He held her close a moment longer before kissing her, so deeply that it brought tears to his eyes. Davyss didn’t want toleave her but, as with Lewes, he knew it was a matter of life and death. For the survival of England and of his family, he knew what he had to do.
Morning came far too quickly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
August 5, 1265 A.D.
It had beena long and bloody night, following an extremely long and bloody day. The Battle of Evesham was over, the second violent battle he had attended in a little over a year, something that had to be experienced to be believed. Davyss had seen more than his share of battles in his life and had experienced some fairly brutal warfare, but none of that could compare to Evesham. Nothing could have prepared him.
The brutality had been of his own doing. Simon, not realizing that Mortimer and de Winter, among others, had stolen banners from his own son, Simon the Younger, and then rode to battle flying those banners to make the elder de Montfort think that reinforcements were coming, had been shocked to see Davyss and his armies riding with Mortimer and other Royalists. But it had been Simon’s last thought before the bloody battle ensued and Davyss, along with Mortimer, began to easily cut through de Montfort’s barons. Rather than capture the nobles and ransom them, the Battle at Evesham reeked of vengeance. Davyss and Mortimer killed rather than take captives. It was meant to be a message to all of those who still harbored thoughts of resisting the absolute rule of Henry the Third.
Overwhelmed and undermanned, Simon tried to surrender but the blood lust was too great. He had been killed and dismembered, and even now as dawn broke on the day after the battle, Mortimer, Henry and Edward were deciding what was to be done with Simon’s body parts. Davyss, having knownand loved the man his entire life, buried himself in organizing the remaining royalist army for the return to London. He didn’t want to know what they did with Simon because he wasn’t sure how he felt about any of it yet. He struggled to ignore the pain, the guilt.
The sun was just beginning to rise but the day was swamped in a horrible thunderstorm. The storm had rolled in the day before at dawn and the entire battle had been conducted in a downpour. Even now, Davyss stood outside his tent, watching the remaining royalist army attempt to cook a well-deserved meal and trying to remember what it felt like to be dry again. It had been a very long three months since his departure from Norwich, having entrenched himself in Prince Edward’s release from captivity and the battle preparation for Evesham. It had been Davyss who had provided the horse for the prince’s escape and Davyss who had rode interference when the prince’s jailers tried to follow. Once they had Edward free, it was only a matter of time before they would also have Henry.
And now they did. Henry was king once more and the winds of fortune had once again shifted. Davyss glanced up at the storm clouds, raining buckets on the already-saturated ground, his mind whirling with a million different thoughts and emotions as he tried to reconcile himself to the change in political tides. Hugh suddenly appeared through the sheets of rain, water dripping off his face as he pushed past his brother on his way into the moderately dry tent. Philip, Nik, Andrew and Edmund followed, all looking sloppy, muddy and soaked. They had been up all night and were showing their exhaustion.
Davyss moved aside as his grumpy, weary men piled past him. He turned to watch them throw their gear on the ground, trying to stay out of the damp grass and pulling out bedrugs in preparation for sleep. Their mail was already rusting and each man struggled to pull his free, knowing it was going to be amassive job for the squires to remove all of the rust that had accumulated over the past few days. The mail coats went into piles in the corner.
“God’s Blood,” Hugh sighed, pulling off his wet tunic and throwing it into the same pile as the mail. “I could sleep for a week.”
“You only have the morning,” Davyss told him. “We meet with Henry and Edward at noon.”
Hugh groaned, flopping down onto his bedroll. “Are you not going to sleep, brother?”
Davyss’ hazel gaze returned to the storm outside. “In time,” he muttered.
Hugh twisted his head so he could look at him. “What is troubling you?
Davyss shook his head. “Nothing.”
By this time, Andrew was watching Davyss from the other side of the tent. Being closer to Davyss than the others, Hugh included, he could fairly read the man’s thoughts.
“There was nothing you could have done, Davyss,” he told him quietly. “Simon was in pieces before you realized what they had done. You cannot blame yourself.”
Davyss’ head snapped to him, the hazel eyes blazing a moment before quickly cooling. “I do not blame myself,” he replied. “Such are the perils of war. But….”
Andrew lifted an eyebrow. “But… what?”
Davyss shook his head. Then he answered. “I was simply wondering what my father would have said to all of this.”
Andrew walked up beside him, also gazing out at the downpour. “He would have said the same thing you did,” he replied. “Such are the perils of war. Simon knew that the moment he took up arms, it might end this way. Do not pity the man.”
“I do not,” Davyss assured him. “But I would be lying if I said that his death has not saddened me. He was the last link, other than my mother, that I had to my father. I miss him already.”
“Would you have stopped his slaughter if you could have?”
Davyss drew in a long, heavy breath. “I do not know for certain,” he said honestly. “More than likely, I would have tried.”
Andrew clapped a hand on his shoulder, not knowing what else to say to that. He decided it was best to shift the subject. “Have we heard anything from Norwich?”
Davyss shook his head, turning to watch Andrew regain his bed roll. “Not since the last missive, almost four weeks ago,” he said. “Lollardly says that the child is massive and that all my wife does is cry and sleep. He curses me for having left in the first place.” His smile suddenly faded and he turned to the rain outside once more. “God, I would give my right arm to be with her. Surely the child has been born by now.”
Hugh lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the tent as he listened to his brother’s lament. “Have you sent word to Mother yet?” he wanted to know, completely off the subject. “She is no longer a prisoner of Uncle Simon.”
Davyss glanced over at his brother. “She has not been for several weeks.”
Hugh looked up at him, a confused expression on his face. “What do you mean?”
