The Lion of the North (38 page)

But there was something more on Atticus’ mind as well; the more compromised the gates became, the more his thoughts turned towards his wife. Locked up in her room, he was glad for her safety but he knew that if the gates were breached, she would be in danger. Wolfe’s Lair appeared to only have one way in or out, through the front gates, but the truth was that there was a tunnel that ran from the storage area beneath the great hall to the creek bed to the south of the fortress.

When Atticus had been a small boy, he and Titus used to play in that tunnel constantly but he had no idea if the tunnel was still open and viable. Somehow, someway, he would have to get Isobeau to the tunnel and the more he watched the front gates burn, the more he knew he would have to go to her whether or not she wanted to see him and take her to safety. He would have to take the woman and flee.

“Atticus,” Solomon was suddenly standing next to him, interrupting his thoughts. “If we cannot douse the flames on the gate, the bars will start to soften. We must prepare the men for the breach.”

Atticus looked at his father, a man he had shoved aside a few hours before when he felt his father was in his way. Solomon was old and slow, but his mind was still very sharp. Atticus suddenly felt very badly for the way he had treated his father. He reached out, putting a big arm around his father’s broad shoulders in a gesture of comfort.

“They are already prepared,” he said. “But you… you cannot withstand hand to hand combat these days, Papa. I have been standing here thinking about the old tunnel that leads to the creek bed off to the south. If the tunnel is still open, then mayhap we should think about leading my wife to it. I am hoping you might do this for me.”

Solomon shook his head. “I will not leave my home,” he said. “I was born here and I shall die here. I will not flee. But you must go, Atticus. It is you they want. You must take Isobeau and leave. Run, boy; run away and do not look back.”

Atticus looked at his father, studying the man. After having lost Titus, and now Warenne, he was fairly certain he couldn’t handle losing his father.

“Papa,” he said softly. “You are all I have left. I could not stand to lose you. Therefore, you must come with Isobeau and me when we flee. But if you remain, then I will remain. I will not go without you.”

Solomon looked at him and Atticus was struck by the defeat he saw in the man’s eyes. The death of a son, now the siege of his home… Solomon was weary. He was an old man and he was weary of what life had dealt him as of late. But there was more to it than that; Atticus had never seen his father so… calm. Resigned, even. Perhaps Solomon was prepared to accept the end, which Atticus was not.

“You have a beautiful wife now,” Solomon said quietly. “You and Isobeau will carry on the de Wolfe name. You will have many strong sons that will outshine the sun. We are descended from greatness, you know. William de Wolfe himself, the Wolfe of the Borders, is our ancestor. I imagine when I look at you that I see a great deal of him. You have his strength and his sense of honor. There is so much of William de Wolfe within you, Atticus. That must be preserved.”

Atticus had heard that before from his father;
I see you as the embodiment of William de Wolfe
. He smiled faintly.

“William de Wolfe lived two hundred years ago,” he said. “Whatever traits the man possessed, I am sure that generations of breeding have watered it down. What you see in me is a reflection of yourself. You are the greatest knight I have ever known, next to Titus. Whatever you see in me, it is you.”

Solomon smiled, sharing a warm moment with his son as the gate began to burn even hotter now. De Wolfe men were trying frantically to douse it but the flames were shooting up the length of the gates, igniting the wooden frame that held it against the opening of the gatehouse. But even though the enemy appeared to be winning, and soon they would be overrun with Norfolk men who wanted to claim Wolfe’s Lair for Edward, there was peace and joy between Solomon and Atticus. He patted his youngest son on the cheek with a big, meaty hand.

“You are my shining light, boy,” Solomon said softly. “Never forget that. Now, go to your wife and take her to the tunnel. It is still open although we use it for storage these days. Take Isobeau and flee. I must know you are safe.”

Atticus sighed heavily. “Papa, you are putting me in a terrible position,” he said. “I will not leave you.”

“You must.”

“If the situation was reversed, would
you
leave
me
?”

Solomon frowned. “I would do what my father told me to do.”

“Then I am a terrible son because I am not leaving.”

“What about your wife?”

Atticus’ staunch refusal took a hit as he was reminded of Isobeau. Soft, sweet, lovely Isobeau… she could not fall into the hands of Norfolk. He was fairly certain that Summerlin would treat her well, but he could not be sure of her fate. What a prize she would be to Norfolk or even to Edward. Could he risk her falling into the hands of the unscrupulous new king and his lascivious family? Nay, he could not. But he was greatly torn about leaving his father behind. He simply couldn’t do it.

“I will take her to the tunnel and tell her to flee into the woods that are to the south,” he said. “But I will not go with her. I will only join her after we have fought off Norfolk’s assault.”

Solomon’s heart ached for Atticus, understanding his son would not leave him to face the aggression alone. He understood the loyalty, the unwillingness to leave the man he loved to battle for him. But time was growing short and there was no time for argument.

“Do you think she will go without you?” Solomon said, now moving out from under his son’s arm and pushing at the man’s chest as if to push him away. “We have discussed this; she has already buried one husband and it would be unfair, nay,
tragic
to expect her to bury another. You must go with her, boy. I have lived my life. I was married to a woman I loved. I had my beloved sons. My life has been lived. But you… your life has only just begun, now with a beautiful wife at your side. You must go, Atticus. It will kill me to have you linger simply because of me.”

Atticus was starting to feel panicky, torn by his father’s words. He wished to God that Warenne was here to advise him, but Warenne was wrapped up in an old coverlet and stored in the corner of the dark and cool chapel. Warenne wasn’t here to tell him what he should do because Atticus’ instinct was to remain with his father. He
couldn’t
leave him. The more Solomon pushed, the more Atticus resisted.

“Papa, please,” Atticus said. “You are asking me to choose between you and… and….”

“And your wife!” Solomon snapped. “You must take her and flee, Atticus. Time is shorter than you realize. Look at the flames; the iron frame is already beginning to soften. If you do not go now, it may be too late. You must save yourself!”

Those were the magic words as far as Atticus was concerned. He had no intention of saving himself and fleeing like a coward. But he would lead Isobeau to the tunnel. Then, he would return and fight off Norfolk as best he could. Feeling saddened but determined, he moved away from his father.

“I am going to take Isobeau and the servants to the tunnel,” he said, pointing at his father. “But I will be back. If you are planning on fighting off Norfolk’s assault, then I suggest that you arm yourself. Go the armory and collect your weapon.”

Solomon bellowed at him, something gut-wrenching and painful. He told Atticus not to return; he begged the man. But Atticus wasn’t listening. He was racing across the inner ward towards the steps that led up to the living levels. His heart was racing for more reasons than one. He was apprehensive to see Isobeau again, fearful that the anger and hatred in her heart for him had not yet dissipated. He was fearful of seeing such animosity in the eyes of the woman he was so deeply emotional for.

Thoughts of her, now heavily upon him, weighted him down with worry and anxiety. What if she wouldn’t come with him? What if she wouldn’t even listen to him? He would have to become a brute, forcing her to do his will and try not to care that she would hate him for it. She already hated him. One more offense would not make a difference. It was with an extremely heavy heart that he put his foot on the first step. But a shout from the wall stopped him.

“Atticus!” Kenton roared. “Incoming!”

Atticus turned in the direction of the shout, watching as Kenton waved almost frantically to him. That wasn’t like Kenton at all, for the man did nothing that conveyed agitation or fear. Deeply concerned, not to mention curious, Atticus shifted direction and ran all the way to the steep, narrow staircase that led up to the wall. He had to push men aside as he went, pushing through soldiers and archers, until he reached Kenton’s side. He opened his mouth to ask Kenton to clarify his statement when Kenton pointed a finger eastward. That’s all the man had to do; he simply pointed. When Atticus turned to see what he was pointing at, everything became instantly clear.

Northumberland banners, leading a mighty Northumberland army, were approaching.

Atticus would believe until the day he died that, at that moment, he had witnessed divine intervention in the form of an allied army.

“Tertius!”

Isobeau had very nearly screamed the name when her brother suddenly appeared in her doorway. Startled, she dropped her dragonfly embroidery and flew to her brother, throwing her arms around the man’s neck and breaking into tears. She had never been so surprised, or so glad, to see anyone in her life.

Tertius had just fought his way through a weary Norfolk army to make it to the gates of Wolfe’s Lair that, by the time he arrived, were twisted and smoldering and very difficult to move. But they managed to get one of them open, allowing Northumberland’s army in as Norfolk’s exhausted men scattered and fled south. It had been an extremely short-lived battle that had seen Northumberland, and Wolfe’s Lair, emerge the victor. The de Wolfe standards still flew high above the battered gatehouse.

“Easy, Iz, easy,” Tertius told his hysterical sister, giving her a squeeze before releasing her. “All is well. Everything is safe now.”

Isobeau wiped the tears of joy and relief off her face. “You came!” she gasped. “Why did you come? Why are you here?”

Tertius looked her over critically. “Are you well?” he asked, avoiding her question for the moment. “You look rather pale.”

Isobeau waved him off. “I am fine,” she insisted. “What are you doing here?”

Having his question answered, and knowing that his sister had emerged from the siege of Wolfe’s Lair unharmed, Tertius was inclined to provide Isobeau answers to her own inquiry.

“We were told that Wolfe’s Lair was under attack and made haste to lend assistance,” he said. “How long has this been going on?”

Isobeau shrugged, for she truly didn’t know. It seemed like forever. “At least a week, possibly more,” she said. “Is… is Atticus well? I have not seen him in a very long time.”

Tertius nodded. “Not a scratch on the man,” he replied. “Solomon, either.”

“And Warenne? Kenton?”

Tertius seemed to sober. “Kenton is well,” he said. “But Warenne is dead. You did not know this?”

Isobeau gasped in horror at the news. “I… I did not,” she said, devastated at the passing of the Earl of Thetford. “I have been locked in this room for the past week. I have not been allowed to leave and no one has come to tell me anything, save Thetford. He… he was only here a short while ago. Now he is dead?”

Tertius nodded. “Aye,” he said sadly. Then, he sighed heavily. “Losing Titus and now Warenne… it makes me want to give up war altogether and take up the life of a fisherman. I have seen far too many friends perish over the past few years, but the past few weeks have been the most costly. I am coming to wonder if these wars between Henry and Edward are worth the price we all must pay.”

Isobeau was still lingering on Warenne’s death, so deeply saddened by it. She wandered back over to her little table where her embroidery lay and sat heavily on the nearest chair. “He was such a giving and wise man,” she murmured. “I am sure Atticus is… Tertius, where is Atticus?”

Tertius tugged at his mail gauntlet. “The last I saw, he was cleaning up pockets of fighting near the gate,” he said. “I told you he was well.”

Isobeau nodded. “It is not that,” she said, thinking on the last conversation she and Warenne had shared.
He already lost someone he cared very deeply for in a situation where he was unable to protect him. He could not lose someone else he cared deeply for and not do anything about it.
She wondered if Warenne had ever made it back to Atticus to tell him that she was more than willing to see him.
To forgive him.
Since Atticus had not come to her yet, she suspected that perhaps Warenne had never told him. Her expression to Tertius was filled with urgency. “Please find Atticus and send him to me, Tertius. I must speak to him immediately.”

Tertius frowned. “The man is cleaning up after a battle,” he said. “He has better things to do right now.”

Isobeau stood up. “If you do not send him to me, I will go out and find him,” she said. “Please, Tertius. It is very important.”