It was only fair to Solomon that he know everything.
“Papa, there is something I’ve not told you in all of this,” he said, trying to be gentle about it. “When I brought Titus home, I told you that he had been killed at Towton and that was the truth. But I did not tell you how his death came about. I suppose I simply did not want to burden you with it, not whilst you were grieving so terribly. But I find that I must tell you now. It is the reason why I must go to Wellesbourne Castle.”
Solomon looked at his son warily, wanting to know yet not wanting to know. Did it matter? To Solomon, it did. He wanted to know his son’s final moments.
“Tell me how he died, Atticus,” he said quietly.
Atticus nodded, lifting his eyebrows with some resignation and sadness of what he was about to say. “Two Northumberland knights betrayed and murdered Titus,” he said. “These men had secretly sworn allegiance to Norfolk and when they approached Titus and proposed swearing fealty to Edward, Titus refused and they killed him for his refusal. Now those two knights are at Wellesbourne Castle, in the vault, and I must go there and punish them on behalf of my brother. I swore to Titus that I would avenge him and that is exactly what I intend to do. I will kill those who killed my brother.”
By the time he was finished, Solomon was looking at Atticus with big, horrified eyes. He didn’t say anything right away, unusual for the usually vocal man, as he simply sat and digested what he’d been told. His shock, his sorrow, was obvious.
“Murdered,” he finally muttered. “Murdered by men he trusted.”
“Aye.”
Solomon’s features washed with incredible pain but he fought it; it was pain he’d already suffered through but now with the knowledge of how Titus had died, the pain threatened anew. The angst, so recently eased, was back with a vengeance.
“Great Bloody Jesus,” he hissed after a moment. “I wish I could go with you. Damn these rotten joints that I cannot even exact justice for my own son!”
He pounded on his big leg as Atticus and Isobeau watched with concern, afraid that the latest information would send the man spiraling downward again. Solomon pounded, and he even groaned, but his head came back up and he looked to Atticus with eyes alight with revenge. Atticus had never seen such hatred in the man’s eyes, ever. It was a shocking moment.
“Punish them, Atticus,” Solomon hissed. “For me, for Titus, you will punish them and ensure every pain they feel, every agony they experience, has Titus’ name on it. They killed my son and they must be made to suffer.”
Atticus could see how agitated his father was and he put his hands out, clutching the man’s big shoulders in a reassuring manner. “You know I will,” he said softly, seriously. “I will make them pay with every last breath they possess. They will not get off easily, I swear it. Do you believe me?”
Solomon was nodding his head furiously, his bushy hair waving about. There were tears in his eyes, now trickling onto his face. “I do,” he gasped. “You are The Lion of the North. That reputation was given to you at a young age but never has it meant as much as it does now. You were given that title for this one moment, Atticus – to avenge your brother against those who betrayed him. Let The Lion roar, boy. Let him roar!”
Atticus held on to his father, comforting the man, so very sorry that he was deeply upset all over again. Perhaps he should have told his father the circumstances surrounding Titus’ death earlier, but it did not matter now. Solomon knew that his beloved son had been betrayed and his pain was again fresh. As Atticus put his arm around his father’s shoulders, soothingly, he looked over to see how Isobeau was reacting to everything. He worried for her, too.
But Isobeau seemed remarkably composed. She was still standing near the clavichord and when she saw that Atticus was looking at her, she smiled faintly. It was a reassuring gesture, one of faith and trust, and a gesture not lost on Atticus. It fortified him. Quietly, she made her way over to him.
“Is it true?” she asked softly. “De la Londe and de Troiu are truly at Wellesbourne Castle?”
Atticus nodded, reaching out a hand to her. She took it immediately and he held her hand fast, caressing her flesh with his big fingers. “Aye,” he said. “It is a miraculous series of events that have brought us to this place in time and I will tell you the entire story on our journey to Warwickshire, but for now, if you still intend to go with me, you must pack quickly and you must pack lightly. We leave within the hour.”
Isobeau nodded and fled the chamber, heading back to her room and to her possessions there. She wanted very much to go with Atticus, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that she simply didn’t want to be separated from him. She wanted to be with him every moment and she wanted to share this experience with him. It was a vital part of their bonding, of their marriage in general. With de la Londe and de Troiu gone, there would be closure on Titus and a new beginning for them. They both needed that closure, that justice, and that satisfaction.
Atticus could hear Isobeau in her chamber next door, evidently destroying the place as she went to pack for her journey. Things were banging about and something fell. Solomon, distracted from his grief by the banging, looked up as if concerned for the woman but Atticus merely grinned.
“I hope she does not hurt herself in her attempt to pack,” he jested, attempting to lighten the mood for his father somewhat. “It sounds as if she is tearing down the very walls.”
In spite of himself, Solomon smiled weakly. “Women are flighty that way,” he said, putting a meaty hand on his son’s broad shoulder. He seemed more composed than he had been moments earlier. “Are you sure these men are at Wellesbourne, Atticus? Are you positive?”
Atticus nodded unhappily. “Evidently there is a good deal to the lengths they would go to sway men to Edward’s cause,” he said. “They went there to inform Andrew Wellesbourne that his son, Adam, had sworn fealty to Edward in the hopes of gaining Andrew’s vow. Lord Andrew, suspecting betrayal and deceit, threw them in the vault and sent a knight to Alnwick to discover the truth of the matter. Of course it wasn’t true, so now de la Londe and de Troiu are still in Wellesbourne’s vault.”
Solomon sighed faintly, pondering the situation before sitting heavily on the end of his lumpy, smelly bed. It was clear that he was deep in thought.
“It is fortuitous, then,” he said. “As if God has had a hand in helping you find these men and punish them.”
“I think so.”
Solomon lingered on the two knights who had murdered his son. “Tell me,” he said after a moment. “You were with Titus when he died, were you not?”
“Aye.”
“Did he suffer greatly in the end?”
Atticus was reluctant to say anything about Titus’ final moments. “Does it matter?” he asked softly.
Solomon shrugged, suddenly feeling quite weary and old. He rubbed at his knees, thinking yet again how he cursed them because he could not easily travel.
“I want to know what those men did to him,” he finally said. “Did he suffer greatly?”
Atticus was glad Isobeau wasn’t in the room. He found that he couldn’t deny his father’s request but he didn’t particularly want her to hear his answer. Did he suffer greatly? If Atticus had a son who had been killed by others, he would have wanted to know the same thing. He would want to know what his son felt at the end of his life, if he was in pain or at peace. Perhaps it was something only warriors would understand, and Atticus understood his father’s request well.
The man wanted the details.
“He was gored through the belly, twice,” he finally said, his voice no stronger than a whisper. “By the time I saw him, he did not feel much of anything at all. His body was badly wounded, Papa. It simply shut down. Did he suffer greatly? I do not believe so. He was at peace in the end. He simply closed his eyes and was gone.”
At that gentle but frank summation, Solomon lowered his head and wept quietly. Atticus felt very badly for his father, hearing t
he last moments of his son, but in a sense, perhaps the man would have some peace now. But it wouldn’t be over until Atticus confronted those who committed the crime. Only then would they know complete peace.
Atticus kissed his father farewell later that morning when he departed Wolfe’s Lair with Isobeau by his side. Kenton, Adam, Maxim, Alec, and Juston were with him as Tertius and the bulk of Northumberland’s army headed back for home. Warenne, carefully cleaned and wrapped by Kenton and Adam, was placed in the same coffin Titus had used for transport and sent back to Thetford with twenty-five Northumberland men-at-arms for escort.
Atticus found himself kissing the coffin yet again, this time because his dear friend was inside. It was a truly sad parting for Atticus, who deeply missed Warenne and his wisdom. But he was glad that Warenne was finally able to go home even though it wasn’t the manner in which Warenne had wanted. As Atticus lingered over the coffin, saying his farewells, he remembered that Warenne had once told him to make sure that when he punished de la Londe and de Troiu, one of those sword thrusts was meant from Warenne himself. Now, Atticus would make sure of it.
Under partially cloudy skies on a wind-swept day, all parties departing from Wolfe’s Lair went their separate ways.
But all thoughts were with Atticus on his final journey for Titus.
There wasn’t one man among them who wasn’t praying for his success.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ionian scale in C – Lyrics to Joy Comes
Joy comes again
Beneath the pale moonlight
For joy to know an ending
It must have dear blue sight.
—Isobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c.
Just north of Wellesbourne Castle
Mid-May
Isobeau was not hard pressed to admit that her backside was numb from the fifteen days of travel she had endured following Atticus from the extreme north of England to the area of mid-England she was much more familiar with.
Her mare had been extremely durable and easy to ride for the length of their trip south so it wasn’t the mare’s fault that her bum was both achy and numb. Still, she wanted nothing more than to dismount the horse and walk or even run, anything to ease up the pressure on her bum. Sometimes she tried rubbing it but she was surrounded by knights who, she had discovered, would watch her do it with great interest, so she stopped. They seemed to like it too much. Suffering in silence, she rode mile after mile with a sore arse.
While the knights were watching her, however, Isobeau was watching Atticus. The past several days of travel had been very good for the two of them in spite of the seriousness of their journey, and Isobeau had come to know a man who was very funny, very bright, and very quick to move no matter what the reasons or situation. He was brave beyond measure, unafraid of anything, and she gained new appreciation for the man she had married. The trip south with his comrades-in-arms had been an experience for her, witnessing the bonding of brothers-at-arms in a way she’d never had the opportunity to know. They would die for each other but they weren’t beyond a vicious joke or two. She found that out fairly early on.
Traveling through the town of Morecambe, they had lodged for the night in an inn that had no separate sleeping chambers, only a big dormitory on the second floor. Atticus had been rather perturbed about that, not having a private room for his wife, so he sat and brooded about it for the majority of the evening whilst Alec, Maxim, and Kenton had gone in search of another inn that had more suitable arrangements. But there were none to be found, at least not locally, so the men had returned after their unsuccessful venture and throughout the course of the evening, the younger knights had proceeded to become fairly drunk. Especially Maxim.
The young knight was chasing serving wenches about in spite of Atticus admonishing the man, so when he jumped up yet again to go chase after a wench he’d been trying to snag most of the night, Atticus and Kenton took his chair, loosened one of the legs, and put the chair back where Maxim had originally left it. Maxim returned, drunk and upset at yet another unsuccessful hunt, sat down heavily, and the chair promptly collapsed.
Unfortunately, Maxim hit his head on the table behind them and knocked himself unconscious in the fall, and Kenton had hauled the man up and taken him to the dormitory where he slept off his drunkenness with great snoring choruses. Even though Atticus and Kenton had giggled about the broken chair leg, it would seem that Maxim had the last laugh when he snored heavily all night. Isobeau, wrapped snug in her bed next to her husband, had silently laughed at her husband for a joke that didn’t work out for him. When Atticus realized she was laughing at him, he’d tickled her until she screamed for reprieve. Snoring, tickling and all, it had been one of the better nights of her life.
The journey south had seen great bonding between Isobeau and Atticus, and even though their purpose in traveling south was a serious one, Isobeau was grateful for the time she was able to spend with Atticus, time that saw them draw closer. The only trouble was that he had not touched her in the husbandly sense because they hadn’t been given any real time alone.
The trip south had seen them either camp in the open or seek shelter in taverns where they’d always had to share a room with Kenton or another knight. They’d shared a few stolen moments of very heated and lusty kisses, moments away from the others, but it hadn’t been nearly enough for a husband to be intimate with a wife. It had been both a frustrating and titillating problem, something Isobeau knew was eating away at Atticus. Having been married before, she knew when a man was aroused and Atticus seemed to be aroused around her quite often. She giggled while he groaned miserably.
But she pushed those carnal thoughts aside, knowing that the time would come at some point when he would claim his husbandly rights and eagerly awaiting that day. But this trip, this journey south, was for a singular purpose and on the morning of the fifteenth day, she had awoken alone in the bed she had shared with Atticus.
Lifting her head to look about, she noticed that the pallet against the wall was also vacant where it had once held Kenton. Both men were gone but in their wake they had left her a bowl of lukewarm water and a great hunk of cream-colored bread with a hard brown crust.
Isobeau had wolfed down the bread, washed in the water, and prepared for the coming day. In a durable traveling dress of brown wool that was heavy and comfortable, she had ridden behind Atticus for most of the day, refraining from rubbing her bum, and that was where she currently found herself. She was so concerned with finding a comfortable position on the saddle that when a distant castle came into view and Adam and de Royans suddenly spurred their horses forward, she was nearly pitched off her mare when the animal danced about excitedly.
Wellesbourne Castle had been sighted.
Isobeau could see it now on the horizon, a white-stoned castle that rose above the gently rolling, green hills of Warwickshire. Nestled near the River Dene, Wellesbourne Castle was a very tall but somewhat compact structure. As they drew closer, Isobeau drank in the sight of the fortress with its soaring walls the color of pearl. Great blocks of nearly white granite comprised the walls and, once inside the curtain wall, also comprised the keep. There were stables and trades off to the left in a surprisingly roomy bailey, knight’s quarters and other apartments to the right as they were built against the wall, and in front of her was a keep in the shape of a quatrefoil at least four stories high. It was an impressive sight to say the least.
As Isobeau gawked at the sheer height of Wellesbourne Castle’s keep, Atticus dismounted his beast and made his way over to his wife. He lifted his arms to her but she didn’t see him, still gazing up at the top of the keep. Atticus grinned.
“I promise to take you to the very top so you can see the views of the countryside,” he said. “But you must get off your horse first. Surely your backside must be sore.”
Jolted from her observations, Isobeau smiled as she slid down into his warm, wonderful embrace.
“It is,” she said. “How did you know?”
He snorted as he said it and Isobeau flushed with embarrassment as she rubbed at her bum. “Well, it hurts.”
He stopped laughing and kissed her forehead. Even when her feet touched the muddy ground, Atticus kept her in his grasp. His gaze upon her was warm.
“Not to worry, sweetling, although you provided quite a titillating show for Maxim and Alec,” he said, watching her make a menacing face at him. He grinned. “It will be a relief to sleep in a chamber of our own tonight, away from those frisky young knights. As much as I love and respect my men, if I have to hear Maxim snore one more time or be woken up by Alec fighting unseen assassins in his sleep, the top of my head will surely blow off from sheer frustration.”
Isobeau laughed. “Kenton is the only one who does not make any noise when he sleeps,” she said. “Many times I thought he was dead asleep but if I so much as breathed, he was instantly awake and ready to do battle.”
Atticus was forced to agree. “Such are the instincts of a trained knight,” he said, turning for the big keep with its wide stone steps when he heard voices.
The first thing he saw was Andrew Wellesbourne, greeting Kenton loudly, and right behind him he saw Adam hugging his blond-haired wife with great care. The woman was quite pregnant and Adam was trying to be very careful with her in his zeal.
Maxim and Alec were standing with Jasper de Llion, the big Wellesbourne knight having opened the gates for the party to enter. Atticus knew all of the Wellesbourne knights, including de Llion, because he had fought many battles with them and he realized he was rather proud to introduce Isobeau to them. It was the first time in his life, he realized, that he would take pride in someone other than himself. Even though their visit to Wellesbourne was grave, there were some joyous factors to it and Isobeau was one.
“Come, wife,” he said. “Let us greet our host. I have a great deal of gratitude to express.”
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