to up shields and hunker down. His shouts went unheeded, for the other knights were suddenly fighting their own mounts. The poor brutes, already frightened by the scent of smoke and blood and the sight of the other animals flailing around, broke and ran.
The soldiers could no longer hold their terrified mounts.
The wagon drivers, fearful and shaking in their cloaks, had long since halted their teams. The commander of the guard—one of the two fellas I had first seen—spurred his mount into the middle of the road and began shouting at his men. Black arrows cut his horse from under him just that quick, and he had to throw himself from the saddle to avoid being crushed.
Dragging himself to his feet, he shouted to his men once more, trying to rally them to his side. Then, over and above the shouts and confusion, there arose a cry from the wood the like of which I had never heard before: the tortured shriek of a creature enraged and in terrible agony, and it echoed through the trees so that no one could tell whence it came.
The sound faded into a tense and uneasy silence. The Norman soldiers put hands to their weapons, turning this way and that, ready to defend themselves against whatever might come.
The screech rang out again, closer this time—devilishly close—and, if possible, even louder and angrier.
Three more horses went down, and the last followed in turn. Now all the knights were afoot, their mounts dead or dying. Oh, but it was a sorrowful sight—those proud destriers flailing away in the bloodred snow. It fair brought a sorry tear to the eye to see such fine animals slaughtered, I can tell you.
The commander of the knights summoned his soldiers to him. They seized their lances and hastened to join their commander. Back-to-back, weapons drawn, they formed a tight circle and waited behind their long, pointed shields for the next flight of cursed black arrows.
For a moment, all was quiet save for the quick breathing of the men and the neighing of the wounded horses. And then . . .
I saw a clump of snow fall from an elm branch overhead, sending a glistening curtain of down upon the road. When the frozen dust settled, there he was: King Raven. Black as Satan’s tongue from the crown of his head to booted feet, and covered all over with feathers, great wings outspread with long, curving claws on the ends. But the thing which gave him the look of the pit was the absolutely smooth, round skull-like face with its wide hollow eyes and unnaturally long sword of a beak.
King Raven—it could be none other.
The knights saw this phantom creature and shrank back at the sight. I forgave them their fright. I felt it, too. Indeed, it seemed as if the day, already cold and dim, grew cold and dark as the grave in the moment of his appearing.
That dread beak rose slowly until it pointed straight up toward the dense webwork of snow-laden branches and boughs. The creature loosed another of its horrific cries. As if in reply, I saw a bright flicker in the air, and a flaming brand landed in the snow midway between King Raven and the cowering knights. Another joined the first—more or less the same distance from the knights, but behind them. Then a third fell behind the second—to the left of the huddled body of knights this time. A fourth fell among the others, on the opposite side of the third. I saw it arc high through the surrounding trees, and before it had even touched the ground, three more were in the air.
The knights, stunned and lifeless with disbelief, were ringed about with fire. The torches sputtered in the snow, sending thick black smoke boiling up through the down-drifting flakes.
So far, all had fallen out as planned, and I imagined we would escape clean away with the goods. But bad luck has a knack for catching a fella when he least can abide it. Even as our numb fingers reached for victory, ill fortune arrived in the person of Abbot Hugo. Dressed in a white satin robe with white leather boots and a woollen cloak of rich dark purple, he appeared more king than cleric as he came galloping into the clearing. With him was Marshal Guy de Gysburne, commanding a small company of oafish louts spoiling for a fight.
Truth be told, at the time I did not know who these men might