Chapter Eight #3
Markus did the mathematics in his head. He’d always been extremely good at doing sums in his head, calculating the largest numbers with great accuracy. In fact, his father entrusted all of Berwick’s finances to Markus because of the gift.
The man had a keen and analytical mind.
“That is a great deal of money over the course of ten years,” he said. “If those figures hold, then Shand should have around two hundred and forty pounds. Even if he only spent a small amount of that over the years, it would make him an extremely wealthy knight.”
Amabella looked to the coins spread out all over the bed. “More than what is here?”
Markus looked at the money. “Nay,” he said. “Those gold coins alone are worth twenty pounds each. I would say there is at least a thousand pounds in gold coins, but the silver – that is quite a bit as well. Hundreds of pounds at the very least.”
Amabella looked at it all, picking up another silver coin and seeing the head of King Henry on it. The coins had been minted in the last century, mixed in with the Spanish coinage.
“Well,” she said after a moment. “It is comforting to know that the money is still here. At least we will not starve. But if Roget paid so much money to Shand that the man has well over two hundred pounds, I do not know why Atlas needs to send him on his way with more money.”
Markus nodded. “Agreed,” he said. “But Atlas does not know that. He was going on the assumption that Shand would need the money to find his next position.”
“Then we shall tell him that is not the case.”
Amabella immediately went to the bed and began loading the coins back into the heavy leather sacks. Markus helped her and, soon, they had them all secured and back into the hole beneath the hearth.
“Atlas is probably still in the solar with my father,” Markus said. “If he is not, then I shall find him for you. You should not wander around the castle until this business with Shand is finished. It would be safer if you did not, at least until things are settled.”
She looked at him as they headed for the chamber door. “If you believe that is best,” she said. “But I must still go to the kitchens to see to the evening meal. May I?”
“Aren’t there others who can see to the task?”
She shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “That is my duty, especially since we have special guests. I want to ensure your meal is to your liking.”
Markus opened the door for her. “Except your daughter has denied me yellow eggs,” he said. “If I cannot have yellow eggs, I shall protest greatly.”
Amabella appreciated his humor, lightening the mood a little. She laughed softly. “I shall give you some when she is not looking.”
“I see. Slide them to me under the table?”
“Exactly. And do not let her see that you have them.”
“Will she fight me for them?”
“Probably.”
They grinned at each other as they headed to the stairwell, a moment of levity and warmth in a day that had seen little of either. But this moment, just the two of them, was rather special.
At least, Markus thought so.
Following Amabella down the stairs didn’t have nearly the same view as following her up them but, at that point, it didn’t matter.
Any view of Lady de Sauque was fine with him.
He was coming to look forward to the next one.
Shand Bexwell left with only the money he had on him, money he’d kept stored in his small chamber, hidden in the wall behind a loose stone. Markus wasn’t sure how much there was, but it was a great deal, enough for two leather sacks to weigh down his saddlebags.
Markus stood with Patrick, Atlas, Hermes, and Cassius in the late afternoon, watching Shand depart Trastamara on a sturdy, young horse.
It wasn’t the great silver beast that Roget had purchased for him a few years ago, but the horse would get him where he needed to go.
Shand was accompanied by four heavily-armed de Wolfe soldiers who were told to escort him at least two days away from Trastamara before letting him go on alone.
Shand departed without any fanfare and without a fight, which had been surprising to all concerned considering the man had just been banished from his home of the past ten years, a home he’d tried hard to hold on to until Lady de Sauque sent her missive to Berwick.
Perhaps he realized that he’d held on so tightly, everything he’d wanted for himself simply slipped through his fingers.
He’d taken a gamble and he’d lost, and with the odds stacked against him, he did the only thing he could do.
He departed.
Even so, it was clear that the Trastamara soldiers were confused by it, so much so that Patrick had them all rounded up so that Atlas could immediately address them. As the young lord had expressed, he wanted to be open and honest with his men in the hopes of earning their trust.
It had to start somewhere.
As Patrick and Markus and the rest of the de Wolfe knights stood by, Atlas explained the situation to the Trastamara soldiers without going so far as to point out Shand’s ambition or actions.
In fact, he didn’t incriminate Shand at all, but simply explained that Shand’s service had been flawless for Roget, but now that Roget was dead, Shand would be moving on to serve a new lord.
He left it at that.
Truth be told, none of the soldiers seemed too upset about it.
A few grumbled, but most didn’t seem to care, much to the relief of the de Wolfe knights.
There was no great rebellion on the horizon.
They seemed to accept young Atlas as the new lord without hesitation and, given that he was Roget’s son, he was the legitimate heir.
No one questioned that.
Regardless, Patrick gave quiet orders to his own soldiers to watch the Trastamara men for any hint of unrest. The evening meal was swiftly approaching as the sun began to set and the western sky turned shades of gold and orange, and Patrick suggested to Atlas that they have plentiful ale that night so the men would know what a generous new lord they had.
Atlas heartily agreed.
Two senior de Sauque soldiers were put in charge of organizing the additional ale as Atlas, Hermes, Kieran, and Damien remained in the bailey, talking to the men and becoming familiar with the usual routine at this time of night.
It was all part of Atlas becoming familiar with his unexpected command, and he asked a good many questions as the de Wolfe knights followed him around to be of any assistance.
As the servants were preparing the great hall for the coming feast, Markus found his father and brother inside, getting an early taste of the ale that was being rolled out from the storage vaults beneath the keep.
The hall itself was of an older style, with a steeply pitched roof and a fire pit in the center of the hall.
Smoke drifted up to the roof, finding its way out among the many vents.
Markus sat heavily across from his father, pouring himself a cup of ale from the wooden pitcher.
“This day has gone better than I’d hoped,” Patrick said. “I truly did not know what we would experience today with Bexwell. I will give the man credit for knowing when he is defeated. He left without a fight.”
Markus gulped down half of the cup of the cheap ale with chaff in it. “Maybe so,” he said. “How is Atlas doing after the confrontation?”
“He seems better,” Patrick said. “Once he got over the shock of making a difficult command decision, he seems much better. The last I saw, he was in the stables, looking over the horse that used to belong to Shand. Quite an animal.”
Markus nodded, thinking on the entire event with Shand’s dismissal.
“The man did not seem particularly upset to lose it,” he said “In fact, it seemed to me that he gave in fairly quickly once he realized there was nothing more he could do. It was futile to resist. But it was almost… oh, I don’t know. Too easy, I suppose.”
Patrick peered at him curiously. “Too easy?” he repeated. “He gave us an argument once he realized we’d discovered him. He tried to make it seem as if his actions were all for Atlas’ benefit.”
Markus nodded, grabbing at a hot loaf of bread that a servant set down near him.
“I know,” he said. “But the man did not immediately notify anyone of de Sauque’s death because he didn’t want anyone to know.
He wanted to put his own scheme in place before he made the notifications, but he was unable to do so once Lady de Sauque sent her missive to Berwick.
She thwarted his plans and a man like that does not give up so easily. ”
“What are you saying?”
Markus shrugged. “I am saying that Atlas should be on his guard for some time to come,” he said. “You mentioned you were going to leave Damien with him. Do you still intend to?”
Patrick nodded. “Aye,” he said. “In fact, I am wondering if it wouldn’t be a good idea to remove Lady de Sauque from Trastamara completely, at least for the time being.
Move her to Berwick or even Questing or Northwood until the situation here settles a bit.
She has three children that should be kept protected until we know for certain that Bexwell isn’t going to come back and harass them. ”
Markus shoved bread into his mouth. “Have you not seen King Alfie and his horse guard?” he said. “They would make excellent protectors if they were old enough. Cass met them. Tell him, Cass.”
Cassius, well into his second cup of ale, merely shrugged his shoulder. “He’s a child with children following him around.”
“He’s a brave little lad who demanded I fight one of his knights,” Markus insisted. “I thought the child was going to faint from sheer fight. There is something about Alfie that reminds me of my younger years. Papa, do you remember when Poppy gave me my first sword? How old was I?”