Chapter Three #2
He was being kinder with her now, not as angry as he had been before.
Isobeau paused in the doorway before he could pull her out into the darkened corridor beyond.
When Tertius turned to look at her, wondering if she was just being difficult about it, he was somewhat surprised to see the soft, perhaps resigned, expression on her face.
“I… I did not think on it that way,” she said.
“You are quite right, Tertius. I have not been honoring Titus’ memory this afternoon.
I thought I was by writing a song to him but…
but I suppose I should have been more thoughtful about it.
I did not even think to help Titus men. That is not something I have ever really had to do. ”
Tertius sighed faintly, relieved that the strong and reasonable sister he knew was starting to come around.
She could be stubborn, a dreamer even, but she wasn’t unreasonable.
He knew that Titus’ death had her reeling; he could see it in her eyes.
It was his intention to force her to focus on something else to help ease the sting of his death.
“I know,” he said. “You have never been a wife before and therefore do not know how to behave with your husband’s men. But you are now the widow of a great knight and you are expected to show your strength to honor him. I know you can do it, Iz.”
Isobeau wasn’t entirely sure but she would not dispute her brother.
His confidence in her, in turn, gave her confidence.
Besides, she had little choice. She didn’t want to disappoint Tertius and she especially didn’t want to disappoint Titus.
Maybe there was more to being a wife than simply marrying a great knight and having his son.
The way Tertius phrased it, it made sense. It was time to grow up, just a little.
“I hope so,” she said. Smiling weakly, she let him pull her out into the corridor. “You know how I am around blood. I grow dizzy simply at the sight of it.”
Tertius snorted. “You are a de Shera,” he said. “De Sheras descend from the ancient Romans of Britannia who used to bathe in the blood of their enemies.”
She made a face. “They did not!”
Tertius loved teasing her; she reacted quite humorously to his taunts most of the time. “Aye, they did,” he insisted. “Therefore, you are a Master of Blood. It should not bother you in the least, so go down to the hall and do what you can to comfort the wounded. Make me proud, Izzy.”
Isobeau nodded, noticing he came to a halt when they reached the stairs that led to the floor below. “Are you not coming, too?”
Tertius shook his head. “I have spent weeks in conditions so horrific it is best not to speak of them,” he said, his dark eyes reflecting the horrors of his memories.
“I have settled the men and the wagons, and now I plan to take a few moments to settle myself. Mayhap some food and a hot bath. I have not been warm in weeks.”
It was then that Isobeau could see the exhaustion in her brother’s face. He was a strong man and didn’t often show his weariness, even when it was well-earned, so she was sympathetic to his statement.
“Go, then,” she told him. “I will help the surgeon for a time and then come back to check on you.”
Tertius shook his head. “No need, little sister,” he told her. “Go about your duties as Lady de Wolfe. I will see you later.”
With that, he gestured for her to move down the stairs and she did.
Tertius watched her until she disappeared from view, the weary expression fading from his face.
True, he was weary, but he also had someone to see.
Atticus de Wolfe had evidently had words with Isobeau and Tertius wanted to get to the bottom of it.
Atticus was his friend, and his sister’s husband’s brother, but he could also be a rude and arrogant whoreskin when he set his mind to it.
He wanted to make sure all was well between Atticus and Isobeau, especially if Titus had asked his brother to marry his widow.
That, more than anything, concerned him; if the two of them were to marry, he didn’t want bad blood from the start.
When he was sure Isobeau was on her way to the great hall, Tertius went in search of Atticus.
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 staring 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.”