Chapter Two #2
War found himself introduced to Scott de Wolfe, Troy de Wolfe, Patrick de Wolfe, Hector de Norville, and Apollo de Norville.
He’d seen them in the battle earlier in the day, though he had not been formally introduced to them.
They were all fine, young, strapping knights, somewhat wearied and bloodied from the intense battle that had taken place, but like all young warriors, they were energized from it.
“Papa,” Scott said as he turned to William when the introductions were finished. “De Whitton is asking for you. I do not know if you wish to be bothered by the man, but he has asked that you come to him. He says that he has something to say to you.”
William didn’t particularly want to go. He hadn’t eaten yet and was hungry, but he’d also established a rapport with de Whitton earlier in the day, so he didn’t want to minimize that.
He’d established it for a reason, to perhaps make an ally out of the man in the long run, something he was quite good at.
He set his wine cup down.
“Very well,” he said. “Herringthorpe, will you attend me? He is your prisoner, after all.”
War immediately set his cup down, following William from the shelter and out into the rain as his sons remained behind to eat the food their father had yet the opportunity to taste.
Once outside, they were met by the rain again.
Around them, the men were hunkered down under shelters and trees, eating and drinking and singing as they tried to stay warm and dry.
The smell of smoke was quite heavy due to the canopy of trees and the low clouds, but the atmosphere was relaxed after three solid days of battle as they made their way to the area where the prisoners were being held, including de Whitton.
“I hope the Thropton men do not float away,” War said, noting the brook that had become an angry river. “I’m not exactly sure how I would explain that to Henry.”
William snorted softly. “If he thought that he could use the army, he would be unforgiving,” he said. “But if the men refuse to fight for him, he’ll wash them out to sea himself. This is a very delicate situation, as you know.”
“You have known the king a long time?”
“A very long time,” William said. “My father knew Henry when he was a boy. In fact, my father knew Henry’s father, John, as well as Richard the Lionheart.”
“That was a long time ago,” War said. “My own father was a knight for Henry, but he served John for a short time. When he was young.”
“Who is your father?”
“Edmund Herringthorpe.”
“Where is his home?”
“Suffolk.”
“Is that where you were born?”
“Aye, though my mother was from Northumberland.”
William glanced at him. “Oh?” he said. “What is her family name?”
“William!”
The shout caught his attention. William could see Kieran coming in his direction rather quickly, moving swiftly through the rain. There were so many bonfires going on around them, hissing and smoking and crackling in the rain, that Kieran was fully illuminated as he closed in.
William went out to meet him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Kieran turned around and began walking back the way he came. “De Whitton,” he said. “Christian and Alec were on watch when the man had his food brought to him.”
William wasn’t sure where this was leading, but he didn’t like the sound of it already. “And?”
“And the man took the knife he was given for his food, stabbed Christian with it, and then turned it on himself,” Kieran said, sounding strained and unhappy. “It happened quickly, William. Too quickly. We had no idea that de Whitton intended to harm himself.”
William could only feel disappointment and shock as he and Kieran and War ended up at the tent where they’d been housing de Whitton.
Christian, tall and blond with his father’s dark eyes, was in the process of wrapping a bloody wound on his left forearm as de Whitton lay on the ground, a knife in his throat.
It was a damned bloody mess all the way around.
“Christ,” William muttered, seeing the carnage. “Did he say anything to you, Christian?”
Christian paused in his bandaging, so much so that his father went to take over. “Aye,” he said in his soft, deep voice. “He asked me to forgive him and then he stabbed me, throwing me off guard so I could not stop him from stabbing himself.”
William’s jaw began to tick faintly. “I see,” he said. “Nothing more?”
“Nothing more, Uncle William.”
The room fell silent for a moment as War stepped forward, crouching down a few feet away from de Whitton’s body, inspecting the scene.
“I do not understand,” he said, bewildered. “The man had been told he would not lose his property if he went to Henry and pleaded for forgiveness. The worst that would have happened is that he came away with a fine. He was not going to be hurt or imprisoned. Why do this?”
William’s gaze moved from de Whitton to War, who seemed both baffled and disgusted by the whole thing.
“His dignity would not allow it,” he said quietly. “I have seen this before. He told us what we wanted to hear and then waited until he had a weapon, in this case a knife for his meal, before ending his life.”
“He has been planning this all along,” Kieran said, tying off his son’s bandage.
“Exactly,” William agreed. “I should have seen it. The hysterical tears, the lack of courage to surrender… he would rather die than surrender.”
“Why?” War looked up at him. “His pride?”
William shrugged. “Not really,” he said.
“It has more to do with ideals, not arrogance. I suspect had de Whitton found the strength not to kill himself, he might have made it to London, begged forgiveness from Henry, but then resume some underground movement against the king to carry on de Montfort’s work. ”
War stood up. “As a rebel?”
William nodded. “Mayhap,” he said. “But not a rebel for rebellion’s sake. De Whitton is an old man. In speaking to him today, he seemed like an idealist. He would be rebelling for the sake of that idea.”
“De Montfort’s idea of government?”
William half-shrugged, half-nodded. “Mayhap it is better that he did this so we would not return here in three years when Henry catches wind of his subversion again,” he said. “Sometimes men, especially old men, simply cannot change their ways.”
War cocked his head. “Then if you suspected this, why be so lenient on him?” he said. “Why not tie him up and restrain him with the rest of his men?”
There might have been an accusation in that. It was enough of a curious tone that Kieran looked up from Christian’s arm.
“Because men like de Whitton do not deserve to be restrained like a common soldier,” Kieran said.
“By giving the man his dignity, the hope is to show him that men he considers his enemy are not as barbaric as he would believe. It is that show of trust and humanity that sometimes can turn the tides of a man’s beliefs. ”
“Or the course of a country,” War said softly.
Kieran nodded, conceding the point. “Or the course of the world,” he said. “You cannot blame William that de Whitton took his own life. In fact… William gave him the dignity of that choice. Don’t you see that?”
War did. “I think so,” he said. “By putting de Whitton in his own tent, providing him with shelter and food and respect, it was up to de Whitton what to do with it. He was captured. His castle had fallen. He was facing a life that might or might not have been one he wanted to live. A world with no de Montfort, no high ideas of the people ruling the people.”
Kieran nodded. “Exactly,” he said. “Now you are coming to understand why de Whitton was given this choice. If you were in the same position, wouldn’t you hope for that kind of respect to decide your future and the way you would want to live it?”
War sighed faintly. “Aye,” he said. “But now I must tell Henry that Lord de Whitton has taken his own life. I am not certain that is what Henry wanted.”
“Tell Henry that de Whitton made his own choice,” William said quietly. “You gave him that opportunity and he made his decision. Henry will understand that.”
“Will he?”
“I promise he will.”
War wasn’t so sure. The king he knew saw things in black or white, not the gray area in between, but he didn’t argue with the senior knights. He wasn’t so arrogant that he didn’t know that they might somehow know better than he in such matters.
And they were old friends of an old king.
War lingered on their words, their advice, coming to think that the Blackchurch trainers could learn something about human nature from those two.
War had compassion but he was still working on empathy.
That was the hard part. As he watched Christian and Alec summon soldiers to wrap up de Whitton’s body, he was coming to think that this venture to Thropton Castle hadn’t been a wasted effort.
The castle had been claimed and, surprisingly, War had learned a little something along the way.
From a living legend, he’d learned a little something about humanity.
Perhaps the seizure of Thropton Castle had been a success, after all.