Siege

Richard was roused from sleep by rough hands. His ears were greeted by the harsh sound of many men speaking loudly, and the clanging of metal as hauberks, gauntlets, and helmets were removed from weary bodies and thrown to the stone floor.

Since the arrival of the royal army at Toure, such sounds had become commonplace. The fact that he had not awoken until someone shook him should have spoken volumes to Richard about the state of his life in the past 6 months since the siege began, but the thought had long since occurred to him and vanished. He was far beyond the musings of the events that dictated his life, and had moved on to a mechanical drudgery- a seemingly unending string of similar days.

He rose quickly. The air was cool in the keep these days, and he shivered involuntarily. Orders to conserve wood had all but eliminated fires in the many hearths of the keep, so each morning had dawned a bit cooler with the approach of winter. He pulled on the beaten and tarnished chain mail shirt that he wore each day. He wore no tunic over it with the symbol of his lord. It had been ripped to shreds over the last several months during one of the enemy’s attempts to take the city walls by force. He took up his short sword, still sheathed from the previous day’s duty, and made no notice of the worn wooden haft or the plain, tattered leather scabbard that held it as he buckled it about his waist.

Richard did not say a word to any of the other men in the barracks room, and instead trudged past the rows of prone figures and groups of men who had just returned from duty without acknowledging their existence.

He had only finished relieving himself at the latrine by the main courtyard when a bell from the highest tower sounded a single note, calling the next shift of men to duty on the city walls. He hurried past the kitchens on his way to the walls and grabbed a hard biscuit from the larders. Times of siege meant that foodstuffs were scarce. Richard had, for the past two months, decided that the scarcity of food was the worst part of living under siege. The desperate battles on the walls, the uncertainty, the separation from his wife and sons- they were secondary. They were simply a way of life. But the food- oh for one bite of meat!

In the courtyard by the main gate of the keep, Richard met several other members of his company. Daniel Smith, James Cooper, and Harold Black were all gathered, waiting for him as they did each day.

Daniel, a tall, thin man with a bloody scar across his angular face and an old bandage stained with blood about his forehead, smiled when he caught sight of Richard. The sudden change to his expression did little to improve his looks.

"Richard!" he cried cheerfully, "We thought you might still be napping! Harry was about to check the bunks!"

Richard smiled a pale, shallow smile. Daniel had an unflinching optimism about him. Even in the worst of times, he always smiled. Richard knew he was trying the make a small joke, but his heart simply felt no joy at the jest. The smile felt foreign to him.

"Well?" asked Harry, "Move your feet, man, or we’ll be late. I won’t be pulling double duty because you made us late to the walls again!"

Richard picked up his pace, and hurried to where the men stood at the far gate. A group of nearly twenty men had gathered, all awaiting the opening of the gate so they could report to duty at various points in the city. The group got smaller each week. At the start of the siege, fifty men each morning had stood there laughing and talking as if all the royal soldiers in the world could never overcome the city’s defenders. Now, there were just these few, and all save Daniel and Harry were silent.