As War suspected, the first of many lessons to come.
CHAPTER TWO
By evening, therains had moved in.
Thropton Castle sat in a vale with steeply pitched sides and as the rains rolled in, so did the runoff from the mountains. There was a burn, or brook, that ran alongside the castle, which was elevated on a small rise, but as the rain pounded down, the burn became a raging river.
The burn also formed part of the moat, which had been filled with debris when the siege began, so much so that it had been a simple thing for the Bamburgh and de Wolfe armies to practically walk over it and straight to the walls. But with the rains, the moat had filled up and the debris had been partially washed away, flooding into the small vale.
Fortunately, the army encampment was also on a rise, so the swiftly flowing water wasn’t an issue, but the rain itself was. Everything was soaked, both man and beast, but the bonfires were too big to be so quickly doused. Heavy oak logs had been soaked with flammable liquid, and the core of the logs burned deep, meaning they would burn through almost anything.
William could smell the heavy smoke all over the encampment. He and Kieran had just left the main de Wolfetent after having removed most of their mail and protection. The squires, including William’s son, Edward, and Kieran’s son, Kevin, had gone to work rubbing out the rust and repairing what they could. Edward and Kevin were in that awkward age where they weren’t quite children but weren’t quite adults even though they were both big, strong lads, so they mostly supervised the other squires. Kevin was a little heavy-handed while Edward was very much the diplomat when it came to communicating.
William could hear them bickering even as he walked away.
Adjacent to the main tent was a long stretch of oiled canvas, which had been propped up with big poles. It was literally just a roof to keep the rain off, with the sides wide open, and the men were gathering beneath it to eat their evening meal.
Overhead, thunder rolled as William entered the shelter, looking for Paris and Michael and the others. The cooks were bringing out big, iron cauldrons of beans and salted pork, which had been simmered together with carrots and greens, making a rich and hearty stew. William spied Paris and the others near the center of the tent and he and Kieran made their way to them.
As soon as he reached the group, someone was handing him a cup of warmed, watered wine, which he took gratefully. He could see that Paris and the de Wolfe allies were clustered with Herringthorpe and his men, and he noted that Paris and War were in some manner of lively conversation. At least, Paris was being lively. The man’s free hand was flying all over the place for emphasis as he spoke.
William walked up to the pair.
“Whatever story he is telling you, it is a lie,” William said, a glimmer of mirth in his eye. “Do not believe a word of it.”
They turned to him, Paris scowling and War grinning. “Is that so?” War said. “He was telling me a story of your valor, my lord.”
“Then it was all true.”
They started to laugh, with Paris rolling his eyes. “You cannot have it both ways, William,” he said. “Either I am a liar all of the time or none of the time.”
William smirked. “What story were you telling him?”
Paris tilted his head in a general northerly direction. “I was speaking of the siege of Langton Castle from many years ago,” he said. “You know that we found de Whitton in tunnels beneath Thropton. I was speaking of the tunnels and dungeons beneath Langton during that battle.”
“It is a pity Langton was so badly damaged,” War said. “It sounds like a magnificent place.”
“It was,” William said. “It has been rebuilt since that time, but it is not the same. Part of Langton was built by the Romans so many years ago and that craftsmanship was lost with the rebuild. The Scots simply put blocks together to make a wall, but the Romans did something special to them.”
“Oh?” War seemed interested. “What did they do?”
“Shaped them,” William said, using a hand to indicate a rounded corner. “They built columns into walls and other features. But I am sure that does not interest you overly, speaking on a damaged Scots castle. I hope Paris was not boring you.”
“I wasnot,” Paris said flatly. He gestured to War. “The man is Blackchurch trained and that included study on ancient buildings to understand their resilience over time. He knows his architecture, William.”
William’s eyebrows lifted as he looked at War. “I had heard you were Blackchurch trained,” he said. “That is quite an accomplishment, Herringthorpe. You must be very proud.”
War shrugged. “Some men foster with the master knights of Kenilworth,” he said, which was exactly what William and Paris had done. “Some foster with the cutthroats, assassins, spies, and mercenaries of the Blackchurch Guild. Both are prestigious but Iwill say that Blackchurch has given me a broader perspective of the world.”
“I have heard it is very difficult.”
“It is,” War said. “Not all finish the training term.”
“There is a term?”
“Nine years.”
“And part of your training was inspecting ancient buildings?”
