Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(10)

Gaetan spoke in the Anglo-Saxon’s language, something his bedslave, an Anglo-Saxon woman he’d purchased several years ago, had taught him. He was rather fluent in it so he knew the soldier could understand him. But the soldier struggled against him, quite literally fighting for his life.

“I do not know!” the soldier insisted.

It was the wrong answer. Gaetan’s grip on the man tightened. “Tell me or I will slit your silly throat and find someone else who will tell me what I wish to know,” he said. “Where is your king?”

The man didn’t answer him. In fact, he was trying to hurt Gaetan’s horse by kicking the animal in the knees as his legs dangled off the ground. Using that sharp dagger again, Gaetan held true to his promise and the dead soldier slithered to the ground with a mortal knife wound in his neck. Now, Gaetan needed another victim and he quickly spied one nearby.

This victim was smaller, lining up a bow and arrow on one of Gaetan’s knights. Before the arrow could fly, however, Gaetan grabbed the archer from behind and hauled him onto his horse.

“Tell me where your king is,” Gaetan demanded. “If you do not, you will end up dead like many of your comrades. Tell me quickly!”

He had the archer by the throat but the sound that came forth from his captive wasn’t that of a man. It was a female, now gasping in fear and anger as a Norman had her by the throat. She started to swing her fists.

“Let me go!” she demanded. “Release me or I will kill you!”

Frankly, Gaetan was shocked that a woman had been in the midst of the battle. It was enough of a shock that he stopped trying to squeeze her throat. “A female?” he said, sounding somewhat incredulous. “What foolish commander allows women to fight?”

She twisted violently and he caught a glimpse of her face; dressed as an archer as she was, including a cap, at a distance she could very easily be mistaken for a boy but now that he was close to her, he could see that she was no boy. In fact, her features were quite exquisite.

“I can kill you just as easily as a man can,” she hissed. “Let me go and I will give you a fair fight, poubelle.”

She’d called him rubbish in his own language, which was definitely an insult. She wanted to anger him. The trouble was that he found her challenge rather humorous.

“It would be a two-hit fight,” he told her drolly. “I would hit you and you would hit the ground. Now, where is your king? Tell me and I shall show mercy.”

“I will tell you nothing!”

“You are brave for a skinny little mouse.”

That comment seemed to infuriate her, which amused him. She was in a frantic state between terror and rage, but Gaetan had her over his saddle so that she couldn’t move very well and couldn’t get to any weapons she might have on her body. Every time she tried to rise, he would slam her head down again. The second time, he’d hit her rather hard and stars had danced before her eyes. The third time, he’d slapped her on the arse and she’d bellowed unhappily. Then came de Lara aboard his bloodied charger.

“Gate!” he shouted. “With me!”

A command from Luc de Lara wasn’t meant to be questioned. Gaetan tossed the woman over the side of his horse, listening to her grunt as she landed in a heap.

“Not this time, little mouse,” he told her, perhaps with a bit of taunt in his tone. “This time, you are spared. Remember Norman mercy the next time you intend to do one of us harm.”

As she sat up, rubbing her shoulder where she’d hit the ground, Gaetan spun his horse around and took off after Luc. Quickly, he reached the man’s side.

“Kristoph said that Harold has been killed,” Gaetan said. “Is there truth in this?”

Luc simply motioned to Gaetan to follow and the two of them skirted part of the Anglo-Saxon encampment to where a contingent of Normans stood in a cluster, fighting off Anglo-Saxon soldiers who were trying to get through them. It was clear that they were guarding something and Gaetan followed Luc as the man pushed through the soldiers only to be confronted by a man on the ground and several others standing over him. Luc dismounted swiftly, followed by Gaetan, and they pushed through the crowd.

“There,” Luc said, pointing to the man on the ground. “This has been identified as Harold Godwinson.”

Gaetan could only see the legs at that point. “By whom?” he asked.

Luc looked at the Anglo-Saxon soldiers who were trying to fight through the Normans to get to the corpse. “An Anglo-Saxon knight identified him to me right before he took his own life. I am not sure if he was a personal guard to Harold and failed at his duty to protect the man, but it is evident that he no longer wished to live in light of his king’s death.”

Extreme if not understandable behavior, Gaetan thought, but he wasn’t entirely convinced. He shifted positions so he could gain a better look at the body. It was of an older man, well-dressed and well-fed, but that was where any semblance of identification ended. There was nothing on the man that would give an indication as to who he was, no belts or vests or colors.

The corpse had an arrow shaft sticking out of the left eye and the face was battered in general, muddied and grossly swollen. The body looked as if it had been tossed onto the ground because it was lying in a strange position. All around it, men were still fighting. As Gaetan watched, someone even kicked the corpse in the head.