The Lion of the North (8 page)

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 heard
you 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.”

“I am well aware of that.”

Warenne knew he was. Unable to stomach looking at the rotting corpse that the mighty Titus de Wolfe had become, he moved over to a stone bench in the cell and sat heavily. He was weary, like the rest of them, but unable to sleep. There was too much to do.

“Kenton, Wellesbourne, de Russe, and Alec le Bec finally have the men settled,” he said, changing the subject away from Titus’ state. “I told them to report to you down in the vault for further orders. Is there anything else you need done, Atticus?”

Atticus was starting at his brother’s sunken face. “I can only imagine they have completed everything that needed handling,” he said. “The men are settled, the dead have been set aside for burial, the wounded are being tended, and the castle is bottled up. What more could there be?”

Warenne’s gaze drifted to Titus, thinking of the obvious. “There is the matter of de Troiu and de la Londe,” he said quietly. “They all know what has happened. What they will want to know is how they can help you find these men and punish them.”

Atticus looked over at Warenne. “Vengeance is mine,” he said, his voice low. “I would not expect them, nor would I want them, to set aside their loyalties to Northumberland and seek justice for my brother. I must do this alone, Ren. This is not a group activity.”

Warenne shook his head. “You cannot deny them their sense of anger against de Troiu and de la Londe,” he reminded him. “These men as much as betrayed all of Northumberland when they decided to seek converts for Norfolk and Edward’s cause. They simply happened to approach Titus first; it could have been any of them. They are hurt and angry, too, Atticus. You cannot take that away from them.”

“He is
my
brother.”

“Would you prefer they didn’t care, then?”

The last two sentences were quickly spoken, overlapping. Atticus frowned at Warenne. “I am seeking to kill them, Ren,” he said plainly. “When I say that I must seek justice for Titus, it is to track down those two devils and kill them. I will not bring them before any magistrate or court; I will dispense justice as I see fit. That being said, I cannot pull all of the Northumberland knights into my revenge. That is an unfair expectation to presume all of them will follow me to punish these men and commit murder on behalf of the de Wolfe bloodlines.”

Warenne could see his point but he still disagreed. “You are not pulling them with you,” he said. “They loved Titus, too, or did you forget that?”

Atticus hadn’t. All of Northumberland’s knights had loved his brother. But he was convinced that he and he alone was the only one who could seek justice for his brother. His gaze returned to Titus.

“I do not know what I am going to do without him,” he said, the reflections of grief in his voice. “My father will be devastated when I tell him.”

Warenne crossed his big arms, leaning back against the freezing cold stone. “What about his wife?” he said. “How is Lady de Wolfe? I understand that she and Titus were quite fond of each other.”

Atticus struggled not to make a face. “I have no idea why,” he said, distaste in his tone. “She is a disagreeable, stubborn woman. I have no idea how my brother came to love her, but he did.”

Warenne snorted softly, with humor. “Is she beautiful?”

Atticus looked at him. “Have you not seen her?”

“Nay.”

Atticus shrugged and turned back to Titus. “She is an incredibly beautiful woman,” he admitted. “I thought so the moment I set eyes on her. So did Titus. I have never seen finer. But she has a terrible personality to go along with that beauty.”

Warenne put a hand over his mouth so Atticus would not see him grinning. “And your brother wants you to marry that terrible beauty? Shocking.”

Atticus couldn’t help it now; he pursed his lips irritably, thinking on the shrewish Lady de Wolfe. “Surely he did not know what he was saying,” he said. “His wound must have twisted his mind somehow. Surely he did not mean it.”

Warenne fought off the giggles at Atticus’ lament. “Even so, he asked you to marry her and you agreed,” he said. “My best advice for you is to just do what you promised to do and be done with it. And if Lady de Wolfe gets out of hand, a good spanking will do wonders.”

“So would fifty lashes.”

Warenne burst out laughing. “She is a de Shera,” he pointed out. “Unless you want the entire war clan of de Shera down around you, I would not lash the woman. And do not forget that she is also related to Anglesey, so I have heard. You do not want to invite the wrath of the Welsh warlords, do you?”

Atticus grunted, scratching his head irritably. “I should simply send her back to Isenhall Castle and forget about her.”

Warenne shrugged. “Aye, you could,” he said. “But you would not forget your promise to your brother. It would eat at you until you fulfilled it. So my advice, once again, is to simply marry the woman and be done with it. You will be unable to live with yourself otherwise.”

He was right. Atticus wiped a weary hand over his face, pondering the mess he found himself in with regards to his brother’s wife, when the sounds of boot falls could be heard on the stairs leading down into the dank and musty vault. The stone steps were slippery with cold and rot and at one point, someone slipped and fell. They could hear the voices of at least two men trying not to fall the entire way down the steps. When the first man finally appeared, he was holding steady to the man just behind him.

“Damnable steps,” the knight in heavy armor hissed as he let go of his companion. “I nearly broke my bleeding neck!”

He was holding on to his heart, not his neck, as if genuinely terrified that he would have met such an end. Sir Adam Wellesbourne was a short, stocky, and muscular knight who more than likely would meet his end on a battlefield and not a flight of stairs, but he was dramatic with the best of them. Following on his heels, the man he had been holding on to, was his cousin, Sir Alec le Bec. A big man, young, with blond hair and bright, blue eyes, he was grinning at the shorter knight.

“You would not break your neck,” Alec said. “With your girth, you would roll all the way to the bottom and bounce off of the walls, just like an inflated bladder.”

As Adam snarled at his good-looking cousin by marriage, more men came down the steps. Sir Maxim de Russe, also a cousin to Wellesbourne and le Bec and the son of the great knight once known as Beast, Sir Bastian de Russe, eyed his cousins with some irritation. Maxim was quite young, like Adam and Alec, but he had a wisdom that went well beyond his years. He was also excruciatingly handsome and he knew it, making him palpably arrogant.

“Still your tongues, both of you,” Maxim said quietly, gesturing to Atticus as the man sat next to Titus’ body. “Have respect.”

As Adam and Alec shushed each other, Kenton and finally Tertius appeared from the stairs. Now, all five Northumberland knights were in the vault along with Atticus and the earl, gathered for a debriefing and further orders.

Atticus glanced up at the men, now
his
men. With Titus gone, he was now in charge of Northumbria’s army. Odd how that hadn’t occurred to him until that moment; it had been six long days since the defeat at Towton but the fact that he was now in command really hadn’t hit him until now. Now, suddenly, realization dawned and he didn’t like the weighty feel of it. He didn’t particularly want it. He had things to do, a future path cut out for him that had nothing to do with commanding Northumberland’s armies. But for the moment, he would pretend the mantle of command had been easily assumed. They were all expecting such confident direction from The Lion of the North and he would not disappoint.

“I am told that the men are settled and the army disbanded for the moment,” Atticus said, looking at Kenton. “Now that we are settled and returned, what kind of assessment can you give me on the dead and wounded?”

Kenton folded his enormous arms across his chest, his brow furrowing in thought. He looked exactly like his paternal grandfather, the great Richmond le Bec, in many ways – he had the man’s substantial height and width, and he even had the same habit of cocking an eyebrow when particularly annoyed or thoughtful. He also had Richmond’s legendary fighting ability; in fact, he was better. At least, Richmond had thought so. The man had been gone for several years but his legacy, and his power, remained. There was no one finer with a crossbow in all of England than Kenton le Bec.

“We carried at least ten thousand men into battle,” he said. “The exact number I had when leaving Alnwick was eight thousand, nine hundred and fifty-seven, but we picked up men as we marched southward so the best estimate is that we were well over ten thousand. Out of that ten thousand, a little over three thousand have returned with us to Alnwick and that is not including Thetford’s army.”

Atticus struggled not to let his shock show but he couldn’t help it; he hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the massive headache that threatened.

“Less than half,” he muttered. “We have returned with less than half our men.”

Kenton nodded solemnly. “Surely you realized that.”

Atticus stopped pinching his nose and nodded with great regret. “I suspected,” he said. “What of the battle in general? I know it was a sound defeat for Henry, but do we have an idea of the overall losses?”

Kenton sighed. “You saw the retreat of our army.”

Atticus nodded vaguely. “I saw an entire river filled with bodies,” he said. “I was part of the contingent that held off the charging Yorkists to allow our men to fall back. I finally had to give up or surrender my own life. With Norfolk bringing in fresh troops, there was no choice.”

They all knew that; Towton had been an ugly, nasty defeat, something none of them had spoken of during the entire trip north. There had been no need, as they had mostly been concerned with reaching the safety of Alnwick. But now that they were safe, the terrible defeat at Towton was becoming even more terrible as they discussed the losses for the Lancastrians. Even for the seasoned knights, some of the news was quite shocking and the reality of their status now, as the defeated, was grossly depressing.

“So the tides are now turned against us,” Kenton said quietly. “We are now enemies to the new king and you know that Edward is going to demand the surrender of Alnwick. Northumberland led those armies at Towton and the Percys secure the north. Edward is going to make sure we are neutralized.”

Atticus knew that. His thoughts shifted from those of Titus as he considered the immediate future for Alnwick and her inhabitants. That weight of command he had felt moments earlier was now heavier than before.

“I know,” he said. “But he will not come tomorrow, or even next month. It is my sense that Edward will wait until he settles in to London and establishes his court before he makes any demands of surrender to any of us. He does not have the manpower to retaliate so soon, so for the time being, we are safe.”

“Then why bottle up Alnwick?” Adam Wellesbourne wanted to know. Adam was more a follower than a leader, but he was a skilled knight and fearless in a fight. “Our gates are closed and we have double guards upon the walls. Why all of the protection if Edward will wait to move against us?”

Atticus glanced at him. “Because there is no guarantee that Edward will not move against us in some way,” he said. “He has men in York and in Richmond that he could send to us and there is always the threat of Norfolk since he is nearby. With that in mind, I will send word to Scotland to see if we can solicit reinforcements from the Scots. Henry’s wife, Margaret, is allied with the Scots so there is the possibility. But I will be truthful when I say that we will make no sudden movements, in any case. We will bottle ourselves up and wait. That is the most prudent stance we can take.”

“Where
is
Henry?” Adam asked quietly.

Atticus shrugged, looking at Warenne, who addressed the group when all attention shifted to him. “We believe he will flee to Scotland if he hasn’t already,” he said. “His allies are there. What happened at Towton turned Henry into a fugitive in his own country. Our lives, our very livelihoods, will change from this moment on, my good lords. We are now the enemy.”