Margaret was a rather morose girl without a lick of personality. She seemed perpetually depressed, perpetually bored. “You cannot see the road from here,” she said. “A rider came about a half hour ago and told my mother that my father’s army was returning home. That is why Mother says you must come inside now.”
Isobeau set Eleanor on her feet and quickly stood up, brushing off her dress of dirt and grass. “How exciting,” she said happily. “I have just been sitting here wondering when they would come home and now they are finally here!”
Isobeau’s heart was racing as she thought of Titus returning and she wanted to make herself presentable before he saw her. Her long hair was a mess and there was grass all over her skirt. She began scurrying back to the great, walled fortress of Alnwick, pulling her horse along as the three young women ran along behind her.
“My mother says the army is just north of Felton and should be here within the hour,” Margaret said. She always called Lady Percy “My mother”, even when she was addressing her directly. It wasn’t simply “Mother”; it was “My mother” in all things. “My mother said that the messenger told her that the most recent battle was a terrible loss.”
Isobeau looked at Margaret with concern. “What does that mean?”
Margaret caught up to her, rushing along beside her with little Elizabeth bouncing vigorously with every step Margaret took.
“I am not sure,” she said. “My mother sent my brother and two soldiers out to meet the incoming army and see to my father’s return. Papa will be here soon and all will be well then.”
Margaret seemed confident but Isobeau wasn’t so sure. She couldn’t shake the sense of concern she felt.The battle was a terrible loss.Loss of what? Territory? Men? Knights? Suddenly, her apprehension for Titus’ safety took on a new dimension. She was very anxious to see him. Something inside her, a little voice in her head, told her to get back to the castle quickly. There was no time to waste.
Picking up the pace, she made haste for the hulking fortress of Alnwick Castle.
*
“She knows, Atticus.”Sir Kenton le Bec, part of the advance party that reached Alnwick before the bulk of the army, met Atticus at the great gatehouse of Alnwick. “She was with Lady Percy when we told the woman of the earl’s demise. Lady de Wolfe asked me a direct question about Titus’ health and I could not lie to her. I hope you understand that.”
Atticus looked at his very tall, muscular friend. Kenton le Bec was perhaps the best knight he’d ever known next to Titus and he trusted the man implicitly. Still, he felt some frustration at the admission even though he did, in fact, understand. As the remains of Northumberland’s army trickled in through the open gates, Atticus removed his helm and wiped at his sweating forehead with the back of his hand.
“I understand,” he grunted. Then, he shook his head as if exasperated. “I should have ridden ahead to tell her. I should have gone with you.”
Kenton put a big hand on Atticus’ shoulder. “You were where you were most needed,” he said quietly. “You rode next to Titus’ body the entire way home. I do not blame you for not wanting to leave his side. There is no shame in that.”
Atticus eyed Kenton. “Except that I left you to inform Lady Percy of her husband’s passing,” he said, “and my brother’s wife along with her. That should have come from me.”
Kenton could see that Atticus was angry at himself for things beyond his control. The man had spent the past six days in almost complete silence, riding beside his brother’s body as it was transported along with the earl on the same wagon bed. The men lay side by side, wrapped tightly in canvas from a small tent the men had cut in half to use as burial shrouds for them. Northumberland’s surgeon had cut bushels of fresh rosemary to pack around the bodies to cover the stench, but on the sixth dayafter their deaths, nothing could adequately cover the smell of decay.
Even now, as the wagon bearing their bodies entered the inner ward of Alnwick, they could smell that sweet-pungent stench of death. Unfortunately, there were several other wagons bearing the dead that they had been able to gather from the slaughter at Towton, so the very air around them smelled of putrefaction. It was as if they were bringing death back to Alnwick as it followed them home from Towton.
Kenton, the most stoic and professional of all knights, watched Atticus’ expression as the wagon bearing his brother’s body moved past him. He could see the grief in the man’s eyes even if his weary face remained expressionless. Kenton was hurting, too; they all were. And they were all equally furious with the news that two of their own had turned on Titus. Though it was not their right, all of Northumberland’s remaining knights had that same sense of vengeance that Atticus had. Treacherous knights, men they had trusted, were an insult and a danger to them all.
But that was something they could not focus on at the moment; they had an earl to bury, friends to bury, and a castle to secure. Vengeance would have to come at another time, as Warenne had stressed the entire ride back to Alnwick. Since de Winter’s base was in Norfolk and not far from the Duke of Norfolk’s seat, de Winter and his thrashed army had returned to Alnwick with the Northumberland army in the hopes of healing the injured and recuperating somewhat before making the long trek home. Moreover, it was clear that de Winter was very concerned for Atticus. They all were.
With that in mind, Kenton moved to take over Atticus’ duties and let the man deal with his brother’s wife. He addressed Atticus’ last statement.
“Then go to Lady de Wolfe now,” Kenton said quietly. “She was quite broken up the last time I saw her.”
Atticus didn’t look particularly enthusiastic about it as he glanced at the big, brown-stoned keep of Alnwick that had been there since the days of William the Conqueror. It was old and solid, the seat of Northumberland for centuries. It had been home to him for years but now all he felt was emptiness when he looked at it; too many memories of Titus within those old walls. He took a deep, sorrowful breath.
“I will go,” he said. “Did you tell her about Tertius also?”
Kenton nodded. “She asked,” he replied. “I told her that her brother is well.”
Atticus lifted his eyebrows to that statement, sorrow in his action. Her brother was alive, yet his was not. He realized that there was some bitterness towards her because of it. “I have not seen Tertius since we entered Alnwick,” he said, looking around. “If you see the man, tell him to go to his sister. Mayhap he can bring her some comfort.”
Kenton merely nodded. As Atticus put his helm on the saddle of the young, big-boned warhorse that had belonged to the earl, de Winter rode up in to their midst, bringing up the rear of the army astride his vibrant, red rouncey. As the horse threw its head around, spraying foam from its mouth, Warenne flipped up the visor on his helm and looked at Atticus and Kenton.
“That is the last of the army,” he said. “Thank you again for letting us seek shelter here while we tend the wounded, Atticus. We shall try not to be terrible guests.”
Atticus smiled weakly. “I would put you to work mucking the stables to pay for your keep,” he teased his friend. “But since you are allergic to horse shite, I suppose I will spare you.”
Kenton had a lazy half-grin on his face at the young earl’s expense as Warenne laughed outright. “Put me in the kitchens,then,” he said. “See if you do not find horse shite in your stew someday. That will teach you to make a slave out of me.”
Kenton chuckled and even Atticus snorted. “Unfortunately, I believe you,” he said. Then, he glanced at the gates of Alnwick as the chains tightened up as men began to close it. “Kenton will show you where your men will bed down. I will put you in the keep, however. You will enjoy all of the hospitality that Alnwick has to offer, but for now, I must see to my brother’s wife. I will seek you out later.”
