realised that the first line of attackers were using rams to knock down the wall! Worse, they did not approach the strongest part of the wall near the gate; they used their weapons on the newest section, the weakest part. She needed to get past the very place that they were battering down.
Rushing along the path, avoiding the soldiers running to take their places and listening to her people crying out in terror, Sybilla tried to focus on all that Gareth had told her. Instead, every time the walls shook, she paused. Then, her worst fear was realised as the ram did its horrible task and the section of the wall in front of her shattered and fell.
Until Sybilla regained consciousness, she did not know she’d lost it.
She struggled to get to her feet, but her head ached and dizziness made her nauseous. She reached up to push off the blinding bandage that covered her head and eyes and discovered it was not a bandage blocking her sight at all—she was blind.
‘Here now, lady,’ a familiar voice whispered to her. Aldys, her maid’s mother, touched her face, drew the bandages back into place and eased her back down. ‘You were injured, my lady. You must lie still,’ she warned.
Sybilla tried to touch her face, her eyes, but Aldys brushed her hands aside. Panic filled her and she felt the very breath in her lungs being squeezed out. Then another woman took her hands and held them.
‘Lady, they have broken in through the wall and are at the doors of the keep. Gareth said you must stay here,’ Gytha, her maid, whispered. ‘Some of the rock hit you on the head, on your eyes, and there is much bleeding.’ The pressure on her head eased, but returned quickly. ‘We are trying to stop the bleeding.’
‘I cannot see,’ she whispered. ‘I cannot see!’ Sybilla could feel her control slipping away and terror of a new kind filling her heart and soul.
‘Hush now, lady,’ Aldys soothed. ‘We will see to your injury. All will be well.’
The pain grew and grew until she felt faint, but the sound of the keep’s doors being destroyed shook her awake. Then the great wooden doors crashed apart and the sound of fighting spilled into the keep.
‘Gytha,’ she moaned out. ‘You must get the children to safety now.’
‘‘Tis too late, my lady,’ her maid answered.
Suddenly, she was pulled to her feet and dragged along by some unseen hands. Women screamed and she was jostled as they struggled against the strong grasp of whoever had come into the keep. Then, just as suddenly, she was tossed to the floor. Clutching her head, she tried to sit up, but could not. Then Aldys gathered her in her arms and she heard Gytha on her other side.
Chaos and terror reigned and Sybilla screamed along with them. She had seen the enemy and knew without doubt that he would slaughter them all. She suspected it might have been his intent all along, for he’d not paused or asked for a parley as others might have. Listening without being able to see only heightened the fear for her; hearing her people being tormented and harmed tore her heart apart, piece by piece.
Is that what he wanted here? To destroy everything her father had built and nurtured? What kind of man would do such a thing? Her unspoken question was answered moments later when a silence so deep she thought she must have fainted filled the hall.
She heard not a sound, not even the breathing of those around her in those tension-filled moments. Then, just when she thought she would scream out, the whispered prayers of the women at her sides reached her. They were praying for mercy!
‘Bring those who survive before me.’
It had to be him! The dark giant who commanded the forces. The devil on horseback who had destroyed her home and killed her people. Before she could gather any shards of courage together, she was pulled to her feet once more and towards the voice. Aldys and Gytha protected her on each side, still whispering prayers for protection to any saint who would listen. She heard words like ‘monster’ and ‘demon’ and ‘devil’ whispered by those around her and she trembled, unable to mask her own terror. Soon, he called out for silence and everyone obeyed.
‘I am Soren Fitzrobert, now lord of these lands.’
Those around her gasped at his words. The first surprise was that he spoke in their tongue and not the Norman one, but it was his declaration that sliced her to the core. Her family had owned and ruled these lands for generations, one of the proud and mighty Saxon families who counselled the king and the Witan. Sybilla felt her body shake and she reached out to Aldys and Gytha for support.
‘Do not beg for mercy, for I have none for those faithful to Durward the Traitor. Only those who swear allegiance to me will live.’
Shock ran through those listening. Sybilla shook her head. How could he demand such a thing? How could he execute those who owed their living to her father? His cold voice and emotionless commands chilled her soul and she knew she had no chance. Had he already killed Gareth and the others? Without being able to see, she did not know and that was in some ways worse.
‘Aldys,’ she whispered, ‘is Gareth here?’
‘Hush, lady. The warrior approaches.’
Sybilla could hear his heavy steps coming nearer, so she clutched Aldys and Gytha, her chest tight with fear. His words, spoken so close to her she could almost feel his breath, did nothing to ease her fears.
‘I will, however, show mercy to any of you who tell me of Durward’s get. Where is his daughter?’
Again, shocked whispers spread through the room, halted only by his angry voice.
‘I will have you all killed unless someone tells me where she is.’
His voice spoke of his true intentions. Cold, without feeling or mercy, it revealed the truth of his words—he would kill them all. Would he stand by his word and not kill them if she stepped forwards? Was it simply a ploy on his part?
‘Stay, lady,’ Aldys warned under her breath. ‘Your time is running out,’ he called out. ‘Guermont, bring the archers. It will be easier that way,’ he coldly ordered.
Some of the women screamed then, children cried out and the crowd surged and stumbled as they were pushed back and back until they could not move any further. Sybilla realised they were being placed against the wall, easier targets for the demon’s archers. Through it all, no one identified her as the lord’s daughter. They would die for her, she knew it in her bones. She also knew that, even if it meant her death, she could not allow them to do so. Though Aldys and Gytha kept hold of her, she pulled free and stepped away from them.
‘Soren Fitzrobert,’ she said, her voice trembling even as she tried to steady it and herself.
Sybilla tried not to shake and the sounds of his spurs scraping on the stone floor approached. Remembering his size, she knew it would take only one blow to bring her death. The pounding pain in her head grew with each passing second and she knew she would not be able to stand much longer without help. The sound of his breathing came from above her head and she fought the urge to reach out to steady herself.
Straightening up as much as she could, wincing against the tightness of the bandage and the feel of her blood trickling down her neck from the wound on her head, she said the words that would save her people and damn herself.
‘I am Sybilla of Alston, Lord Durward’s daughter.’
