Chapter Three #3
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.”
He hadn’t said anything they didn’t already know; they nodded in resignation, sighed wearily, shifted around on their legs, and leaned against walls.
The men were restless and weary; Atticus was well aware.
They were nervous, too, nervous of what was to come.
For the moment, however, the situation was quiet and he intended it should remain that way.
He was preparing to dismiss the knights so they could seek much-needed rest when Warenne spoke quietly, interrupting him.
“What of the new earl, Atticus?” he wanted to know. “Young Henry Percy may have other plans for his army. Mayhap you should consult with him before making any decisions.”
Atticus sighed heavily. “He is a twelve-year-old boy,” he said, embittered that he now had to answer to a child he didn’t much like.
Young Henry Percy, the new Earl of Northumberland, was a spoiled and petty lad as far as Atticus was concerned.
“He has no idea what to do in a situation such as this so we will do it for him. He has enough worry now with assuming the mantle of his father. I will counsel him and his mother and make sure they understand the necessity to sit tight and wait. We must not make any rash moves.”