Chapter Two
By evening, the rains had moved in.
Thropton Castle sat in a vale with steeply pitched sides and as the rains rolled in, so did the runoff from the mountains. There was a burn, or brook, that ran alongside the castle, which was elevated on a small rise, but as the rain pounded down, the burn became a raging river.
The burn also formed part of the moat, which had been filled with debris when the siege began, so much so that it had been a simple thing for the Bamburgh and de Wolfe armies to practically walk over it and straight to the walls.
But with the rains, the moat had filled up and the debris had been partially washed away, flooding into the small vale.
Fortunately, the army encampment was also on a rise, so the swiftly flowing water wasn’t an issue, but the rain itself was.
Everything was soaked, both man and beast, but the bonfires were too big to be so quickly doused.
Heavy oak logs had been soaked with flammable liquid, and the core of the logs burned deep, meaning they would burn through almost anything.
William could smell the heavy smoke all over the encampment.
He and Kieran had just left the main de Wolfe tent after having removed most of their mail and protection.
The squires, including William’s son, Edward, and Kieran’s son, Kevin, had gone to work rubbing out the rust and repairing what they could.
Edward and Kevin were in that awkward age where they weren’t quite children but weren’t quite adults even though they were both big, strong lads, so they mostly supervised the other squires.
Kevin was a little heavy-handed while Edward was very much the diplomat when it came to communicating.
William could hear them bickering even as he walked away.
Adjacent to the main tent was a long stretch of oiled canvas, which had been propped up with big poles. It was literally just a roof to keep the rain off, with the sides wide open, and the men were gathering beneath it to eat their evening meal.
Overhead, thunder rolled as William entered the shelter, looking for Paris and Michael and the others.
The cooks were bringing out big, iron cauldrons of beans and salted pork, which had been simmered together with carrots and greens, making a rich and hearty stew.
William spied Paris and the others near the center of the tent and he and Kieran made their way to them.
As soon as he reached the group, someone was handing him a cup of warmed, watered wine, which he took gratefully.
He could see that Paris and the de Wolfe allies were clustered with Herringthorpe and his men, and he noted that Paris and War were in some manner of lively conversation.
At least, Paris was being lively. The man’s free hand was flying all over the place for emphasis as he spoke.
William walked up to the pair.
“Whatever story he is telling you, it is a lie,” William said, a glimmer of mirth in his eye. “Do not believe a word of it.”
They turned to him, Paris scowling and War grinning. “Is that so?” War said. “He was telling me a story of your valor, my lord.”
“Then it was all true.”
They started to laugh, with Paris rolling his eyes. “You cannot have it both ways, William,” he said. “Either I am a liar all of the time or none of the time.”
William smirked. “What story were you telling him?”
Paris tilted his head in a general northerly direction. “I was speaking of the siege of Langton Castle from many years ago,” he said. “You know that we found de Whitton in tunnels beneath Thropton. I was speaking of the tunnels and dungeons beneath Langton during that battle.”
“It is a pity Langton was so badly damaged,” War said. “It sounds like a magnificent place.”
“It was,” William said. “It has been rebuilt since that time, but it is not the same. Part of Langton was built by the Romans so many years ago and that craftsmanship was lost with the rebuild. The Scots simply put blocks together to make a wall, but the Romans did something special to them.”
“Oh?” War seemed interested. “What did they do?”
“Shaped them,” William said, using a hand to indicate a rounded corner. “They built columns into walls and other features. But I am sure that does not interest you overly, speaking on a damaged Scots castle. I hope Paris was not boring you.”
“I was not,” Paris said flatly. He gestured to War. “The man is Blackchurch trained and that included study on ancient buildings to understand their resilience over time. He knows his architecture, William.”
William’s eyebrows lifted as he looked at War. “I had heard you were Blackchurch trained,” he said. “That is quite an accomplishment, Herringthorpe. You must be very proud.”
War shrugged. “Some men foster with the master knights of Kenilworth,” he said, which was exactly what William and Paris had done.
“Some foster with the cutthroats, assassins, spies, and mercenaries of the Blackchurch Guild. Both are prestigious but I will say that Blackchurch has given me a broader perspective of the world.”
“I have heard it is very difficult.”
“It is,” War said. “Not all finish the training term.”
“There is a term?”
“Nine years.”
“And part of your training was inspecting ancient buildings?”
War nodded. “When one trains at Blackchurch, the training is done in segments,” he said.
“You spend one year with each trainer. One trains in the history of ancient warfare, one trains in hand-to-hand combat using different methods, and so on. Some training is constant, like weapons and tactics. Practice is daily. But my year with the trainer of ancient warfare took us all over the known world, studying buildings that have withstood the test of time. That is what I mean when I said I received a broader perspective of the world. I have seen a great deal. I have come to understand how men think.”
William was listening intently to the well-spoken, articulate man who was clearly quite intelligent.
“That can only help you understand better why they do what they do,” he said.
“That should be particularly useful when dealing with foolish lords who dress as women and try to hide from their enemies.”
He was referring to de Whitton and War smiled thinly.
“I think that is where you could educate all of us,” he said.
“I watched you deal with de Whitton today, my lord. One of the things Blackchurch did not teach us was compassion. It is a very stark way to live, not knowing compassion for a man and why he does what he does. We are taught to understand a man’s motives, but not to sympathize with them.
My father taught me compassion, however, something the trainers at Blackchurch could not erase.
What I saw today from you was great compassion and mercy when it came to Lord de Whitton. That was admirable.”
William shrugged modestly. “All of the education in the world cannot teach a man mercy,” he said. “That is an inherent quality. Either you have it or you do not. Not everything is clear-cut. Every man must learn that for himself.”
“Indeed,” War agreed. But his gaze seemed to be lingering on William as if Paris wasn’t still standing there. “My lord… may I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
War started to speak but couldn’t seem to say what he wanted to say.
He finally broke down in an embarrassed grin.
“I suppose I have never met a legend before,” he said.
“But I have always wanted to ask a man who has achieved such greatness if he is satisfied with his life. What I mean is that even though you have so much in life, things that are well-earned, has that stopped you from wanting more?”
William snorted softly. “I am not a legend,” he said.
“Although I appreciate your saying so, I am a man like any other. I have lived a good life, a life of service to king and country, but I will not go down in the annals of history as anyone noteworthy. There are thousands of such men who will never be noted as great men or men who shaped a country and that is what I prefer – to be a man who moves this country towards a better future without all of the pomp and circumstance that can accompany such a position. Actions, to me, speak much louder than a man’s words. ”
War thought on that. “But some men like to be recognized.”
“And I am one of them,” William said. “Do not misunderstand me. I do expect to be rewarded for my service. But it is simply that I like to speak loudly by action, as I said. A man must do what he says he is going to do or his words mean nothing. But this does not answer your question. You have asked me if I am ever satisfied with what I have or do I have an inherent need for more.”
“Aye, my lord.”
William glanced at Paris, who had a sort of approving smirk on his face. In fact, it was Paris who answered for him.
“There is always more, Herringthorpe,” he said quietly. “Any man who is satisfied with what he has is either dead or stupid.”
War chuckled. “Fortunately, I am neither.”
“Then always keep that hunger. It will keep you alive.”
“I intend to,” he assured them. “But I am grateful for the advice.”
Paris wondered if that was true. If the knight had trained at Blackchurch, then perhaps they could use advice from him also. “I will give you more when you come to Castle Questing, as William suggested,” he said. “You will come, won’t you?”
War looked to William. “I would be honored.”
William had just taken a long drink of the warmed wine. “Come soon,” he said. “There are men you must meet and there are things we should discuss. It is time you become one of the Northerners, Herringthorpe.”
War wanted nothing more at this point in his career. To be mentored and allied with the most powerful men in the north was a garrison commander’s dream. As he pondered the possibilities, they were joined by the older sons of both William and Paris.