Chapter Eight #4
He was referring to Patrick’s father, William.
All of the grandchildren had called him Poppy and they still spoke of him in the present tense at times.
William de Wolfe had lived such a long and noble life that even now, four years after his death, no one could quite bring themselves to talk about him as if he were gone. To them, he wasn’t.
Patrick nodded his head.
“I do,” he said. “He had it made for you when you were born and he tried to give it to you when you first started walking, but Matha would not let him. It came to the point where he would have to hide it from her, but she was clever and would find it. He’d get it back from her only to hide it again, but she always found it.
Once, Poppy couldn’t find that sword for six damned months. He was furious.”
Matha was what the grandchildren called William’s wife, Jordan. She was the strong and beautiful matriarch of the de Wolfe clan, deeply loved by all. Markus and Cassius started to laugh at the memory of their wily grandfather and their cunning grandmother, battling it out over a small, dull sword.
“He had swords made for every grandson he had,” Markus said. “It was a rite of passage with Poppy. We all had to be properly armed even as infants.”
Patrick smiled at the memory of his father, so incredibly proud of every grandson he had, and there were dozens. Forty-nine, to be exact, adopted and natural, and every single one of them had a sword from their Poppy.
But it had been the same thing every time – William would have a sword commissioned, in secret or so he thought, and his wife would somehow track the sword down and take it away.
William would find it and the game would go back and forth.
Jordan, the grandmother of over seventy grandchildren, had never approved of the very young children with the dull swords William would give them.
It had been a running family joke for years.
“Aye, it was a rite of passage,” Patrick said after a moment, his smile fading as he thought on the father he loved so much. “He was the greatest knight of his generation. It was only right that his grandsons reflect that greatness and the weaponry was part of it.”
Markus and Cassius watched Patrick sink into the familiar depression that occurred when discussing his beloved father. Markus even reached out, grasping Patrick by the hand and giving him a squeeze.
“He was the greatest,” he said softly, with affection. “And his sons are the greatest knights of their generation. We all miss Poppy, Papa. You are not alone and you know that.”
Patrick nodded, but he couldn’t help the melancholy.
“I know,” he said. “Men die all of the time. Fathers die all of the time. Even so, I was not ready for mine to die. I am sure that sounds strange for me to say this, but I can still hear him saying ‘Atty’. Sometimes I think I hear it just behind me and when I turn around, no one is there.”
Markus knew that his grandfather’s death had hit his father particularly hard because they were very close. It was rare for Patrick to express his grief, but this moment had come about so organically that Markus simply held his father’s hand and let the man speak.
“I think he is still here,” he said after a moment.
“Whenever I go to Castle Questing, I swear I have seen him. Not really seen him, as if he were a ghost, but I have seen flashes of what I thought was him. As if he’d just gone around a corner and I caught a glimpse.
I think as long as Matha lives, Poppy will not leave Questing. I truly believe that.”
Patrick nodded, using his free hand to take a big swallow of his ale. “I think you’re right,” he said. “What Poppy and Matha had went beyond earthly confines. Their love is legendary. But… I still miss him deeply.”
“I know, Papa.”
“And Uncle Paris. God, we lost him barely four months after Papa passed. That was a difficult year.”
“It was.”
Patrick tended to be emotional these days and the moment turned heady as thoughts of William de Wolfe and his best friend for over seventy years, Paris de Norville, were spoken of.
Knights who were legendary along the border, in life and in death.
Patrick knew that better than most. Finally, he drew in a deep breath and squared his shoulders.
“Enough of sorrowful memories,” he said, trying to sound as if he were focusing on business again.
“We were speaking on the status of Trastamara, so let us continue. With Bexwell gone, I see no reason for me to remain here any longer, so I shall return home on the morrow. I will take Hermes and Anson with me, and leave Cass and Damien and Kieran. I think it will be good experience for Kieran to remain and, being closer in age to Atlas, he may be of more comfort to the new lord.”
Markus and Cassius went along with their father as the man dodged the emotions of his father’s passing. That was usual. Soon enough, they were back on the subject at hand.
“What of Lady de Sauque?” Markus asked. “Are you going to insist she move to Berwick or Questing?”
He tried not to sound hopeful as he said it, but thoughts of Lady de Sauque settling in at Berwick were not unpleasant. In fact, he realized that he would like that very much. But his father merely shrugged.
“Mayhap,” he said. “I will speak with her and express my concerns. I will not force the woman, but it may be in her best interests to go where she and her children will be safe. Away from Trastamara and soldiers who were once loyal to her husband and to Bexwell. Atlas will have enough on his mind without worrying over his mother and siblings, too.”
“Here is your chance,” Cassius said, picking up the wooden pitcher of ale to refill his cup. “Here she comes.”
Patrick and Markus turned to see the servant’s entrance opening. Lady de Sauque was at the head of a contingent of servants, all of them carrying great trays of food. In fact, Lady de Sauque was carrying one herself and before Markus could think, he was on his feet, heading in her direction.
“My lady, that looks too heavy for you,” he said, reaching out to take a large wooden tray that carried several bowls. “Permit me to help you.”
Amabella looked at him in surprise even as he took the tray from her. “It is not terribly heavy,” she insisted weakly. He was just standing there with the tray, so she gestured to the table. “Please put it in front of your father. I thank you for your assistance.”
Markus did as she instructed, setting the tray down. Amabella removed the bowls of butter and stewed fruit, and two more big loaves of bread. She smiled her thanks at Markus as she collected the tray, rushing back to the kitchen as he watched curiously.
“Why is the woman serving?” he wondered aloud. Then, he looked around the hall, only seeing three servants. They were spread out, putting bread on the tables. “It just occurred to me that I have not seen many servants here. Have you?”
He looked at his father and Patrick shrugged. “I have not been paying particular attention, but it does seem to be rather devoid of servants,” he said. “This is a large hall. There should be several.”
Markus nodded as he looked around. “Yet, I only see three. Odd.”
He sat back down, producing a knife and pulling apart more bread, which they then began to butter. Amabella appeared again shortly thereafter, carrying the tray, which was now laden with more food. She set it down at the end of their table and began distributing more bowls with butter and fruit.
Markus watched with increasing curiosity.
“Lady de Sauque,” he said. “Is it usual for you to personally serve the tables of your hall?”
She looked at him, bowl of butter in-hand. “Aye,” she said, but she seemed somewhat uneasy. “I have a few kitchen servants and a nurse for the children, but there are no maids or servants for the hall. Roget did not believe in them.”
“What do you mean he did not believe in them?”
She sighed faintly as he forced her into a distasteful confession. “I am the Lady of the House,” she said frankly. “He believed I should serve him and everyone else here.”
Markus had never heard of such a thing. He opened his mouth to say so, but Patrick kicked him under the table. When he winced and looked at his father, Patrick shook his head faintly.
“Thank you for your kind attention, Lady de Sauque,” he said politely. “We are greatly honored to be served by the Lady of the House.”
Amabella forced a smile and collected her tray, rushing back through the servant’s entrance. When she was gone, Markus bent over to rub his shin where his father had kicked him.
“Why did you do that?” he demanded unhappily.
Patrick cocked an eyebrow at him. “Because you were embarrassing the woman,” he said. “You must know when not to press, Markus. Can you not see it is a humiliating situation for her?”
Markus had and now he was coming to feel badly about pressing her. “The more I find out about how Roget de Sauque treated his wife and family, the less I like the man,” he grumbled. “The woman shouldn’t be serving the entire Trastamara army.”
Patrick shook his head. “All the more reason to take her and her children to Berwick where they can enjoy peace and safety among people who will be kind to them,” he said.
“Your mother will talk to her and explain to her how the Lady of the House should be treated. Let your mother straighten out Lady de Sauque. She should be no man’s servant. ”
Markus completely agreed. “Then speak to the woman and convince her to come back to Berwick. I will personally escort her.”
“I will.”