Chapter Four #4
There was that kindness again, so unexpected from a man so fierce.
Corisande found herself looking into those eyes, this time at close range, and seeing that they were truly remarkable.
A golden-brown band circled the pupil and a bright green band encircled the golden-brown.
They were looking at her pleasantly, but she had seen them turn hard when dealing with the Scotsman.
They were quite remarkable as, she suspected, was he.
“Your concern is most appreciated, my lord,” she said, smiling timidly. “But I do not need to retire to my chamber. I should be part of this. As you said, the keep is my domain. I cannot shirk my responsibilities, no matter how distasteful.”
Cole opened his mouth to politely argue with her, but a shout from Alastor interrupted him.
“Cori!” he boomed. “To your chamber!”
Corisande caught sight of her father as he pushed past the men and servants hauling debris out his solar. “But –!”
Alastor cut her off. “Argue with me and I will authorize de Velt to pick you up and bodily carry you to your chamber,” he said unhappily. “Get out of here. I will not tell you again.”
By that time, he was almost to the stairs, and Corisande thought it would be best to obey the man.
When he was angry, which was rare, it would do no good to argue.
With a glance at Cole, and a grateful dip of her head for the concern he showed her, she gathered her skirts and rushed up the stairs, disappearing into the level above.
Cole tried not to be too obvious about watching her as Alastor huffed and puffed beside him.
“What did he say?” he demanded. “Canmore, I mean. He spoke Gaelic. What did he say?”
Cole was distracted from his thoughts of the lovely Corisande by Alastor’s question.
He knew Gaelic fluently because he had been raised on the borders, but also because of his position in the Scottish royal court.
That was their primary language so if he wanted to understand anything, and convince them that he was Scots, then he had to know it flawlessly.
Scratching his head, he turned to Alastor.
“He said the truth lies in Berwick,” he said.
Alastor was still worked up over the entire incident, the usually placid man twitching nervously. “Berwick?” he repeated. “That seems odd. Did he say the same thing to your father?”
Cole shook his head. “He told my father that the Earls of Orkney had sent a request to their Northmen brethren last year, explaining this rebellion and asking for their assistance,” he said.
“My father did what he had to do in order to encourage the truth from Canmore, as I told you when I arrived. He burned the man’s home and impaled his army.
He spent an entire night interrogating Canmore, but the gist of what Canmore told him was this – the Northmen have had a year to prepare for this onslaught.
Canmore knows that they are preparing to come to the shores of England in the summer, but he does not know exactly when.
My father asked him twenty different ways and Canmore’s answers were consistent. ”
“And he is certain it was the truth?”
“As certain as he can be,” Cole said. “All Canmore knows is that he is waiting for word from William the Lion as to when and where to move his army, but he doesn’t know anything more than that.
In my two years in Scotland, I was unable to discover little more than what Canmore told my father, so the words tha an fhìrinn ann am Bearaig – the truth lies in Berwick – is something new. I’ve not heard it before.”
Alastor was watching his soldiers enter the keep with a litter to put the burned corpse upon. “Then mayhap he had enough of that wine to loosen his tongue just a little.”
“Possibly.”
“In all of your time at the side of William, you never heard the mention of Berwick?”
Cole shook his head. “My directive was not to become an advisor or close confidant,” he said.
“My directive from The Marshal was to observe. That meant I only heard certain things. There were times William called a special council, but I was excluded like the rest of his guard. But Alpin had been part of those gatherings, which was why we thought he could supply any information I missed.”
It made sense. The life of a spy meant to blend in. Alastor rubbed a hand over his face, struggling to think.
“Berwick has a river,” he muttered. “A river that flows deep into England, the border between England and Scotland.”
Cole nodded. “That is true,” he said. He paused before continuing, his tone ominous. “A river that is deep.”
“How deep?”
“Deep enough to accommodate longships.”
Alastor looked at him, surprised. “God’s Bones,” he said. “Do you suppose that was what he meant?”
Cole lifted his shoulders. “It is possible,” he said.
“My father’s methods were brutal, so it is a tribute to Canmore’s self-control that he didn’t mention Berwick to him, but the wine…
he must have had just enough of it, as you said.
Enough that he let Berwick slip. That was something I did not know. ”
Alastor sighed heavily. “Then it must be Berwick,” he said. “Sometime in the summer, those longships will come to Berwick.”
That realization wasn’t lost on Cole. In fact, he felt a sense of urgency about it because it made perfect sense.
If there was to be an invasion by the Northmen, the River Tweed would be a perfect vessel for their onslaught.
It would cut England and Scotland in half and they could bombard and attack from the river.
They could even bring Scotsmen on those longships and launch them into England that way.
The possibilities were endless.
“I must send word not only to my father, but to William Marshal,” he said. “He will want to know.”
“Who does Berwick Castle belong to these days?” Alastor asked. “Do you suppose the garrison commander is in league with the Scots?”
Cole cast him a long look. “You do not know?”
Alastor shook his head. “Berwick is far enough away that I do not normally concern myself with the town,” he said. “Carlisle is the largest city nearest to me and that is where I focus my attention. Why? What is happening with Berwick?”
Cole lifted his eyebrows. “You are not going to like the answer,” he said. “King Richard sold Berwick to the Scots right before he went on crusade to raise money for his armies. It has belonged to the Scots ever since.”
Alastor shook his head with regret. “I knew of that,” he said. “But that was twenty years ago. I suppose I was hoping against hope that it was again an English garrison after all these years.”
“It is not.”
“Then the Scots at the garrison will make it easy for the longships to enter the river.”
“And straight into the heart of England.”
That was the truth of it. Even as Cole spoke the words, he felt as if he’d just been hit by a hammer. Everything they’d wanted to know had just become clear.
Unless, of course, it was a diversion to throw them off the path of the true plans.
But Cole didn’t think Canmore was that smart.
“I must tell my father,” he repeated. “And unless we want the Scots at Berwick to openly welcome the Northmen, we are going to have to gain control of that castle before the summer months arrive.”
Alastor looked at him. “I will pledge my army for that purpose,” he said. “Tell me what more you need, Cole. I will do what I can to support the efforts.”
“I will,” Cole said. “I will send word to my father tonight. I would not be surprised if he came to The Keld to discuss the situation with you.”
“I would be honored by his visit.”
There wasn’t much more to say at that point.
They both knew the implications. What Ajax de Velt’s army couldn’t accomplish, some strong wine could.
As Alastor went after his sons to inform them of his discussion with Cole about Berwick, Cole headed out to find Addax and Essien to tell them the same thing.
There was a great deal at stake and no time to waste.
Alpin Canmore’s death wouldn’t be in vain.
He told the English what they wanted to know, and they would be ready.
Or die trying.