“Aye.”
“Since the battle started two days ago,” Lewis said. “I broke my foot at the beginning of the fight and they caught me easy. They brought you here right after I came, so it has been two days. You have been unconscious for that long.”
Kenton was trying very hard to clear the cobwebs out of his mind. He remembered riding to the south end of Manchester, into a nasty skirmish, and fighting a big knight on a blond steed. But after that, he remembered very little. Flashes of sound and pain, mostly. His anxiety began to take root.
“What is happening now?” he asked.
Sitting up, and watching the St. John guards carefully as they monitored the gang of Warwick prisoners they had spread out in a field on the southeast side of town, Lewis spoke quietly.
“Nothing, my lord,” the soldier mumbled. “The fighting is over. Conisbrough brought fresh men to a fight. They captured many of our men and more than likely killed as many.”
“And my knights?”
Lewis shook his head. “Not here,” he said. “Not with us. I heard some of the Conisbrough men speak of chasing a group of men back towards Babylon, including three knights, but I haven’t heard any more of that.”
Kenton blinked, struggling to think clearly. “Three knights,” he mumbled. “With Forbes gone, it had to be le Mon and Wellesbourne and de Russe. That means they were not killed.”
“I would say not, my lord.”
Kenton felt a great deal of relief at that. “Then I am thankful.”
Lewis stopped himself from replying when one of the St. John soldiers happened to hear conversation and glance back at the group of prisoners to see who was talking. Lewis kept his head down until the soldier lost interest and turned back around.
“Mayhap the knights will summon help from Babylon,” he whispered.
Kenton drew in a deep breath, turning his head slightly and trying to loosen his neck up. It was so incredibly stiff. “What help?” he questioned. “I left a mere two hundred men back at Babylon. If we are to be helped, it will not come from them. Warwick is in Wakefield; hopefully, men have already ridden to tell him what has happened. If assistance comes, it will come from Warwick.”
The same St. John soldier turned around because he heard conversation a second time. Lewis dropped his head, pretending to be dozing, until the soldier turned back around once more.
“We must keep quiet, m’lord,” he said. “They know you are a knight and they hope you are one of Kenton le Bec’s knights. I do not think they know they have le Bec himself but they keep asking the men if you are le Bec. No one will confirm it.”
Kenton lay there, thinking of the loyalty of his men, feeling like such a complete and utter failure. He had been fighting since seventeen years of age. He’d seen several major battles in that time and had survived all of them. To allow himself to become captured in a mere skirmish was insulting at the very least. He could still hardly believe it. Still, it was dangerous for his men to deny who he was. Soon enough, whoever his captors were would start using strong-arm tactics to gain answers and his men would suffer. This Kenton could not allow. In order to save his men, and perhaps even himself, he had to announce his identity. At least his men would be spared if he told them who he was. At least, that was the hope.
“Lewis,” he whispered, “are there Conisbrough soldiers around?”
Lewis eyed the gang of them several feet away. “Aye, my lord.”
“Call them over.”
Lewis looked at him, shocked. “But… why?” he asked. “You don’t want to engage them, my lord.”
Kenton tried to lift his head, to look at Lewis, but it was just too painful. “Call them now. I will not tell you again.”
Lewis was quickly growing distraught. He had no idea what le Bec had in mind but he knew he didn’t like it. “Please, my lord,” he hissed. “They are looking for you. They want to use you, probably as an example to the others. They may even want to send you as a prize to Edward. Surely you cannot…!”
“If you do not call them, I will.”
Lewis gazed at the man, feeling a good deal of sorrow. He couldn’t stomach the thought of the great Kenton le Bec in Edward’s hands but it occurred to him that le Bec might have something else in mind. He hoped that was the case. Eyeing Kenton as the man tried to lift his head, Lewis turned with great reluctance to the group of soldiers about twenty feet away.
“Oy!” he yelled. “You, there! Come over here!”
Several of the soldiers turned to look at him, frowning. “Quiet, you,” one of them threatened, holding up a balled fist. “If I come over there, you are not going to like it.”
Lewis pursed his lips ironically. “I already do not like it,” he said. “’Tis not my idea to ask you over here. I have been told to do it.”
Now, he had the attention of most of the soldiers who were standing in the group. “By whom?” one of the men demanded.
Before Lewis could reply, Kenton spoke in that deep, commanding boom that his men knew so well. It was a tone not meant to be disobeyed.
