Chapter Fourteen
Trastamara Castle
“And then we hurried back,” Markus said. “Now, you know what we know. Mordrington is overrun with Scots and Shand is with them.”
He had just finished speaking to a room full of stunned men – Cassius, Damien, Kieran, Atlas, and a couple of senior de Wolfe sergeants, including the red-haired soldier who had been at the head of Shand’s escort.
They were all looking back at him in various stages of disbelief.
All except Atlas; he stood there, head hung, struggling not to be overwhelmed by everything.
More than anything, there was a sense of shock in the air.
But it was more than shock; there seemed to be a sense of realization as well.
Realization in the fact that Shand’s determination to return to Trastamara was as great, or greater than, they could have imagined.
The man had denied his ambition at first, and he had made it seem as if he genuinely had Atlas’ best interests at heart, but the truth was that he wanted Trastamara, so much so that he had returned for it.
“But the Scots,” Damien said. “I simply do not understand. Is Shand allied with them? Has he been allied with them since the beginning?”
“It is possible that Roget’s death was not an accident,” Markus said.
“I seemed to recall speculation of that, considering we still would not know of Roget’s death had Lady de Sauque not sent her missive to Berwick.
It is possible that Shand has been at the head of this all along.
Mayhap Shand allied himself with the Scots do to away with Roget in exchange for Mordrington. ”
Damien sighed heavily. “Anything is possible,” he said. “but one thing is for certain; we must ride to Mordrington and clean it out. And we cannot leave Bexwell alive when this is over.”
It was a brutal statement, but a necessary one. No one in the chamber disagreed. But Markus imperceptibly nodded his head in Atlas’ direction and Damien took the hint. They were not in command here; a young lord was. All of this was his decision. Therefore, Damien turned to Atlas.
“Of course, my lord, we will do whatever you wish,” he said. “This is your command. We are your servants.”
Atlas, who had thus far been standing near the cluttered table lost to his thoughts, lifted his gaze to look at the men in the chamber.
Powerful, seasoned men at his disposal. He knew they meant well, and would do as he said, but the truth was that he felt like a fool.
So much of this situation, as he saw it, was his fault.
“I underestimated how much Shand wanted Trastamara,” he said. “I was trying to do what I felt best, by being benevolent and lordly, when I should have thought like a ruthless lord. Shand wants what I have. I should not have treated him so kindly.”
Markus felt somewhat responsible for that. He had applauded the lad for being gracious to his enemy. Now that was coming back to bite them both.
“You behaved appropriately,” he said. “It is Shand who has shown dishonor, not you. Do not question your actions, Atlas. They were indeed lordly.”
“Listen to him, my lord,” Damien said. “The way you deal with men defines you. You dealt with Bexwell in a fair manner. Now, you will simply have to deal with him in a way his behavior dictates. He has shown how ruthless he can be and now you must do the same. He has returned to take Trastamara from you. Will you let him?”
Atlas looked between Damien and Markus. “Nay,” he said flatly. “Trastamara is mine and I intend to keep it. He has no right to it, no matter what he thinks. I will fight him to the death if I have to.”
He sounded very grown up in that statement. Atlas had been trying so hard to grow up in the past week, and the knights had been trying so hard to help him, that it was good to hear the strength in his voice. He meant what he said.
Now, they needed to help him achieve it.
“What are your orders, my lord?” Markus asked. “Tell us and we shall carry them out.”
The grown-up young man was trying not to look uncertain again. There was a battle to plan, something he’d never done before, but he’d certainly been around enough of them. He knew what to do, at least in theory. He drew in a deep breath, summoning his courage.
“We should prepare the men to ride to battle,” he said. “But not all of them. Markus, how many men do we have right now?”
Markus thought quickly. “To the best of my knowledge, my father took one hundred men back with him to Berwick,” he said. “That leaves us with four hundred de Wolfe men and about one hundred and fifty Trastamara soldiers.”
“Then assimilate the Trastamara soldiers into your army,” Atlas said. “I want them to march with us to Mordrington. Leave as many de Wolfe men behind as you see fit.”
Markus shrugged. “Since we do not know how many Scots are at Mordrington, I would feel comfortable taking four hundred men in total,” he said. “That leaves the smaller group to man the battlements until we return.”
“Can you make it so?”
“Aye, my lord.”
Atlas then turned his attention to Damien. “Can you make sure all of the men are properly armed?” he said. “We will also need to muster the quartermasters. I will leave that up to you.”
Damien nodded shortly, motioning to Kieran, who was already moving to quit the solar. Lastly, Atlas turned to Cassius.
“I would like you to ride at the head of the army with me and Damien, as I will rely on you to supervise the battle.” As Cassius nodded, Atlas’ focus returned to Markus.
“I would feel better knowing you are here protecting my mother and brother and sisters. You are the fiercest knight in all northern England and I believe my mother deserves that protection. Will you remain behind with the smaller force and protect Trastamara?”
Markus’ lips twitched with a smile. “As you wish, my lord.”
“Are you disappointed that I’ve not asked you to ride to battle?”
“You’ve asked me to perform a much more important task.”
Atlas seemed relieved that Markus was not upset that he would not be facing a battle.
Truly, he felt much more at ease knowing Markus would be with his mother and siblings.
He simply didn’t want to leave them without the best protection he could provide, and that was Markus.
With that, he nodded shortly, confident he was making the right decisions.
“Then let us go about our duties,” he said. “Markus, will you cull the army now? I want to go with you and see how you do it.”
Markus nodded and, with that, they were all moving with a purpose.
To save a young lord from a vicious and determined opponent.
Organizing the men who would go with the army and the men who would stay behind didn’t take an over amount of time. Markus was done with it in an hour and after that, he had little to do.
But he knew where he was going next.
The kitchen yard.
As he’d gone about his duties, he happened to see Alfie in the kitchen yard with his horse guard, so when he’d finished with Atlas, he’d made his way to the yard to check upon the king.
He hadn’t seen Alfie since last night and he missed the little lad.
Seeing him had become one of the highlights of his day.
Therefore, Markus entered the kitchen yard, smiling when he saw Alfie and his eight-man guard over near the small pond they kept to provide the fish that Ambra liked to sauce. The children had their bucket helms and stick swords, but once they caught sight of Markus, they ran in his direction.
“Sir Knight!” Alfie shouted, trying to keep the oversized helm on his head. “The army is going out! Can we go with them?”
Markus glanced over his shoulder at the gate he’d just come through. Beyond in the bailey, the army was gathering and the children had undoubtedly noticed. Reaching out, he righted Alfie’s tipping helm.
“Not this time,” he said. “You and your horse guard still have much practice before you can go into battle.”
Alfie appeared momentarily unhappy but that quickly changed with the next request. “Can we have more helms?” he asked. “Aldwin and I are wearing the ones you gave us, but Bartram and Manley need one. They cannot be knights without them.”
Markus grinned at the child. “I’ll see if I can find you two more.”
Alfie pointed out into the yard. “There is the armory,” he said. “There are many in the armory.”
“But those are for real soldiers, going into battle.”
“I am a real soldier. I am a king!”
Markus wasn’t entirely sure that Alfie didn’t really believe that he wasn’t the king of the kitchen yard, so he didn’t argue with him. As far as Trastamara was concerned, Alfie really was a king in his own world.
It was good to dream.
“Indeed, you are,” he said after a moment. “But this king does not go into battle, nor does his guard. In fact… in fact, I have a very special assignment for you that is just as important.”
Nine pairs of eyes lit up at him. “What is it?” Alfie asked anxiously.
Markus swept a hand around the kitchen yard.
“This is your domain,” he said. “As you have seen, the army is indeed mustering for battle. But you must protect this kitchen yard. It has the postern gate in it, which is very important. If the enemy was to get in through that gate, they could destroy Trastamara. It will be your duty to protect it and ensure it is always locked.”
The children turned to look at the postern gate, which was of an odd design.
It wasn’t tall enough for a man to stand up and walk through, but rather had been specially designed so that it was wide enough to pull a hand cart through, but men had to bend over to enter.
Therefore, if the gate was ever breached, men could bash the lowered heads of the enemy coming through.
Coming in hunched over, it would be difficult to meet castle defenders head-on.