When it went wrong it went wrong fast. The coach had no sooner stopped at a tollgate and presented their credentials when from the attached house a small horde of armoured men charged. Besides the sword and shield combination that they all carried they were all wearing tabards, which in turn carried the motif of a noble.
"Loeweschloss" Jacques cursed, recognising the black and red quartered livery and its motifs. This was not good at all. The driver had bolted at the first hint of trouble and that left Ben to face over a dozen heavily armed professional soldiers. Not that that was discouraging the young man, who even now was wheeling his horse around the coach and drawing his heavy sabre. It was then that a resounding 'twang' spilt the air, and Ben was suddenly wearing the bright fletchings of a quarrel in his right shoulder. Jacques had little doubt that had the knight not been as inhumanly fast as he was those same fletchings would have sprouted in a more central location.
Jacques watched his friend reel in the saddle, numbed by the sudden impact, and expected him to fall. However once again the young man surprised him, instead of falling he managed to rear his horse back and use it to buy the time he needed to recover his wits.
As the destrier's hooves came down again they crushed one of the soldiers beneath them, and, with a resounding clash and crack, the knight's sabre split the collarbone of another Jacques was out of the coach in a rush, drawing his own blade without caring where the scabbard ended up. He hurled himself towards the soldiers with something akin to frenzy in his eyes. Little did he know that behind him his daughter had also chosen to join the fight.
Having already taken losses and faced with one mounted knight who refused to die, a frenzied cavalier and a woman with a loaded crossbow in her hands the soldiers' morale started to waver. Before they could run however things changed again. No sooner had Ben struck down another retainer than a second bolt hit him. This one was far less of a solid hit, in fact glancing off his heavy helm but it managed what the other hadn't and cast him from his steed. Suddenly Jacques was alone among them.
Catherine fired the coachman's bow, only to see it break in her hands and the shot literally bounce off of one of the soldiers. It was not enough to save her father. He had managed to push his stiletto thin rapier blade through the chain hauberk of one man and blind another but suddenly found himself surrounded. He whirled and tried to attack only to be brutally struck from behind.
The heavy steel pommel of the sergeant's broadsword crashed into Jacques skull. The man had reversed his blade and swung it with every intent of doing exactly what he had just done, knocking the fencing master silly. As Jacques tried to stand a boot caught him in the kidneys and soon other stamping feet joined in.
Catherine screamed like a hellspawn banshee and threw herself towards the soldiers. Only to be stopped short by the strong right cross of the same sergeant. She went down like a marionette with its strings cut.
From the floor Ben saw all of this happen, in triplicate. His rebellious body was refusing to obey even so far as to let him catch his breath but he tried anyway. With eyes unfocussed and stance uncertain he forced himself to his feet, well aware of the concussion he was suffering and of the blood trickling down his neck and side. He raised his sabre and prepared to charge the men only to be stopped.
"Hold" the sergeant cried in a voice that would have been at home on any parade ground through history, and everything stopped. "We ain't got no orders bout you an the girl" the sergeant informed him, secretly unwilling to hazard his own skin against a man capable of anything like what this young knight seemed to be. "You lay off now an we'll let you an the girl go. Otherwise…."
Even through his dazed, shifting and rapidly diminishing vision Ben could see that the man was in every position to make good his threat. Somewhere out there the archer would have reloaded and the sergeant stood ready by Catherine's stunned form. Ben managed a nod and the men retreated. No sooner had they and their captive disappeared out of sight than Ben fell right back to the floor.
O
O
When Ben awoke again it was dark and he was more than a little uncomfortable. His head throbbed like that of a six foot tall deep dwarf's but that was nothing to how his shoulder felt. He had been injured before, even shot before but right now he didn't remember it being nearly this painful. Added to all the rest there was a terrible stink in the room in which he lay. A mix between rotting meat and midden earth.
"I had to cut the bolt out" informed a woman's voice. "It were lodged in right tight." The voice was rustic and hard, carrying little concern if any. "An' if you break them stitches I'll tan your hide." He tried to mutter some thanks but it came out in a raw croak, his mouth and throat now adding themselves to the list of body parts demanding attention. "You'll be thirsty" the woman said, pressing the clammy back of her hand against his forehead.
If he tried hard he could just make out her hazy shape and that of the jug next to her. She was spectacularly ugly and the horrid smell he had picked up earlier seemed to be her natural odour.
"Yes I bet you are" the crone mused. Then, instead of pouring him a drink or even helping him to sup from the jug, she left. Ben was just musing at this strange behaviour and finding the strength to get the jug himself when another presence entered to room. With a swish of skirts and a perfumed breeze Catherine swept in and was soon holding that same jug to Ben's parched lips.
"Steady" she chided in a voice filled with emotions. To see him move at all was both wondrous and concerning. One part of her wanted to pick him up and dance around the room in joy, the other wanted her to punch his lights back out again for worrying her so. As she settled for wrapping him in her arms hot tears rolled down her cheeks an sobs wracked her body.
"Cath?" he croaked, confused as ever by her strange behaviour. She just slapped him on his good arm and pushed him back into the bed.
"Shut up and rest!" she ordered, "we need you to get better right now, Jacques needs us."
"Jacques!" Ben croaked in alarm, trying to sit back up. She wasn't having any of it. He was shoved forcefully back into the pallet.
"No!" she told him. "Get better then ride to the rescue."
"Go now girl" ordered the crone's voice, Catherine obeyed, but only after planting a warm kiss on his forehead. Needless to say Ben was more confused by this than the slap earlier. A sudden feeling of dread washed away all that confusion, in the crone's hands was a steaming wooden bowl and he had a really bad feeling about it. "Now sonny" she began, "Time for your medicine."