Dane was not going to take no for an answer. “Come on! After you get back from Clearwell, we shall be training all day and won’t have time to explore the woods or go fishing.”
Trenton was slowly being swayed, but Gaston could see his reluctance. “Go on, Trenton. This will be the last free day you have for some time.”
Trenton looked at his father, finally shrugging as he latched his bag. “Mayhap for a little while.”
Gaston smiled. “Good lad.”
Dane was up and running for the door. “Come on, Trenton. Hurry up. You are too slow.”
“Am not,” Trenton snapped, following.
Dane was already rushing down the corridor, but Trenton paused in the doorway. His brown eyes were wide on his father.
“You are going with me to bury mother?” he asked softly.
“Aye,” Gaston replied. “As your father, ’tis my place. Never again will you and I be separated, Trenton. I promise you.”
That simple statement greatly bolstered Trenton’s sagging spirit. He wanted to believe it to be true, but after everything his mother had told him, it was difficult.
Not knowing what to say, he lowered his gaze and disappeared after his friend.
*
Arik had thenew recruits up and moving. Even though it was hours before noon, the men had already been up since before daybreak. The smell of sweat and dirt was heavy in the outer bailey as 15 companies of men went through the basic motions of hand-to-hand combat, repetition of movements that were supervised by their company commanders as well as Arik, Patrick and Antonius. Nicolas ran up and down the ranks yellinglike a fiend, demanding the men to go above and beyond their limits.
Gaston stood atop the inner wall, observing his troops like Zeus from Olympus. Arik kept turning to look at him, silent messages passing between them making sure all was progressing with Gaston’s approval. ’Twas Gaston who detailed the regimes, the schedules, and his men who carried them out.
Gaston only remained an observer for less than an hour before he went down into the mass of men and began coaching them himself. He enjoyed being an active participant, instructing and encouraging and seeing the results.
The morning progressed, the humidity soared, and Gaston had his knights remove their armor. Since they were not practicing with weapons, he saw no harm in allowing his men to be more comfortable. Even he removed his armor, and his shirt, parading about the ground like a mythical beast, Hercules from old as his magnificent torso glistened under the warm sun.
Just before noon, the sentries high on the outer wall announced riders approaching with the burst of a horn. Gaston, Arik and Patrick met the incoming soldiers at the portcullis, studying the three soldiers on well-kept warhorses. Even though there was no outward sign of a threat, Gaston kept the portcullis down, feeling rather naked that he was armorless.
The horses were sweating rivers and the soldiers appeared exhausted as they drew the horses to a weaving halt.
“My lord de Russe,” one of the knights saluted sharply. “I bring news from Sir James de Wolfe of Templehurst.”
Gaston knew de Wolfe well. He was young, but extremely talented and skilled. Henry had put the knight in charge of Humberside, just as he himself was in charge of order in Yorkshire.
He ordered the portcullis raised.
“What’s amiss?” he demanded.
One of the men dismounted. “Trouble, my lord. Three feudal barons, loyal to Richard, have launched a siege to Templehurst in hopes of driving de Wolfe out. He sent us to request reinforcements from Mt. Holyoak.”
“What is the strength of the opposition force?” Gaston asked.
“Mayhap five to six hundred men,” the soldier replied. “De Wolfe has a force of four hundred, but we are holding Templehurst without a problem at the moment. ’Twould seem the barons are less interested in killing us as they are interested in simply chasing us out.”
Gaston raised an eyebrow, glancing at Arik. “De Wolfe is hated about as much as I am. He fought for Northumberland, you know. Pledged loyalty to Henry when the earl was killed at Bosworth.”
“De Wolfe’s family goes back to the days of Richard and the quest,” Arik commented. “He comes from a long line of distinguished, powerful knights. He should have no trouble holding Templehurst until we arrive.”
Gaston jerked his head in a silent command and Arik was moving. He could read his lord’s mind when it came to battles. Gaston ushered the soldiers in to Patrick’s care and moved for the castle, focusing on what lay ahead. Allowing time to assemble his troops and necessary preparations, they could be on the road to Templehurst within two hours.
His squires raced after him as he made his way to the master chamber. He passed by Remington’s room without stopping, preferring to don his armor before saying his good-byes.
As he reached his room and his squires began helping him dress, it occurred to him that this battle would be a new experience; he was actually concerned with his own mortality. What if something happened and he did not return to Remington? Horrible, bitter fantasies filled his mind and he angrily chased them off. He had never even been seriouslyinjured in battle in all of his thirteen years as a knight; surely a simple skirmish would not destroy him. Even before he left, he was eager to return to Remington.
