That was Jax de Velt’s primary mode of submission when it came to an enemy army. Cole and Julian could hear the screams of the men as the poles were shoved into their bodies and, like Jesus Christ was hung upon the cross for an audience, those impaled bodies began to go up along the road leading to Fountainhall for all to see. It was absolutely horrifying.
A macabre spectacle of dying scarecrows.
But Cole and Julian weren’t focused on what was going on around them, only what needed to be done. They were focused on the keep specifically, which was actually built into the walls of the castle. There were multiple doorways and stairs from what they could see, but Cole was confident he would find what they needed.
In fact, he’d already sent men ahead to gather what intelligence they would need to find their target, and he was mostly looking for the pair of brothers he had served with for the past two years, ever since they came to England from having served Count d’Acoz. The story made known to the English was that they were knights from The Levant who served Jax, but that wasn’t the truth. They had been sucked into William Marshal’s spy ring because Cole had recruited them. From the first, he’d realized their special talents. Men such as Addax and Essien al-Kort weren’t meant to be simply knights.
They were meant for greatness.
And he’d been proven right. While Cole had been entrenched in his mission for The Marshal with the Scottish royal court, Addax and Essien went right along with him. The Scots had loved the unique pair, which had only worked to their advantage. They became the darlings of the royal court, invited to every gathering, every exclusive feast. They were not only great warriors, but they could sing and entertain beautifully. The Scots were inviting and trusting with the men from the far-off and mysterious land of Kitara.
Now, as Fountainhall fell all around them, the results of that misplaced trust were evident.
It had been the Princes of Kitara who had made this moment possible.
“Cole!”
Cole heard his name, his head snapping to the right where Addax al-Kort was just emerging from a doorway with a wooden staircase that led into the bailey. Right behind him came his brother, Essien, and between them they were dragging a Scotsman dressed in female garb, a man alternately cursing them and pleading with them.
Cole and Julian headed in their direction.
“Canmore,” he said with satisfaction, inspecting the man. After a moment, he looked to Addax. “Excellent work. Where did you find him?”
Addax was an exceptionally muscular man, with features that had made many a maiden swoon. He was from a place of birth far from England, blessed with black hair and eyes the color of onyx.
“Cowering in the kitchens,” he said, his speech accented because the language he was speaking was not his native language. “He thought he could dress as a wench and we would pass him over, but his ugly legs gave him away.”
“I saw them first,” Essien insisted, a gloriously handsome brother a few years younger than Addax. “I’ve seen women’s legs from here to Alexandria, and nothing could convince me that those hairy, skinny limbs belonged to a woman.”
Cole looked straight to Alpin’s legs, which were pasty, spindly, and covered with a dark matting of hair. He lifted an eyebrow. “How astute of you, Es.”
The young knight frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
Cole pointed to the legs. “A blind man could have seen these are not the legs of a woman,” he said sarcastically, poking at the man’s ego. But he took pity on him quickly because he’d just accomplished a difficult task. “But excellent work, both of you. The Marshal shall hear of your skill. He will be pleased.”
Addax grinned as Essien frowned, looking between Cole and his brother, not entirely pleased that he wasn’t getting all the credit. He was the younger, more excitable brother when compared to Addax’s cool strength or Cole’s unflappable demeanor, but he considered himself just as fine a warrior. He was about to say so when he caught sight of what was going on near the gatehouse and the annoyance in his eyes faded. There was virtually no fighting that he could see, but there was a good deal of noise going on.
Howls of pain.
A sense of foreboding crept over him.
“What is happening out there?” he asked. “What is… why all the screaming?”
Cole didn’t turn around to see what he meant. He knew. “The Dark Lord is doing what he does best,” he said evenly. “I told you what would happen with this siege, Es. That has not changed. My father has been ordered to destroy this castle and that is exactly what he is doing.”
Essien could hear that cries of agony. They all could. He was young and emotional, and when he looked at his brother to see what he thought of what was happening, Addax refused to look at him.
“Ad?” he said, sounding concerned. “Did you understand… surely there is some reason why…”
Addax cut him off. “Warfare makes barbarians of us all,” he muttered, glancing at Cole. “You have seen enough of it to know that. This is the moment we have worked for and, now, it has begun. We told you this would happen. Everything we have strived for has come to fruition. For complete victory, these actions are necessary.”
Essien could see through the gatehouse, watching as four of de Velt’s men rammed a post into the rear of a soldier, ramming it all the way in so it emerged from his belly. Then the soldier was propped up on the side of the road, still alive, placed next to his comrades.
Essien had to take a deep breath.
Truth be told, it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever seen, because he’d seen the Muslims with Saladin’s army in The Levant do something similar. When he’d been a boy fleeing his own country of Kitara, he’d see things like that and worse still. Even so, the method was shocking in its brutality. It was true that Cole and Addax had told him this would be the result of Jax de Velt’s scorched earth campaign, but to see it in practice gave him pause. To a sensitive soul like Horus Essien Mai al-Kort, horrific brutality was sometimes difficult for him to swallow.
He’d seen too much of it.
“Bastards,” Alpin snarled, spittle flying from his lips as he distracted the warriors from what was happening around them. “Ye’re all bastards. Why are ye doing this tae me?”
He was speaking of the al-Kort brothers. Alpin knew them to be fixtures in royal circles, favorites of the nobles, so the fact that they wrested him from his hiding place was truly perplexing. He had no idea why they were there. As Essien continued to wrestle with the situation outside the gates, Cole appraised Alpin without a hint of emotion.
“Canmore,” he said. “You know why we are here, do you not?”
Alpin eyed Cole, shaken and bewildered. “Why do ye speak like that?” he said, referring to the fact that Cole had no Scots accent, something he’d only known from the man from the beginning of their association. “What is happening here? Ye’re the king’s protector, the man called MacEacharn!”
“Not anymore,” Cole said flatly. “My tenure with William is finished. And I am not MacEacharn.”
“No’ MacEacharn?”
“Nay,” Cole said. “I am English and this is my father’s army. We’ve come for you, Alpin. Would you care to guess why?”