Sword for Hire (Border Wars Book 1) Read online

  Sword for Hire

  Book 1

  in the

  Border Knight Series

  By

  Griff Hosker

  Published by Sword Books Ltd 2017

  Copyright © Griff Hosker First Edition

  The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  Book list

  Ancient History

  The Sword of Cartimandua Series (Germania and Britannia 50A.D. – 128 A.D.)

  Ulpius Felix- Roman Warrior (prequel)

  Book 1 The Sword of Cartimandua

  Book 2 The Horse Warriors

  Book 3 Invasion Caledonia

  Book 4 Roman Retreat

  Book 5 Revolt of the Red Witch

  Book 6 Druid’s Gold

  Book 7 Trajan’s Hunters

  Book 8 The Last Frontier

  Book 9 Hero of Rome

  Book 10 Roman Hawk

  Book 11 Roman Treachery

  Book 12 Roman Wall

  The Aelfraed Series (Britain and Byzantium 1050 A.D. - 1085 A.D.

  Book 1 Housecarl

  Book 2 Outlaw

  Book 3 Varangian

  The Wolf Warrior series (Britain in the late 6th Century)

  Book 1 Saxon Dawn

  Book 2 Saxon Revenge

  Book 3 Saxon England

  Book 4 Saxon Blood

  Book 5 Saxon Slayer

  Book 6 Saxon Slaughter

  Book 7 Saxon Bane

  Book 8 Saxon Fall: Rise of the Warlord

  Book 9 Saxon Throne

  The Dragon Heart Series

  Book 1 Viking Slave

  Book 2 Viking Warrior

  Book 3 Viking Jarl

  Book 4 Viking Kingdom

  Book 5 Viking Wolf

  Book 6 Viking War

  Book 7 Viking Sword

  Book 8 Viking Wrath

  Book 9 Viking Raid

  Book 10 Viking Legend

  Book 11 Viking Vengeance

  Book 12 Viking Dragon

  Book 13 Viking Treasure

  Book 14 Viking Enemy

  Book 15 Viking Witch

  Bool 16 Viking Blood

  Book 17 Viking Weregeld

  Book 18 Viking Storm

  The Norman Genesis Series

  Rolf

  Horseman

  The Battle for a Home

  Revenge of the Franks

  The Land of the Northmen

  Ragnvald Hrolfsson

  The Anarchy Series England 1120-11 80

  English Knight

  Knight of the Empress

  Northern Knight

  Baron of the North

  Earl

  King Henry’s Champion

  The King is Dead

  Warlord of the North

  Enemy at the Gate

  Warlord's War

  Kingmaker

  Henry II

  Crusader

  The Welsh Marches

  Border Knight 1190-1300

  Sword for Hire

  Modern History

  The Napoleonic Horseman Series

  Book 1 Chasseur a Cheval

  Book 2 Napoleon’s Guard

  Book 3 British Light Dragoon

  Book 4 Soldier Spy

  Book 5 1808: The Road to Corunna

  Waterloo

  The Lucky Jack American Civil War series

  Rebel Raiders

  Confederate Rangers

  The Road to Gettysburg

  The British Ace Series

  1914

  1915 Fokker Scourge

  1916 Angels over the Somme

  1917 Eagles Fall

  1918 We will remember them

  From Arctic Snow to Desert Sand

  Combined Operations series 1940-1945

  Commando

  Raider

  Behind Enemy Lines

  Dieppe

  Toehold in Europe

  Sword Beach

  Breakout

  The Battle for Antwerp

  King Tiger

  Beyond the Rhine

  Other Books

  Carnage at Cannes (a thriller)

  Great Granny’s Ghost (Aimed at 9-14-year-old young people)

  Adventure at 63-Backpacking to Istanbul

  Prologue

  Arsuf, Outremer- 1191

  The day my father died was the worst day of my life and, at the same time, the best. I lost a true hero of England and a father whom I adored and I was knighted by King Richard of England. You remember such days in great detail. Every action, every moment is etched into your soul and you never forget any of it. It was the day I lost everything. It was the day I had to begin my life over.

  My father was the third Earl of Cleveland. He had been born in the Holy Land where my grandfather, William of Aqua Bella, had been a crusader. My grandmother was Jewish. She had always been worried about what the Normans at court might think of her and so she had stayed in my grandfather’s castle in Stockton until the day she died. She had loved that green and verdant valley which had been such a contrast to her home in the east. My grandfather had died fighting the Scots. My grandmother had followed him soon after. They had been buried in a tomb within the church of Stockton Castle. It was our family church and our entire family were buried there. When my mother had died giving birth to what would have been my sister, Matilda, my father who was broken hearted, took the cross and followed King Richard to the Crusades. He took it as a sign that he ought to do something to honour her memory. He took with him the knights from the valley. They were his oathsworn. They were the best of the best.

  I remember every moment of that fateful day. My name, Thomas of Stockton, would be forever associated with that great victory over the Seljuk Turk and Ayyubid warriors. My father, Sir Samuel, had been with King Richard when we had followed the wild Hospitaller’s charge. My father’s conroi was always close to the king. My family had been defenders of the royal family since the time of the first King Henry. As his squire, I had been behind my father with his standard. The Turks were fierce warriors. My grandfather had told us of his battles with them and neither my father nor myself underestimated their skills. My father had not brought men at arms with him. He had left those to guard our home and the valley. The legendary archers who had been raised by my great grandfather, known as the Warlord, also remained to protect our people from the ravages of the Scots. Instead we had brought the knights from the valley. On that day as my father led his knights across the coastal plain to follow King Richard’s banner I was a young squire and my journey to become a knight had barely begun.

  I remember every vivid detail of that charge. Richard of Hartburn rode on my father’s right; as he always did. Roger of Norton, a doughty warrior with arms like young oaks, rode on his left. William of Elton and Ralph of Thornaby flanked those. I was the eldest of the squires and I rode in the centre of the rest. My father’s war horse, Storm Bringer, dwarfed my palfrey, Skuld, but I would not swap them. My horse was descended from a line which went back to my grandfather and the eldest was always named Skuld. I knew that I would need every ounce of my palfrey’s skill. We were riding against Turks. Their horse archers were deadly and we rare
ly charged them. Later, long after the battle was over, when scarred and battered knights, much more senior than I, discussed the battle they said that had not Garnier de Nablus, the Master of the Hospitallers lost his head and charged recklessly then we would have retired to Arsuf and the battle might not have been won. I was there and I was not certain. I was just a lowly squire clinging on to a banner with a yellow gryphon on a blue background.

  We charged after our lord. King Richard was a leader that all men would follow. Guy de Lusignan, the King of Jerusalem was just a figurehead. Even the French warriors followed Richard. My father led his household knights as close to the king as he could manage. It meant risking death for every Turk and Ayyubid was trying to kill our king. It was a point of honour for my father.

  A battle never unfolds the way you expect it to. Before you charge you assume that all the lines will be straight; the ground will be flat and every stroke you take will be successful. It is rarely like that. My father had taught me well and I saw that, although he stayed as close to the king and his knights as possible, he kept as straight a line with his knights as he could. Inevitably, however, he ended up slightly head of Sir Richard and Sir Roger.

  All that I could see were the knights just beyond my father. I saw arrows strike them. Often that did not stop a knight. With their surcoat, mail and gambeson, they had good protection. Their horses, on the other hand, could and did die. Although I was riding close to my father I had my wits about me. When I saw him lift his horse’s head and stand in the saddle then I knew he was leaping over something. A good knight, my grandfather had told me, always anticipates. I pulled Skuld’s reins up but, in truth, she was a clever horse and she was already leaping over the dying horse and pinioned knight. Aubrey of Chateau Galliard would never return home. His skull had been crushed by one of the King’s household horses.

  When I saw swords raised I knew that the Hospitallers and the King were engaged! That was a miracle. The archers had not managed to flee. My father stood in his stirrups and pointed to our right. The enemy could attack the king on his unguarded flank. My father jerked his reins over and we followed him. He had seen a gap and ahead of us were horse archers. Even better was the sight of over a hundred of them who had dismounted. They were packed so closely together that many of their bows had no target. He lowered his lance and spurred Storm Bringer. Arrows were sent in their direction. I saw one hit my father’s left shoulder but he never faltered. Another hit Storm Bringer but he was a war horse and he ploughed on. One clanked off my helmet and made my ears ring but I did not deviate from the path carved by the Earl of Cleveland. I was his son and the blood of the Warlord coursed through my veins. The first Ayyubid and Turk to die were struck by spears and lances in the head and chest. Others were trampled to death. I both felt and heard the sickening crunch as Skuld’s hooves crushed a Turkish skull. Horses might try to avoid stepping on men. When the ground is a sea of them then they cannot.

  My father’s lance drove through the first Ayyubid horse archer and knocked him from his saddle. I drew my sword. I held my reins and the standard in my left hand. I had no shield. Had an archer aimed at me then I had little protection. The range was so close that even my mail would not have stopped it. My father allowed the Ayyubid to slide from the lance. His war horse was biting and snapping at the Turkish horses. He had been wounded and was angry. As my father skewered a second horse archer his other household knights slew their foes and we carved a hole deep into the flank of the horse archers. They tried to flee. Their horses were small and swift. They could normally outrun our war horses. They were stopped by their sheer weight of numbers.

  When their spears were shattered our knights drew their swords. Had my father held out his hand then I would have given him the spear which I held with the standard. He drew his sword and would not need a spear. We were close and a sword or a mace were the best weapons. The Seljuk Turks and the Ayyubid we fought had light, almost delicate weapons. Our swords were heavy and they were long, even when they were blunted they were still a formidable weapon. Being hit with one was like being struck by an iron bar! I saw one warrior hit by my father. His helmet and head were split and the sword drove deep into his neck. Sir Richard and Sir Roger were laying about them with their swords so that there was nothing for me to do. My father had often said that the standard with the gryphon upon it put fear into the hearts of our foes and just by being there I was helping to win battles. The banner had been carried in the Holy Land before by my grandfather.

  I was aware that we had galloped more than a mile. In the heat of the Holy Land and carrying mail, that was a long way for a war horse and I saw that Storm Bringer was lathered. King Richard was also aware of the danger of exhausting horses and I heard his horn as he sounded the halt. My father stopped when we were just forty paces from the king. He turned to me and raised the face mask on his helmet. He was smiling.

  “I see you are still there, my son.”

  I nodded and showed him my sword, “Aye but I have yet to strike a blow in anger.”

  He pointed to the banner. “That is a weapon which kills but shows no blood.”

  Suddenly there came a wail from ahead. Sir Richard shouted, “Fools! Sir James d'Avesnes has led his Flemish too far! They are being slaughtered.”

  Skuld whinnied and raised her head. She had the ability to sense danger and I had learned not to ignore it. I looked to my right, “Lord! Ayyubid! It is the Sultan’s bodyguard!”

  I saw seven hundred horsemen hurtling towards us. They were led by Saladin’s nephew, Taqi al-Din. My father did not falter. Despite the fact that he and his horse were wounded he raised his sword and shouted, “King Richard, God and for England!” He led his household knights, other knights from the north and the sergeant at arms who followed us in a charge to stop the horsemen or to slow them down, at least.

  The men who charged us were not horse archers. These were armed as we were. They had spears and mail. Their helmets, bayda or egg helmets, had a full mail coif hanging down so that they looked to have a mailed head. They wore a cuirass beneath their flowing robes. With a lance and a curved sword, they had a shield which looked like ours. These were the best that the Seljuk Turks had.

  Our line was no longer as tight as it had been. My father wished to break up the enemy formation. Behind me I could hear orders being given as King Richard reformed his line so that he could charge the enemy. He needed time and we were buying it for him! I glanced behind and saw that other English knights had joined us. My father’s banner was well known. He was a respected leader. In a perfect world, my father would have had two squires, at the very least, and one would have carried a spare lance for the earl. Robin had died. It had been an inglorious death. He had been bitten by a snake and died. I was the only squire left and I carried the standard. The spare spear was next to the standard.

  Although our foes did not ride such large horses their mounts were the equal of ours and it would be a hard-fought battle. Neither side slowed although they were travelling faster than we were. Their horses were fresher and carried less weight. I lowered the standard slightly. It was not that I was tired but it was a weapon I could use. As I did so the spear slipped from my grasp. I cursed myself. A good squire would have had a weapon ready for his knight. I drew my sword and held it slightly below and behind me. One advantage I had over the enemy was that I was at least a head taller than any of them. My grandfather had taught me to use every advantage I could!

  We crashed together and the sound was like a thousand blacksmiths all hammering on their anvils at the same time. I could no longer watch my father. I had to watch the Seljuk Turk who aimed his spear at me. Skuld was so good that I could just use my knees to guide her. That saved me. I dropped the reins and swept the standard to my left as the lance came towards my unprotected side. My standard was a large and a clumsy weapon but it had a banner. The lance became entangled in the cloth and I stood in my stirrups and brought my sword, which had been hidden below my saddle, up and o
ver. The Seljuk was almost past me as my sword connected. My height and my swing hacked across his back. His cuirass was on the front and my sword bit through to his backbone. He tumbled from his saddle. I had no opportunity for self-congratulation for another spear was jabbed towards me. I did the only thing I could do. I swept the blade backhand and deflected the blade.

  I saw that my father was surrounded by enemies. Even as I jerked Skuld’s reins around to get to him Sir Richard rode to his aid. As he speared a Seljuk in the back he was, in turn speared through the side. The head emerged from the other side and he tumbled from his horse. My father had one less enemy but he also had one less knight to protect him. I dug my heels into Skuld and she leapt into the gap vacated by Sir Richard whose lifeless eyes stared up at me, his helmet having fallen from him. I swung the standard somewhat clumsily at the nearest Seljuk. It merely clattered off his helmet but it stopped him attacking my father. Instead he turned and swung his lighter sword at me. I countered with my own sword. I expected his to bend but it did not. They used good steel. My advantage was my height and my strength. He was more experienced and better suited for this combat. He was not as restricted as I was. He only had a cuirass on his front. I pulled back my left arm and rammed the pointed head of the standard towards his face. Even though it was covered in mail his head jerked back and I stood and brought down my sword with all the strength that I could muster. I smashed into his helmet and the mail which covered his face. He fell backwards over his horse’s rump. My blow must have rendered him unconscious.

  As he fell I saw, to my dismay, that my father and I were the only two Englishmen left on their horses. His knights lay where they had fallen. I saw one dead squire. I turned in time to almost hurl my standard to block the sword that would have sliced into my father’s right side. As it was, a spearman ran up and rammed his spear into my father’s leg and, worse, into Storm Bringer’s side. As Storm Bringer reared and my father fought to control his horse one of the Sultan’s Askari’s thrust his spear into my father’s side. He fell from his horse. I saw him manage to roll to the side but there was a great deal of blood. I rammed the standard into the ground and leapt off Skuld. Storm Bringer, mortally wounded, galloped through the enemy biting and kicking as he went. He bought me time to get to my father. He tried to stand but I could see that he was spent.