In the Shadow of Midnight - By Marsha Canham Page 0,24
armed insistence, to convince the mighty Black Wolf of Amboise he would heal faster at home.
Home, Eduard mused, gazing up at the formidable battlements.
Amboise Castle was designed like most Norman strongholds, with the original inner keep being the central structure around which the other buildings and wards had been added and built up over the generations. The main keep rose sixty feet from its widened base, buttressed by earthworks and protected by a draw that had rarely been raised over the past century, but which could, if necessary, seal off all access to the massive stone tower. The surrounding moat no longer held water except in times of heavy rains, and clusters of buildings had sprung up around the earthworks to house the barracks, stables, armoury, psalteries, cook houses, smithy, and weavers cottages—all comprising a small community contained within the inner curtain wall, a block and mortar barrier fifteen feet high, guarded by double-leaf iron doors and flanked by tall, square watchtowers.
This was the heart of Amboise, and to reach the heart, one had to successfully breach a well-defended outer bailey, which contained among other things, the practice fields and tilting grounds, also the pens and stables that housed the livestock.
A second wall enclosed this outer bailey and was the castle’s first defense. Built strong enough to withstand attack by catapult, battering ram, or trebuchet, the fortified battlements were forty feet high and eight feet thick, faced with rough-cut limestone blocks mortared around a core of rock rubble. Entrance was gained through the huge iron portcullis gate, which required the combined efforts of ten men on winches to raise and lower. The jagged iron teeth were suspended no higher than the measure of a man on horseback, the spikes held so tautly on their chains as to hum ominously in any breath of wind.
The flanking barbican towers were, in turn, built like small fortresses, the walls thick enough to house passageways for archers, and slotted with chutes for pouring boiling oil and pitch on the heads of would-be attackers. No one passing through the main gates was not well and truly aware of the strength of the garrison patrolling the crenellated battlements, or doubted that the other towers constructed at hundred-foot intervals along the span of the wall were equally prepared to discourage unwelcome visitors. Day and night the walls were manned by sentries whose armour, swords, and helms reflected jabbing needles of light to observers from the village below. Each boldly displayed the black and gold device of Randwulf de la Seyne Sur Mer, bearing the menacing depiction of a prowling wolf, the head full-faced and snarling.
The Wolf’s pennants had not always flown over Amboise. The castle and its vast adjoining demesnes had been deeded to La Seyne Sur Mer as a reward for his many years of faithful service to Eleanor of Aquitaine. He had taken up residence fourteen years ago, the same summer he had wed Lady Servanne de Briscourt; the same summer he had fought a Dragon and outwitted a future king.
Up until then, the Wolf had been content to roam the tournament circuits of Europe as the dowager’s champion, known to all who dreaded his appearance in the lists as the Scourge of Mirebeau. Under the black armour and black silk mask that had been his trademark was another identity he had preferred to put behind him for over a decade—that of Lucien Wardieu, Baron de Gournay, rightful heir to rich estates in Lincolnshire that had been won by his great-grandfather when the Normans had first wrested England from the Saxons.
Lucien had had a brother, bastard-born and weaned on jealousy and malice. As close alike as twins, Etienne had followed Lucien Wardieu on crusade to Palestine where, under cover of a bloody battle for the Holy City, he had ambushed the De Gournay heir and left him to die under the hot desert sun. Returning to England in triumph, Etienne had then assumed the guise of his dead brother, and for the next thirteen years had ruled Lincolnshire as Lucien Wardieu, Dragon Lord of Bloodmoor Keep.
Unbeknownst to the Dragon, his brother had not died. Through a dark mist of treachery and deceit, the Wolf had survived, had worked to heal his ravaged mind and body, and, by dint of loyal service to the dowager queen, transformed himself into Randwulf de la Seyne Sur Mer, one of the most feared and respected knights in all of Europe.
When Lord Randwulf, on a mission for the queen, had