Atticus nodded unhappily. “Evidently there is a good deal to the lengths they would go to sway men to Edward’s cause,” he said. “They went there to inform Andrew Wellesbourne that hisson, Adam, had sworn fealty to Edward in the hopes of gaining Andrew’s vow. Lord Andrew, suspecting betrayal and deceit, threw them in the vault and sent a knight to Alnwick to discover the truth of the matter. Of course it wasn’t true, so now de la Londe and de Troiu are still in Wellesbourne’s vault.”
Solomon sighed faintly, pondering the situation before sitting heavily on the end of his lumpy, smelly bed. It was clear that he was deep in thought.
“It is fortuitous, then,” he said. “As if God has had a hand in helping you find these men and punish them.”
“I think so.”
Solomon lingered on the two knights who had murdered his son. “Tell me,” he said after a moment. “You were with Titus when he died, were you not?”
“Aye.”
“Did he suffer greatly in the end?”
Atticus was reluctant to say anything about Titus’ final moments. “Does it matter?” he asked softly.
Solomon shrugged, suddenly feeling quite weary and old. He rubbed at his knees, thinking yet again how he cursed them because he could not easily travel.
“I want to know what those men did to him,” he finally said. “Did he suffer greatly?”
Atticus was glad Isobeau wasn’t in the room. He found that he couldn’t deny his father’s request but he didn’t particularly want her to hear his answer. Did he suffer greatly? If Atticus had a son who had been killed by others, he would have wanted to know the same thing. He would want to know what his son felt at the end of his life, if he was in pain or at peace. Perhaps it was something only warriors would understand, and Atticus understood his father’s request well.
The man wanted the details.
“He was gored through the belly, twice,” he finally said, his voice no stronger than a whisper. “By the time I saw him, he did not feel much of anything at all. His body was badly wounded, Papa. It simply shut down. Did he suffer greatly? I do not believe so. He was at peace in the end. He simply closed his eyes and was gone.”
At that gentle but frank summation, Solomon lowered his head and wept quietly. Atticus felt very badly for his father, hearing the last moments of his son, but in a sense, perhaps the man would have some peace now. But it wouldn’t be over until Atticus confronted those who committed the crime. Only then would they know complete peace.
Atticus kissed his father farewell later that morning when he departed Wolfe’s Lair with Isobeau by his side. Kenton, Adam, Maxim, Alec, and Juston were with him as Tertius and the bulk of Northumberland’s army headed back for home. Warenne, carefully cleaned and wrapped by Kenton and Adam, was placed in the same coffin Titus had used for transport and sent back to Thetford with twenty-five Northumberland men-at-arms for escort.
Atticus found himself kissing the coffin yet again, this time because his dear friend was inside. It was a truly sad parting for Atticus, who deeply missed Warenne and his wisdom. But he was glad that Warenne was finally able to go home even though it wasn’t the manner in which Warenne had wanted. As Atticus lingered over the coffin, saying his farewells, he remembered that Warenne had once told him to make sure that when he punished de la Londe and de Troiu, one of those sword thrusts was meant from Warenne himself. Now, Atticus would make sure of it.
Under partially cloudy skies on a wind-swept day, all parties departing from Wolfe’s Lair went their separate ways.
But all thoughts were with Atticus on his final journey for Titus.
There wasn’t one man among them who wasn’t praying for his success.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ionian scale in C– Lyrics to Joy Comes
Joy comes again
Beneath the pale moonlight
For joy to know an ending
It must have dear blue sight.
—Isobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c.
Just north of Wellesbourne Castle
Mid-May
Isobeau was nothard pressed to admit that her backside was numb from the fifteen days of travel she had endured following Atticus from the extreme north of England to the area of mid-England she was much more familiar with.
Her mare had been extremely durable and easy to ride for the length of their trip south so it wasn’t the mare’s fault that her bum was both achy and numb. Still, she wanted nothing more than to dismount the horse and walk or even run, anything to ease up the pressure on her bum. Sometimes she tried rubbing it but she was surrounded by knights who, she had discovered, would watch her do it with great interest, so she stopped. They seemed to like it too much. Suffering in silence, she rode mile after mile with a sore arse.
