—Iseobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c.
Doncaster
The King’s Head Inn
“You are goingto lose some feeling in your face,” the old surgeon said as he packed up his catgut thread and needles. “Your wound was open for quite some time, m’lord. You should have had it sewn sooner.”
De la Londe could do nothing more than shrug his shoulders at this point; there really wasn’t much he could say to any of it. The wound that Titus had inflicted upon him nearly a week before hadn’t been properly tended until now for a variety of reasons, ones he didn’t care to discuss. Mostly, it was because the freezing weather had frozen the blood and beard on his face and that alone had stopped the bleeding.
During the battle at Towton, there hadn’t been time to do it. He’d kept his face wrapped with the piece of embroidered linen he’d stolen from de Wolfe. But six days later, he’d been forced to have it cleaned and tended because it was starting to fester. Hairhad grown into it, as had dirt and debris, so the cleaning of the healing wound had been a harrowing experience. The surgeon had done his best but it was still a mess and de la Londe had been running a fever for two days. It would perhaps get worse before it got better.
But that was, in fact, the least of his concerns at the moment. Sitting in a room at an inn that had been confiscated in whole by the Duke of Norfolk, John de Mowbray, both de la Londe and de Troiu had bigger worries on their mind. De Mowbray, in fact, was in the room with them, as were several of de Mowbray’s knights and a lesser baron from Surrey that had once been aligned with Warenne de Winter. In the past six days since moving south from Towton after the decisive York victory, much had changed in the worlds of de la Londe and de Troiu, and all of it revolved around de Mowbray.
“We will be leaving tomorrow morning,” de Mowbray told the surgeon as the man moved stiffly for the chamber door. “I will ensure that he sees a surgeon in the next town we come to. We will keep check on the injury.”
The surgeon was a big man, older, once muscled but now gone to fatty. He had been a knight once, too, years ago before he injured his sword hand and had been forced to turn to another profession to survive. The surgeon’s gaze moved between de Mowbray and de la Londe.
“It is not the injury that is the issue, my lord,” he said. “It is the fever. I gave you powdered willow bark for that; make sure he takes it at least four times a day in a cup of wine.”
De Mowbray nodded. “He will.”
The surgeon still didn’t leave, a knowing glimmer to his tired, old eyes. He looked around the room, at the powerful and exhausted men. They smelled of war and he knew the smell very well.
“I heard about the battle to the north,” he said. “Towton, wasn’t it? Men passing through town a few days ago were speaking of it. They said it was a massacre for the Lancastrians.”
De Mowbray remained impassive. “It was a defeat for them. Aye.”
The old surgeon nodded at the confirmation. “I didn’t ask you when I came to tend the knight, but I assume he received the wound there?”
De Mowbray lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Indeed he did,” he said. “Thank you for your service.”
The surgeon had already been paid so it was only a matter of pushing him out of the door, which de Mowbray did. A stubby profile of a man, John de Mowbray was a powerful duke and a brilliant tactician. It had been his cunning that had turned the tides at Towton. Now, he was heading to London with his army because the new king had asked him to come. Edward, in fact, had already left for London and was a few days ahead of de Mowbray. The colors of the ruling house had decisively changed.
The king was determined to clean house of any remains of Henry’s loyalists and set up his own court at Westminster. His plans also included taking over the Tower of London as well as Windsor Castle. He was infiltrating deep into the heart of England and wanted de Mowbray with him. But de Mowbray was slowed with a bigger army, and wagons of wounded that had been sent back to Norfolk, and he wasn’t in any particular rush to reach London. At the moment, he was more concerned with gaining backing for Edward from the remnants of those who supported Henry. With Henry running for Scotland, de Mowbray would strike at the defeated supporters.
Which was where de la Londe and de Troiu came in. As de Mowbray shut the door behind the surgeon and bolted it, he turned to the two knights who had once been very close to Northumberland. They had been bought with relatively littleeffort and now that he had them, de Mowbray intended to use them.
“It seems that we have not truly had the opportunity to talk before now,” de Mowbray said. “Days of travel have left us all exhausted and scrambling for closure, but now that we have a roof over our head and some privacy, I should like to discuss what happened with Northumberland’s men. I already know that Titus de Wolfe is dead and you told me that you did not have the opportunity to speak to the others, but that is all I know. You will now give me the details. I would hear what happened in-depth.”
De la Londe, even though he was having trouble speaking, answered him. “It was too chaotic to give you any details after the battle, my lord,” he said. “It is true that Titus de Wolfe is dead but not before he did this to my face. This happened in a battle to the death. When we gave him your offer, he became enraged and tried to kill us both. We had no choice but to kill him.”
De Mowbray sat in a nearby chair, accepting a cup of wine from one of his men. “Indeed,” he said seriously. “I am sorry that Titus chose to die rather than serve Edward. But what of Atticus? You were not able to speak with him?”
De la Londe resisted the urge to look at de Troiu; for the past few days, they had discussed what they would tell de Mowbray about their inability to recruit other Northumberland knights. They couldn’t tell the man the truth– that they had fled after they’d killed de Wolfe, so de la Londe had been given a few days to come up with a plausible lie. More than that, he had a suggestion that might help them all.
“We were not able to find Atticus,” he said. “My lord, you must understand that we could not risk being seen as the men who killed Titus de Wolfe. If that were to happen, there would have been questions that we could not answer withoutconsequences. At the time Titus was killed, the battle was just commencing. Men were called to arms. We went to arms, too. There was no longer the time or privacy to try and relay your offer to any more of Northumberland’s men because by that time, they were all heading into battle.”
De Mowbray was listening carefully. “I see,” he sighed heavily. “That is disappointing, I must say. I was hoping you would be able to at least speak with Atticus. The Lion of the North would be a fine weapon in Edward’s arsenal. The king has asked for Atticus personally, you know. It is imperative that we somehow communicate with him. Now with Titus dead, he has no reason to remain with Northumberland any longer.”
De la Londe shrugged. “With Titus dead and Henry Percy dead, Atticus is now in command of Northumberland’s army,” he said. Then, his expression took on something of a sly glint. “But that does not necessarily mean we cannot have him. It simply means we must be cunning as we go about it.”
De Mowbray was interested. “You know the man,” he said. “You know his heart and his loyalties. How can we sway him to Edward’s cause?”
De la Londe glanced at de Troiu, then, seeing the man’s silent nod of encouragement. Tell him what we discussed. De la Londe continued.
“Both Titus and Atticus are very close to their knight corps,” he said. “Le Bec, de Russe, and Wellesbourne serve under them. If we could possibly convince one or more of those houses to pledge loyalty to Edward, it might help sway Atticus’ position. Wellesbourne Castle is not far from here, to the south near Warwick Castle. Even though Warwick has switched loyalties from Edward to Henry and back again, Wellesbourne has remained staunch in Henry’s cause. Adam Wellesbourne’s father, Andrew Wellesbourne, knows me. He knows that I serve with his son. Andrew is old now and, according to Adam,remains at Wellesbourne most of the time, but he has command of over a thousand men. If we could convince Andrew to side with Edward, we may be able to sway Wellesbourne for our cause. If Andrew swears fealty to Edward, it is my suspicion that Adam will, too. With Adam out of Northumberland’s stable, we move to le Bec next.”
De Mowbray was coming to see the brilliance of the scheme. “Wellesbourne is married to a granddaughter of le Bec and a daughter of Bastian de Russe,” he said thoughtfully. “Bastian de Russe is still alive.”
