“What would you have me do, then?” she asked, on the defensive. “I cannot do anything to ease the pain and devastation.”
Tertius abruptly stood up and grabbed her by the hand. “Aye, you can,” he said. “You will go down to the great hall and you will tell the surgeon that you are there to help. The man has his hands full with the wounded and dying, and the least you can do is offer your services to comfort them. A kind word or a comforting touch will make a world of difference to those men who are suffering, Isobeau. Stop behaving like a selfish child and do something with yourself. Go help those in need.”
Isobeau frowned as he pulled her towards the door. “But I do not know anything about tending wounded,” she said. “I have never had a strong stomach for blood, Tertius, you know that. It is even worse now that….”
She stopped herself before she could say anymore. She didn’t want Tertius to be the first one to hear of her pregnancy. But the more she thought about it, there was really no one else to tell. The only man she wanted to truly tell was dead. It was like a stab to her gut to realize that Titus would never know his son. It had been something she had tried not to think about because the mere hint of the recollection magnified her grief tenfold. Muddled in thought, she wasn’t paying much attention to Tertius as he yanked open the chamber door.
“Now thatwhat?” Tertius demanded, although his tone suggested he didn’t much care. “Stop with your excuses, Izzy. Go down to the hall and help. There will be time for mourning Titus but locked away in your room like this… it is not a fitting way to honor his memory. Titus deserves a wife who will put aside her pain and show her strength by helping the men who fought at Titus’ side. You are strong, little sister. I know, for I have seen it. Go down into the hall and do your duty, as Lady de Wolfe.”
He was being kinder with her now, not as angry as he had been before. Isobeau paused in the doorway before he could pull her out into the darkened corridor beyond. When Tertius turned to look at her, wondering if she was just being difficult about it, he was somewhat surprised to see the soft, perhaps resigned, expression on her face.
“I… I did not think on it that way,” she said. “You are quite right, Tertius. I have not been honoring Titus’ memory this afternoon. I thought I was by writing a song to him but… but I suppose I should have been more thoughtful about it. I did not even think to help Titus men. That is not something I have ever really had to do.”
Tertius sighed faintly, relieved that the strong and reasonable sister he knew was starting to come around. She could be stubborn, a dreamer even, but she wasn’t unreasonable. He knew that Titus’ death had her reeling; he could see it in hereyes. It was his intention to force her to focus on something else to help ease the sting of his death.
“I know,” he said. “You have never been a wife before and therefore do not know how to behave with your husband’s men. But you are now the widow of a great knight and you are expected to show your strength to honor him. I know you can do it, Iz.”
Isobeau wasn’t entirely sure but she would not dispute her brother. His confidence in her, in turn, gave her confidence. Besides, she had little choice. She didn’t want to disappoint Tertius and she especially didn’t want to disappoint Titus. Maybe there was more to being a wife than simply marrying a great knight and having his son. The way Tertius phrased it, it made sense. It was time to grow up, just a little.
“I hope so,” she said. Smiling weakly, she let him pull her out into the corridor. “You know how I am around blood. I grow dizzy simply at the sight of it.”
Tertius snorted. “You are a de Shera,” he said. “De Sheras descend from the ancient Romans of Britannia who used to bathe in the blood of their enemies.”
She made a face. “They did not!”
Tertius loved teasing her; she reacted quite humorously to his taunts most of the time. “Aye, they did,” he insisted. “Therefore, you are a Master of Blood. It should not bother you in the least, so go down to the hall and do what you can to comfort the wounded. Make me proud, Izzy.”
Isobeau nodded, noticing he came to a halt when they reached the stairs that led to the floor below. “Are you not coming, too?”
Tertius shook his head. “I have spent weeks in conditions so horrific it is best not to speak of them,” he said, his dark eyes reflecting the horrors of his memories. “I have settled the men and the wagons, and now I plan to take a few moments to settlemyself. Mayhap some food and a hot bath. I have not been warm in weeks.”
It was then that Isobeau could see the exhaustion in her brother’s face. He was a strong man and didn’t often show his weariness, even when it was well-earned, so she was sympathetic to his statement.
“Go, then,” she told him. “I will help the surgeon for a time and then come back to check on you.”
Tertius shook his head. “No need, little sister,” he told her. “Go about your duties as Lady de Wolfe. I will see you later.”
With that, he gestured for her to move down the stairs and she did. Tertius watched her until she disappeared from view, the weary expression fading from his face. True, he was weary, but he also had someone to see. Atticus de Wolfe had evidently had words with Isobeau and Tertius wanted to get to the bottom of it. Atticus was his friend, and his sister’s husband’s brother, but he could also be a rude and arrogant whoreskin when he set his mind to it. He wanted to make sure all was well between Atticus and Isobeau, especially if Titus had asked his brother to marry his widow. That, more than anything, concerned him; if the two of them were to marry, he didn’t want bad blood from the start.
When he was sure Isobeau was on her way to the great hall, Tertius went in search of Atticus.
I find your tears at his passing insulting to say the very least.
He was going to give the man a chance to explain his words to Isobeau before he slugged him in the face.
*
“I had heardyou were in here.”
Atticus heard the familiar voice, turning to see Warenne entering the dank confines of the vault. They were on the lower level of Alnwick’s gatehouse, deep in the vaults that usually housed Alnwick’s prisoners. Today, however, they housed the dead. Titus was in one of the cells and the earl was in the other. It was very cool down here and would protect the bodies from the rot that was already overtaking them.
“Aye,” Atticus replied, watching Warenne as the man came to stand next to him. He then returned his attention to Titus, studying him just as Warenne was. “Kenton put the earl and my brother down here because the cold will preserve the bodies better. I have been spending my last few hours with Titus, trying to convince him to take back his request of me to marry his wife. So far, he has refused.”
Warenne gave a half-grin to the attempt at humor. “Silent, is he?” he said, inspecting Titus’ greenish cast and the eyes that were already becoming sunken. His sobered. “He looks terrible.”
“I know.”
“He must be buried as soon as possible.”
