made no sense to the sailor. ‘Swim where?’
    â€˜Rope each barrel of oil with another of tar. Someone has to take them beneath the bridges and into the water meadows. And then light them. Send flames across the sky and draw out those inside. But it will take at least two men.’
    â€˜Well, I’m too old to be doing that. The water is cold and a man can be snared by what lies beneath. And to keep tinder dry to fire the barrels will be the devil’s job.’
    Blackstone looked to his men. Guillaume stepped forward. ‘I’ll go, lord. But I’ll need time to float them into position.’
    He had no wish to see his squire go into the water. Whoever lit the barrels might easily be seen by crossbowmen on the walls. Enough quarrels could be loosed to cut through reed beds without even aiming.
    â€˜Meulon, you lead the assault. I’ll go into the water with Master Guillaume.’ There was no choice. Blackstone had swum in the river that flowed by his village since he could walk.
    â€˜My lord,’ Meulon said quickly. ‘Taking the walls can be done, but it needs you to lead us. We could flounder inside the stronghold as badly as a drowning man in the water.’ There was a murmur of agreement from the men. A wiry man, muscular despite his slight build, stepped forward. It was