David stood there a moment, awkwardly. “Will you be coming back now?”
She shook her head. “Not now. I will in a while.”
“I shall wait for you.”
“Please don’t. I shall be along shortly.”
David didn’t want to leave her alone, for he knew how it was with her these days. But he respected her wishes and left. He was a quiet man, very gentle, and his feelings for Derica were no secret even though he thought he concealed them quite nicely. He and Offa had gone out of their way to repair what was repairable for her, cleaning and roofing two rooms on the second floor of the north tower with a view overlooking the river. Fergus and Emyl lived below her on the first floor, while David and Offa maintained the loft in the great hall.
David was a good craftsman, using wood from the trees surrounding the castle and other items to fashion a bed for her. From wood, he had also fashioned bowls, eating utensils, a crude chest and chair, and a handloom. Then he had sold his dead brother’s sword and purchased six sheep, carefully shearing them of their old wool so that Derica had something to make yarn and fabric with. Even though it was nearing winter and the sheep were cold without their wooly coats, the hair was growing back quickly.
Their life at Cilgarren was not as desolate as it could have been. They had food and were moderately comfortable, and the de Rosas had not come around in all the time they had been there. The only thing missing was Garren, and because Derica felt it like a knife, they all did.
David was crossing the bailey towards the kitchen when Emyl came hurrying in through the inner gatehouse. He was laden with items he had purchased in town with some of the money remaining from the sale of Guy’s sword. He struggled towards David, who set the basket down and took the sack of grain from the old man’s shoulders. Emyl wiped his forehead.
“Where is Fergus?” he demanded.
“In the hall, I think. Is something wrong?”
Emyl could only shake his head as he moved in the direction of the hall. “News. My son must hear of this.”
David put the grain and vegetables in the kitchen. He went to find Offa and the two of them hurried to the hall. Emyl was sitting on a bench, wiping his forehead again and huffing about his age. Fergus, who had been mending a stool, sat on the table beside his father.
“You’re sure about this, Da?”
“Sure enough.”
Offa spoke. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“News,” Emyl said. “I heard in town. There were Welsh knights, talking to the smith.”
“What news?”
The old man fixed the small group with a heady gaze. “A big battle, Richard against John. All the armies of the empire have been called to fight against each other.”
The implication was not lost on Fergus; his eyes closed for a moment as if to ward off the very idea of it. “So it has begun.”
“Aye, it has. And there is more. William Marshal rallied a huge army from the south and met John’s mercenaries at Tick Hill Castle. It was an enormous battle with many lives lost. John’s loyalists have captured thirteen castles about England’s midsection and Richard’s armies are struggling to regain ground lost. All of England is in turmoil.”
Now, it all made sense. Fergus knew exactly where Garren was; if he wasn’t dead already, he was in the middle of the great bloody war that had gripped the country. Feelings of dread and guilt swept him.
“How long has this been going on?” he asked.
“Since July.”
Fergus ran a weary hand across his face, his thoughts racing. As a knight, he knew his only course of action would be to find the Marshal’s army, find Garren, and join the fighting. But William Marshal had ordered him to watch over Derica. There was also the small matter of promising Garren that he would take care of his wife. Still, Derica had three men willing and able to see to her every need, and if the civil war was indeed raging, then the likelihood of Garren forsaking his duties to come back to Derica was slim.
Fergus had carried out his mission for the Marshal, in his opinion. Besides, he never could have truly killed her. The Marshal would have been wiser to assign that task to someone who hadn’t known Garren like a brother. Now, the civil warthey had feared for years was finally bearing fruition and Fergus knew where his place should be, as it had been many times; beside Garren in battle.
“Do we know where the fiercest fighting is at present? Did the Welsh knights say?”
“Northamptonshire, they say,” Emyl replied. “Seems that John’s loyalists are embedded at Rockingham Castle. Damn big place. Richard’s army is trying to unseat them and regain the castle.”
Fergus nodded in thought. The news was probably a few weeks old. The only thing to do would be to ride to Chepstow to find out what he could, and then follow the trail from there. He began to move as Emyl and the others watched him closely.
“Where do you go?” Emyl demanded.
Fergus found his leather jerkin. “I go to war.”
