Chapter Seventeen #2
“Papa, please,” Atticus said. “You are asking me to choose between you and… and….”
“And your wife!” Solomon snapped. “You must take her and flee, Atticus. Time is shorter than you realize. Look at the flames; the iron frame is already beginning to soften. If you do not go now, it may be too late. You must save yourself!”
Those were the magic words as far as Atticus was concerned. He had no intention of saving himself and fleeing like a coward. But he would lead Isobeau to the tunnel. Then, he would return and fight off Norfolk as best he could. Feeling saddened but determined, he moved away from his father.
“I am going to take Isobeau and the servants to the tunnel,” he said, pointing at his father. “But I will be back. If you are planning on fighting off Norfolk’s assault, then I suggest that you arm yourself. Go the armory and collect your weapon.”
Solomon bellowed at him, something gut-wrenching and painful.
He told Atticus not to return; he begged the man.
But Atticus wasn’t listening. He was racing across the inner ward towards the steps that led up to the living levels.
His heart was racing for more reasons than one.
He was apprehensive to see Isobeau again, fearful that the anger and hatred in her heart for him had not yet dissipated.
He was fearful of seeing such animosity in the eyes of the woman he was so deeply emotional for.
Thoughts of her, now heavily upon him, weighted him down with worry and anxiety.
What if she wouldn’t come with him? What if she wouldn’t even listen to him?
He would have to become a brute, forcing her to do his will and try not to care that she would hate him for it.
She already hated him. One more offense would not make a difference.
It was with an extremely heavy heart that he put his foot on the first step. But a shout from the wall stopped him.
“Atticus!” Kenton roared. “Incoming!”
Atticus turned in the direction of the shout, watching as Kenton waved almost frantically to him.
That wasn’t like Kenton at all, for the man did nothing that conveyed agitation or fear.
Deeply concerned, not to mention curious, Atticus shifted direction and ran all the way to the steep, narrow staircase that led up to the wall.
He had to push men aside as he went, pushing through soldiers and archers, until he reached Kenton’s side.
He opened his mouth to ask Kenton to clarify his statement when Kenton pointed a finger eastward.
That’s all the man had to do; he simply pointed.
When Atticus turned to see what he was pointing at, everything became instantly clear.
Northumberland banners, leading a mighty Northumberland army, were approaching.
Atticus would believe until the day he died that, at that moment, he had witnessed divine intervention in the form of an allied army.
*
“Tertius!”
Isobeau had very nearly screamed the name when her brother suddenly appeared in her doorway.
Startled, she dropped her dragonfly embroidery and flew to her brother, throwing her arms around the man’s neck and breaking into tears.
She had never been so surprised, or so glad, to see anyone in her life.
Tertius had just fought his way through a weary Norfolk army to make it to the gates of Wolfe’s Lair that, by the time he arrived, were twisted and smoldering and very difficult to move.
But they managed to get one of them open, allowing Northumberland’s army in as Norfolk’s exhausted men scattered and fled south.
It had been an extremely short-lived battle that had seen Northumberland, and Wolfe’s Lair, emerge the victor.
The de Wolfe standards still flew high above the battered gatehouse.
“Easy, Iz, easy,” Tertius told his hysterical sister, giving her a squeeze before releasing her. “All is well. Everything is safe now.”
Isobeau wiped the tears of joy and relief off her face. “You came!” she gasped. “Why did you come? Why are you here?”
Tertius looked her over critically. “Are you well?” he asked, avoiding her question for the moment. “You look rather pale.”
Isobeau waved him off. “I am fine,” she insisted. “What are you doing here?”
Having his question answered, and knowing that his sister had emerged from the siege of Wolfe’s Lair unharmed, Tertius was inclined to provide Isobeau answers to her own inquiry.
“We were told that Wolfe’s Lair was under attack and made haste to lend assistance,” he said. “How long has this been going on?”
Isobeau shrugged, for she truly didn’t know. It seemed like forever. “At least a week, possibly more,” she said. “Is… is Atticus well? I have not seen him in a very long time.”
Tertius nodded. “Not a scratch on the man,” he replied. “Solomon, either.”
“And Warenne? Kenton?”
Tertius seemed to sober. “Kenton is well,” he said. “But Warenne is dead. You did not know this?”
Isobeau gasped in horror at the news. “I… I did not,” she said, devastated at the passing of the Earl of Thetford.
“I have been locked in this room for the past week. I have not been allowed to leave and no one has come to tell me anything, save Thetford. He… he was only here a short while ago. Now he is dead?”
Tertius nodded. “Aye,” he said sadly. Then, he sighed heavily.
“Losing Titus and now Warenne… it makes me want to give up war altogether and take up the life of a fisherman. I have seen far too many friends perish over the past few years, but the past few weeks have been the most costly. I am coming to wonder if these wars between Henry and Edward are worth the price we all must pay.”
Isobeau was still lingering on Warenne’s death, so deeply saddened by it. She wandered back over to her little table where her embroidery lay and sat heavily on the nearest chair. “He was such a giving and wise man,” she murmured. “I am sure Atticus is… Tertius, where is Atticus?”
Tertius tugged at his mail gauntlet. “The last I saw, he was cleaning up pockets of fighting near the gate,” he said. “I told you he was well.”
Isobeau nodded. “It is not that,” she said, thinking on the last conversation she and Warenne had shared.
He already lost someone he cared very deeply for in a situation where he was unable to protect him.
He could not lose someone else he cared deeply for and not do anything about it.
She wondered if Warenne had ever made it back to Atticus to tell him that she was more than willing to see him.
To forgive him. Since Atticus had not come to her yet, she suspected that perhaps Warenne had never told him.
Her expression to Tertius was filled with urgency.
“Please find Atticus and send him to me, Tertius. I must speak to him immediately.”
Tertius frowned. “The man is cleaning up after a battle,” he said. “He has better things to do right now.”
Isobeau stood up. “If you do not send him to me, I will go out and find him,” she said. “Please, Tertius. It is very important.”
Tertius made a face at her but he wasn’t beyond sensing the stress in her tone.
Snarling at her, he turned for the door.
“You are a demanding creature, Izzy,” he said, unhappy.
“I will send Atticus to you when he is finished and not one moment sooner. You should know that you cannot always have everything just the way you wish it.”
Isobeau stuck her tongue out at her brother. “I love you very much, Tertius,” she said. “But sometimes you are an annoying little snip.”
Tertius shook his head at her, lingering in the doorway before he left completely. “And I love you, too,” he said. “But you are a spoiled child.”
“I hate you now.”
“I hate you more.”
Tertius left the chamber but not before Isobeau saw a grin on his lips. Grinning herself, she went to the door, watching her beloved brother head down the corridor and out to the steps that led down into the inner ward.
Once he was gone from her sight, she began to wonder if he would really tell Atticus to come and see her.
She suspected he wouldn’t, at least not right away, and that thought began to drive her into agitation.
The battle was over, so Tertius said, so surely there was no danger any longer.
Surely she could leave her chamber and find Atticus without any hazards befalling her.
She simply couldn’t wait any longer to speak with him; seven days had been far too long to wait.
She had to see him.
In silence, she left the chamber and headed out into the gentle dusk.
*
More death and more destruction.
At least, that was what Isobeau thought when she made her way down the steps that led into the inner ward.
The big ward was badly damaged and dead men, men with arrows still in their bodies, were being piled up near the great hall.
She could see at least a dozen or more, all being carefully lined up.
She stood upon the steps for quite some time, watching the activity below, trying not to become ill at the sight of so much death, before shifting her attention to the stable off to her left.
The structure didn’t seem to be any more damaged than it had been the last time she saw it and she made her way over to it to check on her mare.
The horse was still where she had left it, crowded into an undamaged stall with a pony and three goats.
The horse was gnawing on the wooden slats of the stall so she gave it some of the dried grass that was piled up in another stall.
The mare and the pony and the goats descended on the grass, hungry.
Leaving her animal friends feasting, Isobeau wandered back out into the ward.