Captured by the Warrior. Meriel Fuller

the thought of tip-toeing through a field loomed before her as a daunting prospect. She gritted her teeth—think of Thomas. He would go to their father, he would find him. But Thomas was not here; it was her responsibility.

      The spongy earth pulled at her boots as she advanced stealthily. In front of her, a high earth bank topped with a hedge obscured her view of the battlefield. Hoping it would also hide her from the enemy, she pulled herself up the loose earth of the bank, digging her fingers into the gnarled beech roots as a makeshift lever and hoisted her slight figure up to peer through the bare branches.

      Bodies lay everywhere. A slight sound of horror emerged from her lips as she squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to look at the carnage strewn before her. Her fingers curled around the branch, the twiggy whorls cutting into her flesh. How could she? How could she walk through these dead and dying men? And what if her father was one of them? The thought galvanised her—she had to find him! Through the net of branches, she could see a group of soldiers, King Henry’s soldiers, thank the Lord, making their way up the hill, battle-worn, bleeding, but thankfully alive. Springing down backwards, Alice entered the field through a gateway further down the bank, and began to pick her way warily across.

      ‘What’s happening?’ She ran up to the soldiers, the air of defeat surrounding them like a cloak.

      The tallest one eyed her warily, obviously puzzled by the young boy’s presence in such a place. ‘They won, we lost. Simple as that.’ He spat on to the ground.

      ‘Then why—?’

      ‘Why aren’t we prisoners? They let the common soldiers go; it’s only the noblemen they want, and they’ve got them,’ the soldier growled out between his blackened teeth.

      ‘Let’s keep going,’ growled another, and made as if to push past her.

      ‘Wait a moment, please.’ Alice’s voice rose a little higher, and the tall man looked at her sharply. She lowered her head quickly, realising that her voice had been too high for a young lad. ‘Have you seen my father, the physician? Do you know him? He came this way to help tend some men.’

      The soldiers looked at each other. ‘I’m sorry, lad, but he was taken, along with the rest of them. Look, over there.’

      Alice screwed her eyes up against the freshening wind, following the soldier’s pointing finger to search the horizon. And then she saw it. A long snake of walking knights, trudging wearily away between the white tunics of the Yorkist horsemen. She hoped with all her heart that these soldiers were wrong, that her father wasn’t among them. But, for her own peace of mind, and for Thomas, she knew she had to find out for herself.

      Chapter Three

      The loose chain of prisoners straggled up the hill, shoulders slumped, feet shuffling over the crumbling earth of the track. Yorkist soldiers flanked the line of men on either side, hemming them in with the strong, shining flanks of their destriers. At this shambling speed, the journey back to Ludlow and the Duke of York’s castle would take at least a day and a half, allowing for a night’s rest in between.

      As they mounted the hill, the green lushness of the river valley receding, the countryside opened out, spread, studded here and there with a massive oak, or a small grove of beech trees. With the sun warming the back of his neck, Bastien pushed his soles against his metal stirrups, raising himself in the saddle to stretch and flex the muscles in his legs. He baulked at this ambling speed, more familiar with the rapid movement of professional soldiers, but he resisted the temptation to break into a full gallop to break the monotony of the journey.

      ‘I’m not sure about that one, my lord.’ Alfric, one of Bastien’s younger knights, rode alongside him at the back of the line of prisoners. He nodded towards an older man, not dressed for battle, who strode with the others. ‘Maybe we should let him go? He’s no knight.’

      ‘Nay,’ Bastien agreed, ‘but he’s certainly a nobleman.’ He pushed his visor upwards, relishing the fresh air on his skin, his high cheekbones still flushed from the exertion of the battle. ‘Look at his clothes.’ Although the man’s garments were of a simple cut, his cote-hardie was fashioned from a fine silk-woollen material, shot through with gold thread and his boots were of good leather. ‘And there’s another very important reason why we cannot let him go.’

      Alfric’s eyes widened

      ‘He’s a physician,’ Bastien replied, grinning at the fervent curiosity in the young man’s face, ‘and obviously well known among these noblemen; most of them call him by his first name. He can help tend to the injuries…on both sides.’

      ‘They endured more losses,’ Alfric interjected. ‘A good victory, methinks.’

      ‘Undoubtedly,’ Bastien murmured, but a hollowness clawed at his heart. There was no joy in following the hunched, defeated knights as they bobbed forlornly in front of him, no elation in this victory. He was tired, that was all, tired of the endless fighting, the bloodshed, and he had had no time to rest before this latest fight against the House of Lancaster.

      His head jerked around suddenly to the row of trees over to his right, catching a tiny movement out of the corner of his eye. The trees were a couple of fields away; he scanned the dark trunks, the hedgeline, unsure that he’d seen anything—a flash…of blue, maybe? Something untoward, anyway, something not quite right. His green eyes narrowed, emerald chips as he pulled gently on the reins, slowing his horse.

      ‘What is it?’ Alfric hissed.

      ‘I think someone is following us,’ Bastien replied quietly. ‘Alfric, you stay here, maintain the rear guard. I’ll have a snoop around these woods.’ Knees gripping at the saddle sides, he yanked his helmet off, dumping the heavy, shining metal into Alfric’s lap. ‘Hold on to this, I have no need of it.’ Clods of earth flew up as Bastien kicked the horse into a gallop, thundering towards the tree line, reining in sharply at the serried oak trunks. The wood was overgrown, impenetrable; he would have to search on foot. Jumping down lightly, he secured the horse to a branch, noting the position of the sun to gain his bearings.

      After the clamour and mayhem of the battle, he relished the quiet hush of the forest, the damp smell of the vegetation crushed beneath his boots. Despite his muscles easing, every sense remained open, alert to the tiniest noise, the smallest movement. He was certain now that he’d seen a glimmer of blue in his peripheral vision; if someone was tracking them, then he would find them. Bastien plunged through the thick undergrowth, brambles tearing at his surcoat, snagging in his hair. For a moment, he stood still, listening, hearing only the marching feet and shouts of the army he’d just left.

      The breeze lifted the branches, a sighing sound. And then he heard it. A cough, hurriedly smothered. Bastien smiled to himself, locating the position instantly, beginning to pad forwards on silent feet. If the years of war had taught him anything at all, it was how to approach the enemy without being heard or seen.

      As she watched the large knight break away from the back of the prisoners, Alice’s heart plummeted with fear, annoyed with herself that some noise, some moment of inattention, had led to her being spotted. Up to now, she had been congratulating herself on how well she was managing to keep up without being seen.

      Her natural athleticism, so heavily condemned by her mother and the other ladies at court, served her well, enabling her to sprint across the fields, to jump and climb. Many happy days in her youth had been spent with her brother, scrambling through the forests and valleys, much to her mother’s disgust. Now that she was older, and had to behave in a manner befitting a lady at court, she relished any opportunity to be in the open air, to race about.

      Except now…now it had all become a bit more serious. Her palms scraped against nubbled bark and her knees wobbled as she peeked around to see where the knight had gone. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but he was too far away for her to determine exactly what it was. Now would be the time to turn and run, to speed all the way home and raise the alarm. But nay, she told herself sternly, that was the way of the weak and she had travelled too far to abandon her father when she was so close. Lord knows what they would do with