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Authors: Charles Randolph Bruce
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warhorse. All of the men war whooped to a frightening roar.
It took less than a minute to ride the main street from one end to another. The citizens fled as much as they had places to flee.
His men who were spread along the street moved to either side killing and wounding people as them came to them with a weapon. The citizens had little to no organization to fight back and their defense was willy-nilly at best.
Robert saw the blacksmith shop with several skittish horses tied to posts out front and knew there must be more close by.
While Stewart was directing operations Robert got from his horse in front of the smithy.
He tried the door and it was barred. He shook it harder and it remained fast.
Robert could hear at least one person inside.
“Come out!” he demanded.
There was no sound from within.
He went around to the side that backed up to the river and there were five more horses.
Robert, who was not accustomed to being barred out, found a length of rope hanging on a branch of a tree close to the pinfold.
He went back to the front and shouted through the door, “Come out or I’ll be settin ’ yer smithy a’fire !”
Two of Robert’s knights rode up.
He tied the rope onto the latch of the door and handed the other end to one of the knights.
“Pull,” he instructed.
The one wrapped the rope end around the saddlebow and kicked his horse to pull at the door.
The door creaked.
“ A’right ! A’right !” said the inmate, “I be a’comin ’ out!”
The three could hear the bar being knocked from its holding arms.
“Ye two finished yer raidin ’?” asked Robert looking over the small town.
“Hain’t much to raid, Milord,” answered the one who threw the rope to the ground. “Too many a’ready who like a’killin ’.”
An old man poked his head out of the door. “What you a’wantin ’?” he asked as if he wasn’t well aware of the reasons for the intrusion.
Money, yer life or yer horses,” said Robert measuredly.
“Take the horses. Ain’t got no coin,” said the man.
“Come from the doorway, old smith,” said Robert.
“Can’t,” said the man.
Robert turned to his knights. “Bring me fire,” he instructed.
The outward swinging door slowly creaked open. The head of a ten year old lad looked out below the arm of the old man who held his sword as menacingly as he could manage the rusted blade.
The screaming and hooting of the raid along the street continued.
Robert was unimpressed. “Looks like a smith ought’a have a better kept sword. That’s what happens when ye don’t wipe the blood from it,” he said and he stepped forward and with his gloved hand gripped the reddish blade. The smith, knowing it was hopeless, released the shabby rotten leather handle.
“Can ye make caltrops?” asked Robert.
“Can, Milord,” admitted the man.
The large eyes of the lad watched Robert’s every move.
“Ye teach that to yer child?”
“He knows nothin ’ of caltrops, Milord.
“Ye’ll be a’makin ’ me thirty… and at yer end the lad will know.”
“And ye’ll be a’lettin ’ us live?” asked the old man, tears welling in his eyes.
“I want to know where the horses from the fair are kept,” said Robert getting close to the man’s face.
The man sputtered a bit not knowing how to answer.
Robert glared and the smith knew he had best answer.
“In a pinfold south,” he said pointing in the direction.
Robert smiled. He turned to his knights. “Take twenty or so and bring back the horses.” He mimicked the point of the smith.
“Ye’ll be a’needin ’ mor’n twenty, Milord,” offered the smith.
The old man could see his neighbors hieing up the steep embankment toward the castle.
Robert turned to see what so fascinated the smith. “Be back in two days. Have the caltrops fixed in a gunny sack so they don’t poke the horse when they’re carried,” instructed the Earl as he climbed onto his destrier.
The Stewart came to his liege
It took less than a minute to ride the main street from one end to another. The citizens fled as much as they had places to flee.
His men who were spread along the street moved to either side killing and wounding people as them came to them with a weapon. The citizens had little to no organization to fight back and their defense was willy-nilly at best.
Robert saw the blacksmith shop with several skittish horses tied to posts out front and knew there must be more close by.
While Stewart was directing operations Robert got from his horse in front of the smithy.
He tried the door and it was barred. He shook it harder and it remained fast.
Robert could hear at least one person inside.
“Come out!” he demanded.
There was no sound from within.
He went around to the side that backed up to the river and there were five more horses.
Robert, who was not accustomed to being barred out, found a length of rope hanging on a branch of a tree close to the pinfold.
He went back to the front and shouted through the door, “Come out or I’ll be settin ’ yer smithy a’fire !”
Two of Robert’s knights rode up.
He tied the rope onto the latch of the door and handed the other end to one of the knights.
“Pull,” he instructed.
The one wrapped the rope end around the saddlebow and kicked his horse to pull at the door.
The door creaked.
“ A’right ! A’right !” said the inmate, “I be a’comin ’ out!”
The three could hear the bar being knocked from its holding arms.
“Ye two finished yer raidin ’?” asked Robert looking over the small town.
“Hain’t much to raid, Milord,” answered the one who threw the rope to the ground. “Too many a’ready who like a’killin ’.”
An old man poked his head out of the door. “What you a’wantin ’?” he asked as if he wasn’t well aware of the reasons for the intrusion.
Money, yer life or yer horses,” said Robert measuredly.
“Take the horses. Ain’t got no coin,” said the man.
“Come from the doorway, old smith,” said Robert.
“Can’t,” said the man.
Robert turned to his knights. “Bring me fire,” he instructed.
The outward swinging door slowly creaked open. The head of a ten year old lad looked out below the arm of the old man who held his sword as menacingly as he could manage the rusted blade.
The screaming and hooting of the raid along the street continued.
Robert was unimpressed. “Looks like a smith ought’a have a better kept sword. That’s what happens when ye don’t wipe the blood from it,” he said and he stepped forward and with his gloved hand gripped the reddish blade. The smith, knowing it was hopeless, released the shabby rotten leather handle.
“Can ye make caltrops?” asked Robert.
“Can, Milord,” admitted the man.
The large eyes of the lad watched Robert’s every move.
“Ye teach that to yer child?”
“He knows nothin ’ of caltrops, Milord.
“Ye’ll be a’makin ’ me thirty… and at yer end the lad will know.”
“And ye’ll be a’lettin ’ us live?” asked the old man, tears welling in his eyes.
“I want to know where the horses from the fair are kept,” said Robert getting close to the man’s face.
The man sputtered a bit not knowing how to answer.
Robert glared and the smith knew he had best answer.
“In a pinfold south,” he said pointing in the direction.
Robert smiled. He turned to his knights. “Take twenty or so and bring back the horses.” He mimicked the point of the smith.
“Ye’ll be a’needin ’ mor’n twenty, Milord,” offered the smith.
The old man could see his neighbors hieing up the steep embankment toward the castle.
Robert turned to see what so fascinated the smith. “Be back in two days. Have the caltrops fixed in a gunny sack so they don’t poke the horse when they’re carried,” instructed the Earl as he climbed onto his destrier.
The Stewart came to his liege
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