Garron said, “It will be all right. Now, you said there are only a score of our people here besides you, Miggins, and Eller?”
Tupper nodded.
“You said no one could come back after the Black Demon left. Why is this? And why did no one go hunting in the Forest of Glen for food?”
“After the Black Demon left, those who were able went to hunt game, but the Demon’s men were lying in wait and killed them. We thought we could fish, but he’d left men on the beach as well, hiding in those fang-toothed rocks. A few have managed to sneak back in during the night, though I thought they are mad to do so since there is naught here but misery.”
Miggins said, “Three more men went out again three days later. The soldiers were hiding, jest waiting for us to come out. They killed our three men. No one else went outside the walls.”
Tupper said, “Turp, the blacksmith, was hiding in the Forest of Glen. He came back today jest when dusk was falling, said the soldiers were gone, and begged Tupper to lower the drawbridge and raise the portcullis and let him enter because he’d brought game, and he had, but only two small pheasants, barely more than a single bite for each of us. Have ye food? He and Eller were going to go back to the forest at first light to hunt. Everyone else is too weak.”
So that was why they were starving. Garron wondered how many had died, but he didn’t want to know at the moment. He heard his men whispering behind their hands. Since he was the only one who had lived at Wareham, only he knew that dozens upon dozens of people had once lived within the walls, that the inner bailey usually rang with noise and activity, shouts, curses, laughter. The pervasive silence was like a heavy weight on his shoulders.
He shouted, hoping to reach every corner of the inner bailey, “I will set everything aright. Come out now.” He looked again at Tupper. “Did Lord Arthur ever mention another man he considered a particular enemy?”
Tupper whispered, “There were always enemies, my lord, but none like this one, this one who loved the smell of death, the screams of those he tortured. He took pleasure in destroying us when he didn’t find Lord Arthur’s silver coins. He yelled over and over, ‘Tis a just Retribution, but if ye give me the silver coins I’ll stop.’”
Miggins said, “First, he tortured the soldiers who’d survived the fighting, but they couldn’t tell him anything because they didn’t know, and so those few who didn’t escape died. And then he turned to us. He didn’t stop. Ye’ll see the blood dried on the stones, my lord, black now, so much.”
Tupper whispered, “When I saw ye, young Garron, I thought he was returning, and my heart withered in my breast, and I could not answer ye.” Tupper’s voice hitched. “But it was ye, thank the good Lord. We’ve buried all in the cemetery behind the castle. There were so many, my lord.” Then Tupper began to cry, deep wracking sobs. Before Garron could move, Miggins put her thin arms around Tupper’s bony shoulders. Her broken old voice suddenly sounded strong. “The new master is here, Tupper. All will be well again. He will set everything to rights now.”
Garron certainly intended to. Who was the Black Demon? He would find out soon enough, but first things first. Garron mounted the deep stone steps and entered the great hall, Aleric and his men behind him, standing alert, hands on their swords and knives, ready for anything. Where were the people who remained? Hiding still, he thought.
The great hall of Wareham was as black as a cave. Light was the first order of business. Gilpin and Pali followed Miggins and her single candle into the granary, where she showed them rush torches piled up against a wall, ready for use. Once they were lighted and fastened into wall sconces, people began to make their way into the great hall. Miggins stood on the top stairs of the keep, cupped her mouth, and yelled, “’Tis safe now. Come out, the new master is here! He will feed us! Come out, Lord Garron is here! We have light.”
As people crept into the great hall, all of them frightened, ragged, starving, Garron said over and over, “All will be well now. We have food enough so everyone
will have something to eat. Do not fear me, I am Lord Garron. Come in, come in.” He turned to Aleric. “None of us need to eat tonight. We can wait to fill our bellies after we hunt tomorrow.” He looked at his people’s faces as Hobbs and Gilpin divvied up all the food Garron and his men had with them. This ragtag lot of people were his. He counted heads. Only twenty-two, twelve women, ten old men, no children. Their gaunt faces, however, were no longer blank with despair; he saw burgeoning hope.
Everyone slowly ate the bread and beef strips, savoring every single chew. What of his farmsteads? What of his two villages? He would find out on the morrow.
Everyone was still hungry, of course, but at least now they had something in their bellies. And at least the Black Demon hadn’t poisoned the castle’s well.
In a castle that housed more than one hundred souls, fifty of them soldiers, he had only twenty-two people left, his own three soldiers, and his squire. As he looked out at those faces, he smiled. Tomorrow he would find out what skills he had remaining in his castle other than his armorer, Eller, and Turp the blacksmith.
Aleric came to him. “I had hoped more poor souls would straggle in, and thus we did not raise the drawbridge or lower the portcullis when we came in. But it’s late now. I sent Gilpin and Hobbs to close us in for the night.” Aleric shook his head. “How Tupper managed to raise the portcullis as high as he did, well, I believe it was God himself helped turn that winch. The chain is thicker than he is.” He looked at the scraggly group of people, still huddled together, heard some conversation amongst them now, and that was heartening. “We also searched both the outer and inner baileys but saw no one else.”
Garron nodded. “I still cannot believe this Black Demon left men outside the walls to kill anyone who came out to hunt.”
“He wanted all those left to starve,”Aleric said matter-of-factly. “He wanted no witnesses to what he had done. That action alone bespeaks a rancid soul, Garron, a soul the Devil stole years ago.”
Garron could not disagree.
It took a crackling laugh from old Miggins to cool the rage in his blood.
At least the weather was warm, Garron thought, when he wrapped himself in a blanket late that night to sleep near the great doors, the double thick wooden bars in place. He prayed the weather would hold. Two more days without rain, that’s all he’d pray for, no more. He didn’t want to tempt the fates. He’d briefly gone up the keep stairs to the solar and looked into the bedchambers. All the beds were broken apart, the few rugs in the master’s bedchamber gone. There was naught but mayhem, willful and vicious. Arthur’s enemy, this Black Demon, had been thorough.
But not the castle well, thank God, not the castle well.
Life, he thought, had changed irrevocably. Now life was about survival, not basking in a joyful homecoming. Not just his survival, but the survival of the souls who were now sleeping on the stone floor in the great hall. His souls. And they depended entirely on him.
The Retribution—what an odd thing to call the reign of terror that had very nearly consumed Wareham Castle. He wished now he hadn’t stopped at Oxborough Castle to give the king’s message to the Earl of Oxborough. If only he’d come here directly—but no, what difference would two days make? Not that much.
He waited until he knew all his people were sleeping before he let his mind stop making its endless lists and drift into sleep. His last thought was of the Black Demon, the man from whom Arthur had stolen silver coins.
7
Despite the Retribution, Wareham Castle was magnificent, Merry thought as she chewed on a small bit of bread Lord Garron’s squire gave her. The coarse brown bread was stale and gritty and tasted wonderful. Of course she’d recognized him; he was the first one who’d called out to her when she’d hidden. She said, “What is your name?”