“A de Wolfe?” he managed to hiss. “Whois it?”
“William de Wolfe.”
War didn’t remember leaving his seat. Suddenly, he was across the chamber, hand over his mouth as weird gasps of shock were hissing through his splayed fingers. He found himself looking from the window that faced out to sea before turning back to his father as the man lay upon the bed.
“The Wolfe of the Border?” he said in an oddly strangled voice. “ThatWilliam de Wolfe?”
“There is only one.”
“And Mother told you this?”
Edmund nodded slowly. “She did,” he said. “Lad, you look just like him. I told you that I have met him before and you look just like him. There is no mistake.”
War had to make a conscious effort to breathe. Everything was coming out as strange gasps. “I just faced battle with him,” he said, feeling as if he were about to lose all semblance of control. “The man brought his armies down from the north and he was at my side as we captured Thropton Castle. I met the manin battle and we spoke afterwards. We had conversations that… Christ, we had conversations!”
“What did you think of him?”
War threw up his hands. “What did Ithinkof him?” he said, astounded. “He’s the greatest knight who has ever lived. He is a legend. And now you are telling me that I am his son?”
“That is exactly what I am telling you.”
War went pale. He could feel it. Suddenly, he was looking around the chamber for something. “Oh, God,” he muttered. “Oh, God. I need something to drink. What do you have to drink?”
He answered his own question when he spied a pitcher of wine on the table near the door. He staggered over to it and picked it up, drinking straight from the neck and draining the entire thing in four swallows.
Edmund was watching him carefully.
“You would be his eldest son, to be exact,” he said. “I have heard that de Wolfe has several sons, but you are older than they are. He was not married when he and your mother had their love affair. Were the sons at the battle, too?”
War was dazed. “Aye,” he said. “I met four of them.”
“Were they polite to you?”
War nodded, blinking rapidly as the alcohol in his empty belly began to spread some warmth. “Aye,” he said. “I spoke to the eldest two– Scott and Troy– but only briefly. One of his sons is a head taller than I am. A mountain of a man. And the fourth one… he was blond. He fought ferociously.”
“They are your half-brothers,” Edmund said quietly, pointing out what War probably hadn’t realized yet. “If they are anything like their father, then I am certain they are good men.”
War closed his eyes, feeling the wine warm his belly. A belly that was in turmoil at the moment.
“I… I must think on all of this,” he finally said, turning away from the table and looking at his father. “You cannot expect me to accept everything immediately. I must have time to… think.”
Edmund wasn’t without sympathy. “I understand,” he said. “But I want you to look in my big chest. That one, over there.”
He lifted a hand to point to an enormous wooden chest against the wall, painted with stags and the Herringthorpe crest. Dutifully, and wearily, War went to it and opened the lid.
“Near the bottom, against the right side,” Edmund continued. “There is a box down there. It is bound with red ribbon. Do you see it?”
War’s mind was frazzled. He was shuffling through the chest woodenly, looking for a box with a red ribbon until he finally spied it. He removed it carefully.
“Bring it here,” Edmund said.
War returned to his father, putting the box on the old man’s lap. Edmund removed the ribbon and opened the heavy lid. War should have been curious about the contents but he wasn’t. He was so damned overwhelmed with everything he’d been told that he couldn’t spare the energy for whatever Edmund was doing. He simply stood there, wrapped up in his own thoughts, thinking of that living legend he’d spent time with back at Thropton, a man he’d grown to admire, when Edmund finally spoke.
“Here it is,” he said, pulling forth a yellowed and brittle piece of parchment. “Your mother wanted you to give this to de Wolfe should you ever tell him what I have told you.”
Distracted from his thoughts, War looked at the man, almost recoiling from him, as he held up the carefully folded parchment.
“What is it?” he asked.
