Chapter Fourteen #2
The children took off at a run towards the gate with Markus walking behind them at a leisurely pace.
By the time he reached them, they were squealing excitedly, jumping up and down and grabbing hold of the very heavy iron gate.
It was locked and bolted into the surrounding stone, making it impossible for any attackers to pull it loose, but the horse guard tried to climb up it and Markus ended up ducking beneath the low entry to pluck children off the grate and set them on their feet.
“This is not something to treat lightly,” he told them, bent over to nearly half his considerable size as he stood next to the gate. “This is where battles are lost and won. You must always watch this gate as part of your duties in the kitchen yard. Do you swear to do this?”
The children all nodded solemnly, and Markus came out of the doorway, standing up straight. Alfie and the others followed him.
“If we are to watch the gate, then we must have real weapons,” Alfie said. “Wooden swords will not fight off enemies.”
Markus saw it as a ploy by a clever child to get real weapons and he fought off a grin.
“For now, wooden swords will have to suffice,” he said.
“But anything else in the kitchen yard can be a weapon. Look around you. A fire poker, an iron spit, a firebrand like the ones the smithies use to smooth the hides. You can use anything at all in a fight.”
The children were looking around the yard at the everyday implements that could be considered a weapon.
The yard was vast and there were two massive cooking fires over near the kitchen.
One fire had iron pots situated over it with everything from hot water to broth to some kind of stew bubbling over it, while the second fire had tools for the various trades – firebrands and fire pokers, and other things that were variously used.
Alfie pointed to the second fire.
“Can we burn men with those things?” he asked.
Markus nodded. “Absolutely,” he said. “But you more than likely cannot kill a man with them, so you must try to disable him so that he cannot hurt you. Burn his hands, his eyes, the parts of his body he will need to fight with. If you cannot kill a man, then you must disable him.”
Alfie considered that seriously. Then, he looked at his wooden sword, lifting it up. “How can I disable him with this?”
Markus held up his hands as if wielding an imaginary club. “Instead of trying to stab him, use it like a club and strike him.”
That wasn’t the answer Alfie wanted. He very badly wanted to stab a man, especially in battle.
Eyeing Markus doubtfully, he turned his wooden sword around so that he was holding on to the dull blade and exposing the surprisingly heavy hilt, and whacked Manley on the shoulder with it.
The child howled as Markus reached out and plucked the sword from Alfie’s grasp.
“I said an enemy,” he said sternly. “Not one of your horse guard.”
Alfie was grabbing for the sword as Markus held it over his head. “But I wanted to see if it would work!”
Markus lifted a disapproving eyebrow before handing it back to the lad, who embraced it greedily. “I told you it would work,” he said. “Do not do it again. A good king does not abuse his men.”
Alfie knew what he meant but he essentially ignored him. “We will watch the gate,” he said. “No one will come in.”
“You have to let the farmers in,” Markus reminded him. “There are people who come to do business with the cook. You must let them in.”
“I will.”
Alfie was on a mission to protect the postern gate at all costs, so he gathered his guard and made them all line up against the iron grate to “protect” it.
It was a line of children, as determined and brave as they could be.
Chuckling at the antics, Markus turned away with the intention of heading back out to the bailey when he caught sight of Amabella and Ambra entering the kitchen yard.
His heart skipped a beat.
Pretending the sight of Amabella wasn’t making him feel the least bit giddy, he smiled politely as the woman and her youngest daughter approached.
Ambra pulled away from her mother and ran over to the horse guard.
Markus opened his mouth to greet Amabella, but one look at the expression on her face as she drew near and the greeting died in his throat.
The woman’s brow was furrowed with worry.
“I heard what you did this morning,” she said. “You saved my son from doing something very foolish. I am so angry with him for going to Mordrington that it is all I can do to keep from beating him senseless. What on earth possessed him to go there, alone?”
Now, Markus understood her fury. “Did he tell you?” he asked quietly.
Amabella nodded. “He did,” she said. “He told me that you prevented him from getting himself killed. He also said that Shand is at Mordrington. Is there truth in this?”
Markus nodded faintly. “There is.”
Amabella’s unhappy expression morphed into something strained and apprehensive. As Markus watched, it looked as if she were blinking back tears.
“Then he did not go away like Atlas told him to,” she said tightly. “My God… he really came back.”
Markus nodded. He didn’t know what to say to her.
The heavyset nurse came wandering into the kitchen yard, heading for the children, and that gave Markus the opportunity he needed to pull Amabella away so that he could speak with her.
Clearly, she was distraught, so with the children being minded, he grasped Amabella by the elbow.
“Come with me,” he said softly. “Let us go somewhere to speak about this in private.”
Amabella simply nodded, allowing Markus to take her out of the kitchen yard.
She kept her head down, not uttering a word, as he took her over to the keep.
As they passed through the bailey, Markus could see Atlas with Damien inspecting the troops, as Damien pointed out things to watch for on each man.
It was a swift education on command for Atlas, but he seemed up to the task.
Kieran was with the quartermaster and Cassius was in the armory tower.
Markus could see his brother ensuring that the men were properly equipped.
As they neared the keep, Amabella came to a pause and looked in Atlas’ direction.
“Look at my son,” she said quietly. “He is just a boy. Markus, he should not be riding to battle. He is a squire. He will not be a full-fledged knight for another four years. He has no business going to battle against the Scots.”
Markus didn’t say anything. He encouraged her to move, escorting her up the stairs into the keep, but he didn’t take her into the lord’s solar. He took her upstairs to her small solar, thinking she would be calmer and more comfortable if they spoke there.
Entering the warm chamber, cluttered with sewing for Aleanor and poppets for Ambra, Markus directed Amabella into the nearest chair.
“Sit down,” he said. Then, he looked around. “Where is Aleanor?”
Amabella sighed heavily as she sat down. “She is in her chamber, sewing.”
“Doesn’t she usually do that in here?”
Amabella glanced at him. “Shall I tell you a secret?”
“Please.”
“Swear you will not repeat it.”
“I swear.”
“Her chamber window overlooks the corner of the bailey with the armory. Your brother is there, is he not?”
Markus nodded. “He is.”
“I think Allie wants to watch him.”
Markus stared at her a moment before breaking down into soft laughter. “If I could tell him, he would be most flattered,” he said. “But she is a bit young for him. Besides, he wants to marry Ambra because she has a talent for food.”
His laughter had Amabella smiling, however wearily. “Then he will be in for a long wait,” she said. “But your brother is the first man Allie has ever shown interest in. I am encouraged that she will not grow up a spinster or a recluse.”
Markus shut the door to the solar before making his way over to a chair near the hearth. “Your two younger children are quite amiable and friendly,” he said. “Has Aleanor been abused or hurt that she should be so fearful of people?”
Amabella shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “That is simply her nature. She was a sickly child and she has always had an unnatural fear of people she does not know, especially men. But you have been kind to her, so very kind, and that has helped her a great deal.”
“I’m glad,” Markus said, his eyes glimmering warmly at her. “Now, you wished to speak on your son.”
Amabella’s smile faded. “Aye,” she said. “Markus, he is too young to be riding to battle. I do not understand why you are allowing it.”
Markus leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I am not allowing anything,” she said. “Trastamara belongs to Atlas. This is his command. If he wants to ride to battle, I cannot stop him.”
Amabella’s features tightened. “But he is only a boy. He’s still learning what it means to be a man.”
“Children have fought wars throughout history,” Markus said. “Do not diminish him simply because you believe he is young. I can tell you that Atlas is quite skilled thanks to his training at Castle Questing. He is not inexperienced by any means. He has been to battle.”
“Aye, but as a squire,” Amabella insisted. “Never as a warrior.”
“He has been taught to fight,” Markus said quietly.
“You must let your son grow up. He wants to be a good lord, a good warrior, and he needs your support and your encouragement. You will cause him to doubt himself if you demand he not fight and that will only harm him in the end. I am sure that is not what you wish to do.”
Amabella could see his point, though it didn’t make her feel any better. “Of course not,” she said. “But… but he is only a boy.”
“He is a man,” Markus countered with quiet firmness.
“You must start treating him like one. He wants to do well for you and for his siblings. The best thing you can do is show him complete and utter faith, no matter how fearful you are for him. Trust him, Ama; you must do that if he is going to succeed as the Lord of Trastamara.”