“Did you capture le Bec?” she asked again because it seemed as if he had not answered that particular question.
Brome politely moved her and Tab aside as men bearing great planks of wood moved to repair the unhinged gate. “I have not received word of that,” he said. “But we do have many prisoners. It is possible he is among that group.”
Nicola didn’t know if she felt better or worse by that statement. Was it possible that Kenton got away? “If you have him, what will you do with him?” she asked.
Brome shrugged. “Take him back to Conisbrough, I am sure,” he said. “After that, I will send him to Edward. The king will be thrilled to have such a prize as Kenton le Bec.”
Nicola was feeling increasingly sick at the prospect, the realization that Kenton, if a prisoner, would be sent to Edward as some great, triumphant prize. A seasoned knight, who was born and bred for battle, reduced to a trophy. A pawn in the game between Henry and Edward. God, she felt so ill at the mere thought.
But something more filled her thoughts. If Kenton was sent to Edward, it was quite possible she would never see him again. He would be taken away and locked up forever. She could not live with herself if she didn’t see him one last time, to confess her sins and explain why she had committed them, and ask for an explanation of his terrible words, the ones that had driven her over the brink of sorrow and paranoia.
It was too late for apologies and she knew it. Perhaps it was too late for anything and perhaps Kenton wouldn’t care about her feelings or her motives. But for her own peace of mind, she had to clear her conscience. She had to see the man one last time, the man who had made her feel things she never imagined she was capable of feeling. But he was the enemy and he had been intent on using her; those were the facts as she knew them. But perhaps they weren’t facts at all.
Perhaps she had been the real enemy all along.
It was she, after all, who had done the betraying.
“I see,” she murmured after a moment. “But you will take him to Conisbrough first?”
“I will.”
“Then you will do me a favor,” Nicola said. “There is much I wish to say to Kenton le Bec now that he will be a prisoner of Edward. The man spent two weeks at Babylon and in that time… well, it does not matter. I have a few things to say to him. It is my right, as his former captive.”
Brome appeared doubtful. “My lady, I….”
“It is my right,” Nicola insisted again, louder. She was growing agitated. “He smashed my husband’s tomb and stole from us. It is my right to have a few final words with him before you take him away forever. I demand it.”
Brome wouldn’t argue with her. It was evident that seeing le Bec meant a good deal to her. Perhaps she wanted to spit in his face, which he really couldn’t blame her for. She had spent days, weeks, with the man, under submission. He could understand her need to tell him exactly what she thought of him and the damage he’d done.
“Very well,” Brome sighed. “If it is your wish, I will make it so.”
Nicola struggled to calm her agitation, pleased that he had given in to her request. As if he’d had a choice. “My thanks,” she said, putting her hand on Tab’s shoulder with the intention of leading him away. But she paused. “What of the le Bec knight who was in charge of Babylon? Where is he?”
Brome tilted his head in the direction of the gatehouse structure that contained the vaults. “He is locked away,” he said. “I am not entirely sure of his health because my men beat him soundly, but he is still alive.”
Nicola struggled to keep the great concern off her features. “I would see that one, too,” she said, trying to sound angry. “I have a few things to say to him as well.”
Brome complied, mostly because he didn’t want a scene with Lady Thorne. The woman was determined to speak with the knights who had held her and her family hostage and he would not stand in the way. There was certainly some sense of vengeance there against her former captors. Without another word, he motioned her to following him to the vaults, and that’s exactly what Nicola did.
Down into the moldering, dank depths of Babylon’s horrid vaults.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Outside of Wakefield, Yorkshire
“We have noway of knowing how they knew we were in Manchester,” Matthew said. “All we know is that we were overrun with troops bearing the standards of Saxilby and Fitzalan, the same bastards who had laid siege to Babylon the week before. This time, however, they were heavily reinforced with garrison troops. Someone said they were from Conisbrough. We could see Edward’s colors everywhere.”
Warwick had oneof the more comfortable encampments when traveling, with big tents and creature comforts to suit him. Even now, as Wellesbourne and de Russe stood exhausted and beaten before him, Warwick was quite comfortable with his blazing brazier and piles of furs. He sat at his portable desk, the one he always traveled with, listening to a harrowing and disheartening tale. His gaze upon Wellesbourne and de Russe was not one of pleasantness.
“So you ran,” he said flatly. “You left le Bec behind.”
De Russe, displeased at having his courage questioned, spoke. “It was not a matter of running, I assure you,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. “We had been fighting for a week and our men were exhausted. Edward’s supporters rolled into the south side of town and began taking back the town one street at a time. We moved to meet them and we met them strongly, but they were fresh and we were not. The last I saw of le Bec, he rode straight into a particularly bad skirmish and was unseated. We tried to get to him but we were driven back. We were very nearly captured ourselves. With le Bec down and the men scattering, we gathered what troops we could and headed back to Babylon to gain what reinforcements that we could, but Babylon was under attack as well. It would have been foolish to try and engage whoever was after Babylon with our meager numbers. That being the case, we came straight to you to inform you what has happened.”
Warwick was glaring up at the big knight. He knew de Russe wasn’t a coward and he knew the same about Wellesbourne. Still, he was upset with the loss of Babylon. He’d heard the story twice now, once from Wellesbourne and now from de Russe, but he was still disheartened and angry.
“Manchester was hit when le Bec had secured it and Babylon was hit simultaneously,” he muttered, rolling the facts over in his mind as he tried to make some sense of them. Then, he began to shake his head, wagging it back and forth. “God’s Bones, this stress is more than I can bear right now. I have enough on my mind. I’ve received word that Edward’s armies are sailing up from Calais, north along the English coast, headed for Yorkshire. He will be here any day but now I must deal with the failure of Manchester and the loss of Babylon.”
De Russe still wasn’t over the fact that Warwick intimated he was a coward. “The loss of both Manchester and Babylon wasnot expected, I assure you,” he said. “It is my opinion that it was not a coincidence.”
