Warenne nodded. “Aye,” he replied. “That is why he did not come to see you himself. He is certain you never want to see him again.”
Isobeau’s gaze lingered on the man a moment before turning away, confusion and longing evident on her face. “I… I meant it at the time,” she said, unsure of what to say. “But… my lord, I simply do not understand why Atticus had to kill the knight. I am positive the man was not going to harm me. But Atticus killed another woman’s husband and after what happened with Titus… I am not sure I can forgive him for that. Already I feel that woman’s grief and it eats at me. I know how she feels. I wish Atticus had not killed the man.”
Warenne was careful in his reply but he was also honest. He prayed that Atticus would forgive him for what he was about to say. “Do you know what Atticus told me about it?” he said softly, watching her turn to him with interest. “He said that when he saw du Reims with his arm around your neck, it was as if something inside of him snapped. He could not prevent Titus’ death but he could prevent yours. My lady, you must understand that Titus’ death still affects Atticus, every moment of every day. He already lost someone he cared very deeply for in a situation where he was unable to protect him. He could not lose someoneelse he cared deeply for and not do anything about it. Does that make sense?”
Isobeau looked at him, stunned. Her eyes were wide and her hand went to her chest as if to ease the pounding of her heart, pounding at Warenne’s words. “He… cares deeply for me?”
Warenne nodded in a gesture that suggested what Atticus felt for her was much more than that. “Aye,” he whispered. “He does. Your anger with him over du Reims’ death is tearing him apart. Will you please see him, my lady? If you care anything about him, will you please see him and tell him that you at least understand why he did what he did? He could not lose you, too.”
Tears sprang to Isobeau’s eyes. Her limbs went warm and fluid and weak with the very idea that Atticus felt something for her. There was joy and jubilation in her heart more than she could control.
“Are you certain of this?” she whispered tightly.
Warenne’s smile returned. “I am,” he said. “Will you please see him?”
Isobeau nodded, so firmly that her hair came out of its careful braid and swung across her face. “I will,” she whispered fervently. “Tell him that I will see him. Tell him… tell him that I would welcome his visit when it is convenient.”
Warenne felt more relief than he could express. Moving to Isobeau, he took her hands and kissed them both before quitting the chamber in his quest to return to Atticus. Everything will be all right now, he told himself. Atticus would be happy, Isobeau would be happy, and soon this entire madness would be over so he could return to his wife and try to make amends with the woman. All would be as it should be.
The colors of sunset were deepening across the sky as Warenne took the steps down into the inner ward, yelling at some men near the stables to take cover, as they were expecting Norfolk’s attack at any second. In fact, Warenne was halfwayacross the ward when Norfolk let loose the first barrage of flaming projectiles, arrows that came sailing over the wall, raining a horrific and painful death upon the occupants of Wolfe’s Lair. There were so many of them that the sky lit up as if it were daylight, and those caught out in the open had nowhere to go.
This included Warenne. In the middle of the inner ward with no cover, he was an open target when the arrows rained down upon him. He tried to make it to the armory, which was closest, but he wasn’t fast enough to evade a heavy, fat-soaked arrow that hit him in the left eye and penetrated all the way to the back of his skull.
The Earl of Thetford was dead before he hit the ground.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ionian scale in C– Man so Bold
In days of old time passing,
Among men, it was told
There was a man of power
A man uncommonly bold
—Isobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c.
The gates wereon fire.
Whatever oil or fat Summerlin was using, it burned very hot and very long, and after the first wave of flaming arrows, Summerlin and his men had managed to get up against the big iron and oak gates of Wolfe’s Lair and light the things on fire. A great pile of kindling and wood had been pushed up against the gates and ignited, and even now, a great, black cloud burned steadily into the brilliant night sky.
Atticus stood in front of the gates, watching them burn, as his men had a bucket brigade going, dousing the flames from their side. Wolfe’s Lair had two big wells that provided more than enough water to battle the blaze but the fat that Summerlin and his men had smeared on the gates would not be extinguished. It was those areas, with fat spread into the old and pitted wood, that were burning hotly. The smell was almost overpowering.
The truth was that Atticus was worried. The gates were reinforced with great strips of iron about an inch thick, like barson a cage, so even if the wood burned away, the bars would remain. They would still be protected. But if the fire from the burning wood burned hot enough, the iron would soften and that would be a problem. Therefore, it was important to keep water on the fire to lessen the heat generated by the flames.
Atticus, therefore, not only directed the water on the gate, he participated as well. He tossed great buckets of icy water on the burning wood. Kenton was upon the wall walk, directing the soldier to dump burning rocks and earth onto the men below. It was a common enough tactic and they heated earth in great cauldrons in the bailey before taking them up to the wall in buckets or baskets or anything they could find, dumping them out onto the Norfolk men below. The scorching earth and pebbles and layers of sand would get into the cracks of men’s armor, seriously burning them. As Atticus manned the gate, Kenton rained hell from above.
Beneath the courageous façade, however, lay great sorrow and grief. Both men were struggling with the death of Warenne. Having been notified of the earl’s death and then subsequently seeing the man’s body in the inner ward had taken something out of Atticus’ soul. First Titus, and now Warenne… he was struggling not to think on the loss of those closest to him, focused on what he must do in order to protect Wolfe’s Lair. It would have been very easy to become disoriented by death, to let it claim his sound mind. He thanked God for Kenton, for the man was unbreakable and emotionless, a rock when Atticus felt like crumbling. When Atticus heard Kenton’s bellows over the commotion of the siege, it reinforced his courage. All was not lost and he was not alone.
But there was something more on Atticus’ mind as well; the more compromised the gates became, the more his thoughts turned towards his wife. Locked up in her room, he was glad for her safety but he knew that if the gates were breached, she wouldbe in danger. Wolfe’s Lair appeared to only have one way in or out, through the front gates, but the truth was that there was a tunnel that ran from the storage area beneath the great hall to the creek bed to the south of the fortress.
When Atticus had been a small boy, he and Titus used to play in that tunnel constantly but he had no idea if the tunnel was still open and viable. Somehow, someway, he would have to get Isobeau to the tunnel and the more he watched the front gates burn, the more he knew he would have to go to her whether or not she wanted to see him and take her to safety. He would have to take the woman and flee.
“Atticus,” Solomon was suddenly standing next to him, interrupting his thoughts. “If we cannot douse the flames on the gate, the bars will start to soften. We must prepare the men for the breach.”
Atticus looked at his father, a man he had shoved aside a few hours before when he felt his father was in his way. Solomon was old and slow, but his mind was still very sharp. Atticus suddenly felt very badly for the way he had treated his father. He reached out, putting a big arm around his father’s broad shoulders in a gesture of comfort.
