Chapter Seventeen
Ionian scale in C – Man so Bold
In days of old time passing,
Among men, it was told
There was a man of power
A man uncommonly bold
—Isobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c.
The gates were on fire.
Whatever oil or fat Summerlin was using, it burned very hot and very long, and after the first wave of flaming arrows, Summerlin and his men had managed to get up against the big iron and oak gates of Wolfe’s Lair and light the things on fire.
A great pile of kindling and wood had been pushed up against the gates and ignited, and even now, a great, black cloud burned steadily into the brilliant night sky.
Atticus stood in front of the gates, watching them burn, as his men had a bucket brigade going, dousing the flames from their side.
Wolfe’s Lair had two big wells that provided more than enough water to battle the blaze but the fat that Summerlin and his men had smeared on the gates would not be extinguished.
It was those areas, with fat spread into the old and pitted wood, that were burning hotly. The smell was almost overpowering.
The truth was that Atticus was worried. The gates were reinforced with great strips of iron about an inch thick, like bars on a cage, so even if the wood burned away, the bars would remain.
They would still be protected. But if the fire from the burning wood burned hot enough, the iron would soften and that would be a problem.
Therefore, it was important to keep water on the fire to lessen the heat generated by the flames.
Atticus, therefore, not only directed the water on the gate, he participated as well.
He tossed great buckets of icy water on the burning wood.
Kenton was upon the wall walk, directing the soldier to dump burning rocks and earth onto the men below.
It was a common enough tactic and they heated earth in great cauldrons in the bailey before taking them up to the wall in buckets or baskets or anything they could find, dumping them out onto the Norfolk men below.
The scorching earth and pebbles and layers of sand would get into the cracks of men’s armor, seriously burning them.
As Atticus manned the gate, Kenton rained hell from above.
Beneath the courageous facade, however, lay great sorrow and grief.
Both men were struggling with the death of Warenne.
Having been notified of the earl’s death and then subsequently seeing the man’s body in the inner ward had taken something out of Atticus’ soul.
First Titus, and now Warenne… he was struggling not to think on the loss of those closest to him, focused on what he must do in order to protect Wolfe’s Lair.
It would have been very easy to become disoriented by death, to let it claim his sound mind.
He thanked God for Kenton, for the man was unbreakable and emotionless, a rock when Atticus felt like crumbling.
When Atticus heard Kenton’s bellows over the commotion of the siege, it reinforced his courage. All was not lost and he was not alone.
But there was something more on Atticus’ mind as well; the more compromised the gates became, the more his thoughts turned towards his wife.
Locked up in her room, he was glad for her safety but he knew that if the gates were breached, she would be in danger.
Wolfe’s Lair appeared to only have one way in or out, through the front gates, but the truth was that there was a tunnel that ran from the storage area beneath the great hall to the creek bed to the south of the fortress.
When Atticus had been a small boy, he and Titus used to play in that tunnel constantly but he had no idea if the tunnel was still open and viable.
Somehow, someway, he would have to get Isobeau to the tunnel and the more he watched the front gates burn, the more he knew he would have to go to her whether or not she wanted to see him and take her to safety.
He would have to take the woman and flee.
“Atticus,” Solomon was suddenly standing next to him, interrupting his thoughts. “If we cannot douse the flames on the gate, the bars will start to soften. We must prepare the men for the breach.”
Atticus looked at his father, a man he had shoved aside a few hours before when he felt his father was in his way.
Solomon was old and slow, but his mind was still very sharp.
Atticus suddenly felt very badly for the way he had treated his father.
He reached out, putting a big arm around his father’s broad shoulders in a gesture of comfort.
“They are already prepared,” he said. “But you… you cannot withstand hand to hand combat these days, Papa. I have been standing here thinking about the old tunnel that leads to the creek bed off to the south. If the tunnel is still open, then mayhap we should think about leading my wife to it. I am hoping you might do this for me.”
Solomon shook his head. “I will not leave my home,” he said. “I was born here and I shall die here. I will not flee. But you must go, Atticus. It is you they want. You must take Isobeau and leave. Run, boy; run away and do not look back.”
Atticus looked at his father, studying the man. After having lost Titus, and now Warenne, he was fairly certain he couldn’t handle losing his father.
“Papa,” he said softly. “You are all I have left. I could not stand to lose you. Therefore, you must come with Isobeau and me when we flee. But if you remain, then I will remain. I will not go without you.”
Solomon looked at him and Atticus was struck by the defeat he saw in the man’s eyes.
The death of a son, now the siege of his home…
Solomon was weary. He was an old man and he was weary of what life had dealt him as of late.
But there was more to it than that; Atticus had never seen his father so…
calm. Resigned, even. Perhaps Solomon was prepared to accept the end, which Atticus was not.
“You have a beautiful wife now,” Solomon said quietly.
“You and Isobeau will carry on the de Wolfe name. You will have many strong sons that will outshine the sun. We are descended from greatness, you know. William de Wolfe himself, the Wolfe of the Borders, is our ancestor. I imagine when I look at you that I see a great deal of him. You have his strength and his sense of honor. There is so much of William de Wolfe within you, Atticus. That must be preserved.”
Atticus had heard that before from his father; I see you as the embodiment of William de Wolfe. He smiled faintly.
“William de Wolfe lived two hundred years ago,” he said. “Whatever traits the man possessed, I am sure that generations of breeding have watered it down. What you see in me is a reflection of yourself. You are the greatest knight I have ever known, next to Titus. Whatever you see in me, it is you.”
Solomon smiled, sharing a warm moment with his son as the gate began to burn even hotter now.
De Wolfe men were trying frantically to douse it but the flames were shooting up the length of the gates, igniting the wooden frame that held it against the opening of the gatehouse.
But even though the enemy appeared to be winning, and soon they would be overrun with Norfolk men who wanted to claim Wolfe’s Lair for Edward, there was peace and joy between Solomon and Atticus.
He patted his youngest son on the cheek with a big, meaty hand.
“You are my shining light, boy,” Solomon said softly. “Never forget that. Now, go to your wife and take her to the tunnel. It is still open although we use it for storage these days. Take Isobeau and flee. I must know you are safe.”
Atticus sighed heavily. “Papa, you are putting me in a terrible position,” he said. “I will not leave you.”
“You must.”
“If the situation was reversed, would you leave me?”
Solomon frowned. “I would do what my father told me to do.”
“Then I am a terrible son because I am not leaving.”
“What about your wife?”
Atticus’ staunch refusal took a hit as he was reminded of Isobeau.
Soft, sweet, lovely Isobeau… she could not fall into the hands of Norfolk.
He was fairly certain that Summerlin would treat her well, but he could not be sure of her fate.
What a prize she would be to Norfolk or even to Edward.
Could he risk her falling into the hands of the unscrupulous new king and his lascivious family?
Nay, he could not. But he was greatly torn about leaving his father behind. He simply couldn’t do it.
“I will take her to the tunnel and tell her to flee into the woods that are to the south,” he said. “But I will not go with her. I will only join her after we have fought off Norfolk’s assault.”
Solomon’s heart ached for Atticus, understanding his son would not leave him to face the aggression alone. He understood the loyalty, the unwillingness to leave the man he loved to battle for him. But time was growing short and there was no time for argument.
“Do you think she will go without you?” Solomon said, now moving out from under his son’s arm and pushing at the man’s chest as if to push him away.
“We have discussed this; she has already buried one husband and it would be unfair, nay, tragic to expect her to bury another. You must go with her, boy. I have lived my life. I was married to a woman I loved. I had my beloved sons. My life has been lived. But you… your life has only just begun, now with a beautiful wife at your side. You must go, Atticus. It will kill me to have you linger simply because of me.”
Atticus was starting to feel panicky, torn by his father’s words.
He wished to God that Warenne was here to advise him, but Warenne was wrapped up in an old coverlet and stored in the corner of the dark and cool chapel.
Warenne wasn’t here to tell him what he should do because Atticus’ instinct was to remain with his father.
He couldn’t leave him. The more Solomon pushed, the more Atticus resisted.