“Perfectly, my lord.”
“Good.”
Monty was still glaring daggers at Clement, who was trying not to let his frustration show. He wanted to be a good knight and do his duty. He thought he’d been doing an excellent job of it until War had been sent to assume a command he had expected. But even he knew that War was more than qualified. In fact, he was surprised a Blackchurch-trained knight of Herringthorpe’s caliber should even want a remote command like Bamburgh. A man like War needed to be in the heart of the action, in London with the men who would make or break the country. That was where he belonged.
But instead, he was in the wilds of the north, battling the Scots and disloyal neighbors.
It made little sense to him.
“War,” Monty said, satisfied that his nasty glares had put Clement in his place. “When are we going to pay a visit to Castle Questing? You said that de Wolfe invited you. That kind of invitation does not come frequently or easily. The man is a god in the north.”
The conversation was shifting from Clement’s coveting to the Wolfe of the Border. War had to admit that he was looking forward to spending more time with de Wolfe, learning from him and working with him. Usually, War was the most seasoned and well-educated man in the room, but not when de Wolfe and his allies were around. The captain from Northwood, de Norville, and de Wolfe’s second, Hage, were all part of this greatgroup of experienced knights like nothing War had ever seen before.
That was saying a lot.
Montmorency was correct about one thing– an invitation to Castle Questing was a coveted one. Bamburgh was allied with de Wolfe and his garrisons– Berwick, Wark, and Roxburgh included– so War saw the trip to Castle Questing as a valuable opportunity.
One he intended to take advantage of.
“I suppose it would be wise to leave as soon as possible,” he said after a moment. “De Wolfe asked me to. I need to build a relationship with him, so the sooner, the better.”
Monty agreed. “If you do not move swiftly, he may take it as an insult.”
“Agreed.”
“Then we depart within the week?”
War nodded. “I would say in the next few days,” he said. “Let us reach Bamburgh and settle the men, see what the damage is to our stores and weapons, and once we’ve a plan in place to replace and repair what we spent on campaign, we can depart for Castle Questing.”
Monty nodded. “Who will go with you?”
War glanced at Monty before turning further to look at Clement. “All of the knights,” he said loudly enough for Clement to hear. There was no chance of him leaving the knight behind to possibly engage in insurrection against him. “We can leave the senior sergeants in charge while we are away. They know what to do better than we do. And my father will not come with us, so they can seek his counsel if needed.”
Monty turned to look at the castle looming closer. “Are you sure he will not come with us?” he said. “Edmund Herringthorpe has spoken of de Wolfe with great reverence in the past. Hemight challenge you to a fight if you deny him the opportunity to meet the man.”
War smiled weakly. “If my father had the strength to challenge me, I would gladly concede,” he said. “But… I do not think he will. Even he knows a journey like that, as mild as it will probably be, will be too taxing on his health.”
He sobered greatly as the conversation turned to his father, a man who had been quite ill for a few years with a weakened heart. It had grown steadily worse since War had taken command of Bamburgh, but Edmund would not be left behind in Suffolk with his son taking a glorious position for King Henry. The man had traveled north and it had nearly killed him, but he was at Bamburgh, reveling in the pride he had for his magnificent son. Knowing he was more than likely not long for this world, he didn’t want to miss a moment of War’s triumph.
“Mayhap that is true, but you should at least give him the opportunity to refuse,” Monty said, knowing that the subject of War’s father was a touchy one. “Give the man his dignity in the matter.”
“You are right.”
Bamburgh loomed ever closer. War found himself looking at the walls, the keep that towered above the outer walls, and the general imposing presence before him. He’d seen many castles in his life but never one as magnificent as Bamburgh. He found that he was most eager to return home and he had the knights pick up the pace with the army, closing in on the last few hundred yards quickly.
It seemed that everyone was eager to go home.
The road to Bamburgh wound up the promontory and through an enormous gatehouse, opening into the outer ward. Already, there were men waiting to take horses and move the men towards the troop houses as War dismounted his black and white stallion. He had to slap a muzzle on the beast before thegrooms could even take him away and he grabbed his saddlebags as two of them wrestled his horse towards the stables. The inner ward was busy with the bustle of the returning army and he inhaled that smell– one of victory and hard work, of warfare and leather. All of it filling his nostrils. There was a satisfaction to it.
Slinging his saddlebags over his shoulder, he headed for the keep.
The inner ward was almost as vast as the outer ward, with kitchens and more stables and outbuildings filling the space. The ground was wet, indicative of recent rains, as War made his way to the keep.
Unlike many keeps of the time, the enormous keep at Bamburgh had an entry on the ground level. It was a massive oak door surrounded by a heavy Norman arch and War stepped through, immediately into a low-ceilinged entry chamber. Word of the returning army had reached the keep and before he could take the stairs, he was met by the physic he’d brought with him from London to tend to his father’s every need. The man was coming down the spiral stairs just as War put an enormous boot on the bottom step.
They very nearly collided with each other.
“My lord,” the physic said. He was a small man with pitted skin who wore the robes of a priest even though he was not of the clergy. “Thanks to God that you have returned safe.”
