"Your Grace! In here!" A familiar voice yelled out. William moved towards the voice, instantly recognising it as belonging to Sir Francis Lowell. William slipped through a shadowy doorway and a broken timber door, pausing in shock at the sight greeting him.
The room he was entering had once been a luxurious bedchamber but it was now thoroughly ransacked, emptied of everything of value. He stepped next to Francis and another of his men and joined them to stare at what was hanging from the ceiling.
His Royal Highness Prince Robert of Moraigth, Duke of Arlington. Younger half-brother of the King. Traitor to his crown and country.
The duke hung from a noose that had been hastily fashioned around a thick timber roof beam, his face bruised and his eyes blank and unseeing. A rough iron circlet had been placed on his head and a length of torn fabric draped around his shoulders in a mocking imitation of a crown and cape. Apart from that, the duke was nearly naked, his clothes and armour having been removed and taken as war trophies or perhaps just to humiliate him in his final moments.
William steeled himself at the sight and kept his face impassive. We have won, he told himself. King Kenneth still holds his throne. We can return to Islia in triumph and my king will be pleased. So why did the victory give him such an uneasy feeling?
A hand clapped firmly on his shoulder and a deep laughing voice boomed in his ear, shaking him from his troubled thoughts.
"Looks like the Moraigthian forces got their hands on the duke before we could. Almost a pity really. Still, Islia will claim the triumph and we'll reap the rewards from our king, aye?" Sir Richard Bentworth, William's closest friend and brother-in-arms, patted Williams's shoulder again and grinned up at the corpse. "King Kenneth is even more in our debt now after the death of this disloyal rat. I wonder what concessions we can wrangle out of him?"
William scowled at the smug pleasure on his friend's face and shrugged his hand away. "Did you forget the duke has three sons on the battlefield? We can't assume we have won until we know what has happened to them."
Richard smirked. "They're dead, Will. I saw the princes Daniel and Duncan fall on the battlefield not even an hour ago, against your cousin's knights. Prince Malcolm tried to escape once he saw the cause was lost, but I have it on good authority that he was caught by Moraigthian soldiers and hung in the fir forest to the south of Arlen village, along with a few other traitors. The rebellion is over. Victory is ours!"
Richard gestured to the surrounding soldiers as if he were the prince instead of William. "Retreat back to our camp. We have no more business here." To William he crowed, "If we ride quickly, we may even be able to reach the border back into Islia by sundown. I'm itching to leave this accursed country."
The other knights stood unmoving and hesitant, waiting for the prince to speak and give his formal orders. Richard glared at them. "Did you not hear me the first time? Move!"
William waved his hand dismissively at his men and sighed, "Head back to our camp, and let any of our men you cross paths with know, that they must do the same. We're to prepare for our retreat. My orders." He paused and added, "And remember what I said at the start of the campaign: no looting or pillaging, no harming unarmed townsfolk. King Kenneth's men may be no better than animals, but we are."
Richard rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Honestly, Will. Why ruin the soldiers' fun like that? We all deserve the spoils of war, especially as some of the maids I saw in the village weren't half bad looking…"
The words died on his lips when William turned on him with an expression of cold disapproval. The two men stared at each other for a moment before Richard broke eye contact and grumbled, "Very well. I'll spread the word amongst our battalion to retreat and to leave civilians untouched. But the men won't thank you for this. Especially the lower paid soldiers and mercenaries who would be hoping to supplement their wages with a little well-earned pillage."
Richard stalked out of the room, leaving the prince in the room, alone but for the corpse. William bowed his head and mumbled a quick prayer for the duke's soul. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had backed the wrong side in this war. As he walked away, he heard a scream from down the corridor, followed by rumbling laughter.
Following the noise, he crept into another room. For the second time in less than an hour, the scene before his eyes made him pause in shock.
A group of mercenaries surrounded a slight cowering figure, laughing and jeering. William instantly recognised them as those hired by King Edward. He locked eyes with the cornered figure.
It was a girl.