He spoke with strength, which fueled Bretton’s respect for him. But it also fueled that five year old boy in side of him, the one who had lost his father at the hands of men such as de Gault. The questions that came next were natural.
“Were you part of de Velt’s siege at Four Crosses Castle?” he asked.
De Gault nodded. “I was part of every siege de Velt planned,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
Bretton could see hardness in his eyes, the ruthless stare of a man who had killed and killed again. No remorse to his answer, but no pride, either. It was simply a statement of fact, and Bretton’s rage began to build. He didn’t answer the man’s question, not yet. But he would in time. He wanted this man, this knight of de Velt’s, to know why he was here. He wanted to see his expression when he saw that retribution for all of his past sins had come.
“Did you notice what we are doing to your army?” he asked, pointing off to the destroyed gatehouse. “I am employing the same tactics that you and de Velt used in your conquest.”
The old knight’s gaze moved across the bailey, to the gatehouse, where men were being led to slaughter. He could hear the screams and groans of men as they were impaled.
“I see,” he said after a moment. “I assume you are going to do the same thing to me.”
Bretton’s expression remained impassive. “It would be justice for all of those people you put to the pole back in your day,” he said, “my father included.”
That brought a flicker of a reaction to the old knight. A flash of understanding, of realization, and nothing more. Now, the old knight knew why the enemy had come and things were starting to make some sense.
“Who was your father?” he asked calmly.
Bretton shook his head, feeling increasingly angry and embittered by the conversation. “Just a knight who was protecting his home,” he said. “You killed my father and, as a result, my mother killed herself and my sister. I was the only one who survived but because there was no one to take care of me, as a child, I was sold into a life of unimaginable horror. The only thing that kept me alive was knowing that, someday, I would be able to exact my revenge against de Velt. And here I am, preparing to exact my revenge against you and your family. How does it feel knowing that you will watch as I put your son and his family on poles? I will make you watch them as they squirm and bleed and die. How does it feel, de Gault?”
The old knight’s jaw was ticking slightly, the only indication of his emotion. He knew better than to beg. “I am an old man,” he said. “I have done things I am not proud of and if it is vengeance you seek, then I ask you to punish me. It is I who deserve it. Spare my family, for they have done nothing wrong.”
“My father did nothing wrong, either, but you killed him anyway!” Bretton exploded, yelling so loudly that it ruffled the front of de Gault’s hair. “My father was defending what belonged to him but you and de Velt took it anyway and you killed him for doing his duty. To Hell with you, de Gault. To Hell with you and the others who committed such atrocities against my family because now you are going to know what I suffered. You are going to feel that anguish, too.”
De Gault was a steely old man. He met Bretton’s gaze without emotion, at least outwardly, but the dark eyes were flickering with horror.
“I am sorry for what we did to your father,” he said evenly. “I am sorry for your pain, but it was a byproduct of conquest. If I could take it back, I would, but I beg you to spare my family. Please do not make them pay for my sins.”
Bretton was close to throttling the old man. He really was. How dare he beg for the life of his family when he, in his prime, would hear the pleadings of others to spare their loved ones but would pay no mind to them! Yet, somewhere in that swirling mist of turmoil that was in Bretton’s mind, a ray of light shone forth.I believe there is some good still left in you. Allaston’s word echoed in his head. Was it true? Or was he truly all monster, all Devil?
It seemed, to him, as if this was a pivotal moment. When he told Allaston of events at Comen Castle, he wanted to be truthful about it. He didn’t want to lie. Therefore, he needed to show mercy when he truly didn’t want to. But perhaps that was the true sign of a decent man– showing compassion when one was reluctant to. Pondering that very question, he turned to the nearest soldier.
“Keep these two here until I decide what’s to be done with them,” he told the man. “Under no circumstances will you listen to anyone else’s orders on their fate but mine. Is that understood?”
The soldier nodded. “Aye, my lord.”
Bretton had meant Grayton or Dallan, the two commanders who were very eager about putting men on spikes. Bretton didn’t want anything done with those knights, especially de Velt’s original knight, until he’d had a chance to decide their fates personally. Meanwhile, he headed to the kitchen to see to the lady of Comen and her daughters.
As he passed through the kitchen yard, which was twice the size of Cloryn’s kitchen yard and included a big chicken coop that his soldiers were raiding, he headed into the kitchen structure itself. Oddly, the box-shaped kitchen was built from a mixture of rock and wood, with a thatched roof that could easily catch fire. Poking his head inside, he could see a big bread oven and a butcher’s block. But there were no women waiting for him and he was coming to think that he’d been too late in sending Dallan to stave off his men’s lust.
Just as he was emerging from the kitchen, he heard a commotion off to his right and saw Dallan rounding the keep with a woman and thee girls in tow. The girls were weeping hysterically as the mother tried to comfort them, especially the oldest girl, who looked to be around six years of age. The mother was practically carrying her as the girl wept. As they drew closer, Bretton could see that the girl’s gown was badly torn.
Bretton stood there impassively, arms folded across his broad chest as they approached. Silently, he indicated for Dallan to take the women into the kitchen structure. Once the women were inside, Bretton had Dallan and the soldiers vacate the kitchen and take station outside in the kitchen yard until they were needed further. Then, Bretton went into the kitchen were the four women were trying to comfort one another.
It was a distressing scene to watch. The mother was being mostly stoic about the entire thing but it was clear she was quite terrified. Bretton had never given any thought to that kind of fear before but, because of Allaston, he was noticing now. The younger girls were perhaps five and four years of age, respectively, and they were clinging to each other in terror. After several moments of watching the group, Bretton cleared his throat softly.
“You, lady,” he said quietly. “What happened to your daughter?”
He pointed to the eldest girl with the torn dress. The mother, quivering, responded.
“The enemy soldiers did this,” she said. She wasn’t accusing, simply stating a fact. “They took her to sport.”
Bretton eyed the pale young girl with a big bruise on her left cheek. “Did they accomplish their task?” he asked. “Or did they simply beat her?”
The lady sighed heavily. “One of them mostly accomplished the task,” she said, trying not to cry. “But the others were prevented from following suit. It could have been much worse.”
She was trying very hard to be brave, which strangely impressed him. He saw something of Allaston there.
