Chapter Nineteen #2
The seal came away and Dashiell reclaimed his seat next to Sean as he started to read.
Bentley turned back to his missive and Sean accepted the food brought to him by the manservant.
He plowed into the warmed-over beef and gravy, with big hunks of bread to sop up the juices.
In fact, he was so involved in his meal, and Bentley was so focused on his missive, that neither one of them noticed the expression on Dashiell’s face as he read the missive twice.
When he finally finished, he lowered the missive to the table and simply stared at it.
“Oh, God…” he finally muttered. “I cannot believe it.”
Bentley didn’t look up from his missive. “What?”
“Bric is in trouble.”
That prompted Bentley to look at him. “What do you mean? What has he done?”
Dashiell shook his head, picking the missive up and handing it over to Bentley. “You misunderstand,” he said. “Read it. This missive comes from Lady de Winter and she says Bric has suffered a breakdown, of both the spirit and the mind. Eiselle has asked for my help.”
By this time, Sean was looking up from his food. “Bric?” he repeated. “Bric MacRohan?”
Dashiell nodded, his expression tense with concern.
“You would not know this, but Bric married my cousin recently,” he said.
“He suffered a serious injury shortly after their marriage in the battle at Holdingham Castle. According to Lady de Winter, the injury turned Bric into a timid man, but he went to battle against French rebels at Castle Acre recently and in the heat of battle, accidentally killed one of his own men. Lady de Winter says that Bric is unable to function any longer and that my cousin requests that I come to Bedingfeld Manor in Norfolk immediately.”
Sean stopped chewing. “MacRohan?” he said again, as if he didn’t believe it. “This cannot be the same Bric MacRohan I know.”
“I am afraid it is.”
“But… it is simply not possible.”
Dashiell was nearly ill with distress. “Possible or not, I am sure Lady de Winter would not lie about the situation.”
Bentley read the missive twice before setting it down. He, too, appeared greatly distressed. “My God,” he breathed. “He cut down one of his own men. I wonder who it was?”
Dashiell shrugged. “Does it matter? I can only imagine how I would feel if I cut you down, or any other warrior close to me. God, it must have destroyed Bric completely for him to lose sight of his duty like this. Honestly, I am in shock by all of this.”
Bentley was, too. He looked down at the missive as if more of an explanation would be contained within those words, something that gave a catastrophic reason behind Bric’s collapse. But all he could see was desperation in Lady de Winter’s careful writing, speaking of a man they all knew.
But it was like she was speaking of another man entirely.
“There is no denying we have seen lesser knights fold under the stress of battle,” Bentley said. “It is not uncommon. But it certainly does not happen to men as fearless and powerful as Bric MacRohan.”
Dashiell could only shake his head. “Well, something has happened to him, or Lady de Winter would not have sent this missive,” he said. “Were it not for Bric, I would not be alive, and you, Bent, would not be the Duke of Savernake. He has made all things possible for us and we owe him everything.”
“Truer words were never spoken, Dash.”
As Dashiell nodded firmly to Bentley’s statement, Sean spoke. “Bric and I have seen a few battles together,” he said. “I do not know him as well as you two do, but I consider him a friend. Hearing this greatly disturbs me. Men like MacRohan do not break.”
Dashiell sighed faintly, thinking of the last time he saw Bric as he’d been recuperating from his battle injury.
“The last time I saw him was after he’d been badly wounded,” he said.
“He’d been weak but alive, and certainly nothing to indicate he was…
disturbed. But he had passed into unconsciousness and I left before he recovered.
Still… sometimes the strongest men cannot bend, and when stress becomes too great, they simply shatter.
I have seen it before, as Bent has said.
Mayhap Bric was so strong that when he finally felt weakness as others do, mayhap…
mayhap it was simply enough to destroy him. ”
The mood of the chamber was full of gloom. Each man was lost to his thoughts of Bric MacRohan, evidently weakened beyond his endurance. It simply didn’t seem possible, to any of them, coming from a man such as Bric. But Dashiell knew there was only one thing to do.
“I must go to him,” he finally said, standing up from his stool. “Bent, I will have Aston muster the army to move to Kent. But I must attend Bric and I will have to meet you in Kent at some point.”
“Wait,” Bentley stood up, too. “I agree that Aston can handle the army, which is why I am going with you. You said it yourself – I owe Bric my very happiness. If he is in trouble, then I will do all I can to help.”
Aston Summerlin was Dashiell’s second in command at Ramsbury, a knight who was quite capable, as they were suggesting. Therefore, the army could still move out as the Marshal had requested. But Dashiell and now Bentley would not be moving out with the army.
They had something more important to attend to, and Dashiell accepted Bentley’s help without argument.
“Sean,” Dashiell turned to the man next to him.
“I know you wanted to return home to see your wife, but Bent and I should leave immediately. Could you possibly put off your departure until tomorrow to aid Aston as he assembles the army? He may require your assistance and I would consider it a personal favor.”
Sean shook his head, rising to his feet.
“I am going with you,” he said. “Bric has been a paragon of power for the cause of England in every battle I have ever fought with the man. If he is in trouble, then mayhap you will need my assistance more than Aston will. I have seen men crumble under the pressure of battle and it is not a sight for the faint of heart. I know what it is like to be so badly wounded that you are certain death will claim you. I know what it feels like to struggle to return from such an injury, thinking that you will never be the same again. Let me come, Dash; I may be of some use to MacRohan.”
Dashiell was genuinely touched by Sean’s offer. There was no more noble or dedicated man in all of England as far as Dashiell was concerned, knowing Sean’s past as he did. He was a man of great experience and great worth. That he should want to help Bric, too, spoke volumes to the man’s generosity.
“Of course you may come,” he said after a moment. “But what of your wife? I would imagine we will spend some time at Bedingfeld and you may not be able to return to her before we head for Kent.”
Sean grunted, regretfully. “The Marshal wants his armies in Kent in the next few weeks,” he said.
“We will have very little time as it is, so it was not like I was going to have a good deal of time to spend with my wife. But this… this is important and she would understand that. Bric is in command of the de Winter war machine, and as powerful as it is, it will not be nearly as strong without him at the helm. Do you get my meaning?”
Dashiell did. “We must put a sword in Bric’s hand again.”
“It sounds heartless, but when men suffer such as Bric is evidently suffering, the longer they are allowed to wallow in their depression, the more likely that they will never wield a sword again.”
“Then the sooner we help him regain what he has lost, the better for us all.”
“We need him in Kent, Dash. A man like MacRohan is irreplaceable. We must help him find himself again.”
It did sound heartless, but it was also true.
They needed Bric’s power and command presence against the French, in perhaps the final battle to end all battles as they had been suffering through since King John and his warlords splintered into separate factions.
If William Marshal thought the battle at Dover was going to be enormous, then chances were, it would be. It would also be decisive.
They needed a man of Bric’s caliber to help win that fight.
“Then we go to help him for his own sake,” Dashiell said with some finality in his tone. “But we also help him for England’s sake as well.”
Sean simply nodded. It was something they all knew.
Their reasons for going to Bric’s aid were altruistic, but they were also self-serving.
Without Bric in the battle, somehow, they would be diminished as a whole, so it was imperative to get Bric back on his feet.
It was imperative to fight off the demons that had the man in their grips and put that broadsword back in his hand so he could do what he was born to do.
He wasn’t called the High Warrior without reason.