Chapter Four #2
The road to Bamburgh wound up the promontory and through an enormous gatehouse, opening into the outer ward.
Already, there were men waiting to take horses and move the men towards the troop houses as War dismounted his black and white stallion.
He had to slap a muzzle on the beast before the grooms could even take him away and he grabbed his saddlebags as two of them wrestled his horse towards the stables.
The inner ward was busy with the bustle of the returning army and he inhaled that smell – one of victory and hard work, of warfare and leather.
All of it filling his nostrils. There was a satisfaction to it.
Slinging his saddlebags over his shoulder, he headed for the keep.
The inner ward was almost as vast as the outer ward, with kitchens and more stables and outbuildings filling the space. The ground was wet, indicative of recent rains, as War made his way to the keep.
Unlike many keeps of the time, the enormous keep at Bamburgh had an entry on the ground level.
It was a massive oak door surrounded by a heavy Norman arch and War stepped through, immediately into a low-ceilinged entry chamber.
Word of the returning army had reached the keep and before he could take the stairs, he was met by the physic he’d brought with him from London to tend to his father’s every need.
The man was coming down the spiral stairs just as War put an enormous boot on the bottom step.
They very nearly collided with each other.
“My lord,” the physic said. He was a small man with pitted skin who wore the robes of a priest even though he was not of the clergy. “Thanks to God that you have returned safe.”
War nodded wearily, removing his helm because of the low ceiling and wiping a hand over his brow. “Aye, I’ve returned safe,” he said. “How is my father?”
The physic’s pale gaze was intense. “I have spent the past month convincing him that you would return,” he said. “He feared another circumstance like the one at Etal. He was afraid you were laying in a field again, dying.”
War shook his head. “I do not have a scratch upon me,” he said. “And my father worries too much. What happened at Etal was unusual. It shall not happen again.”
“But you have suffered no ill effects?”
War frowned. “I am completely healed,” he said. “You told me that yourself. I feel fine.”
The physic nodded quickly, not wanting to upset the massive knight. “’Tis only that you lost a good deal of blood those months ago,” he said. “Sometimes it takes months or even years to recover from something like that. I have asked you the same question after every battle since.”
War scratched his neck irritably. “And I have told you every time that I feel quite well,” he said again. “But you’ve not told me how my father is, Fulke. How is he?”
The physic sighed faintly. “Not well, I am afraid.”
War stopped scratching. “Why do you say that?” he said, concerned. “What is wrong?”
Fulke wasn’t keen to deliver the news but he had little choice. “His condition has worsened, my lord,” he said quietly. “In fact, had you not returned home today, I was going to send you word that you must hurry home. I fear your father is not long for this world. I am very sorry.”
War stared at him a moment as if he didn’t understand his words. “What do you mean?” he said. “What has changed since I have been away?”
Fulke shrugged. “His breathing is more labored,” he said. “His heart struggles for every beat. He is weakening greatly. All I can tell you is that the signs are there that he will not survive much longer. We knew this day would come and, now, it is here.”
War gazed at him a moment longer before bolting past him, up the narrow stairs and to the master’s chamber on the top floor. He’d given his father the best chamber the day they’d settled in Bamburgh, a chamber with views on all sides.
He’d wanted his father to have the very best.
Bursting through the chamber door, he startled his father, who was semi-propped up with pillows. When War crashed through the door, the old man’s arms flailed in surprise.
“Christ, War,” he muttered. “If ever a father had a raging bull for a son, it is me.”
War glanced at the door; he’d nearly ripped it off the hinges. “Sorry, Papa,” he said. “I only just returned and Fulke said… how are you feeling?”
“I have a better question. Are you uninjured?”
War went to his father’s bedside, feeling anxious as he looked at the man. “I am,” he said. “But you… the physic says you are feeling worse.”
Edmund Herringthorpe, pale and tall and rail-thin, gazed at his eldest child. He had two other sons, both younger, both of them still in London and serving the king. Sterling and Callum Herringthorpe were excellent knights and he was very proud of them, but War… War was his pride and his joy.
He’d always had a soft spot for his gloriously talented heir.
“Sit,” Edmund said softly. “I want to look at you.”
He was patting the bed beside him and War grunted in frustration. He didn’t like that his father wasn’t elaborating on what Fulke had already said, but he dutifully dropped the saddlebags.
“If I sit, I will collapse the bed,” he muttered. “I weigh too much for that bed. Papa, tell me the truth. Are you feeling worse?”
Edmund took a deep breath, one of many he took every hour because his heart and lungs were not working properly these days. “Mayhap I am,” he said after a moment. “This is not an easy thing for me to admit.”
War studied him a moment, dreading his next question. “How bad?”
“Bad enough, lad.”
“The physic said that you were not long for this world.”
A glimmer came to Edmund’s eyes. “If that is true, then it is a blessing,” he said. “Your dear mother has been waiting for me all these years. I have missed her, War.”
“I know.”
“I fear it is time that we must speak.”
“About what?”
Edmund patted the bed again. “Sit down.”
“I told you that I will collapse the bed.”
“Then we shall both end up on the floor together.”
War didn’t want to dump his father out onto the cold floor, so he looked around the chamber, spying a heavy oak chair near the hearth. Grabbing it, he carried it back over to his father’s bedside and sat down.
“There,” he said. “I would prefer not to break your bed if I can at all help it. Now, what is so important that we must speak now? You must rest. Whatever you have on your mind can wait.”
Reaching out, Edmund took his hand. That simple gesture weakened War’s composure a little because, suddenly, he was a little boy again with his father holding his hand.
The initial shock of his father’s worsening condition faded and the grief began to come.
All he could do was stare at that big, strong hand.
The hand that had always been there for him.
“I am afraid it cannot wait,” Edmund said after a moment. “I have waited an entire month for you to return from Thropton. Were you successful?”
“We were.”
“Good,” Edmund said. “But I have been waiting all that time for you to return. I did not want to miss my last moments with you.”
War began to realize that this was serious, indeed.
Not that he didn’t know this moment would come, because he did.
His father’s heart was very weak. Even so, he wasn’t prepared for it and certainly not at this moment.
As the weight of the situation began to bear down on him, he sighed heavily and hung his head.
“God,” he muttered. “Is this truly the end, Papa? Is this truly it?”
Edmund squeezed his hand. “Possibly,” he said. “Or, possibly it will be next week. Or next month. Or even tonight. I do not know. All I know is that I am weary, War. I want to go home. But before I go, I must tell you something.”
Still looking at the floor, War shook his head. “What?” he said. “That you love me? I know you do. I know you love Sterling and Cal, too. I will tell them of your love for them. You needn’t worry.”
“Nay,” Edmund said, squeezing his hand again to get his attention. “It is not that. It is something… else.”
“What else?”
Edmund took another deep breath. “War, I am not sure this is the right time, but with little time left, I have no choice,” he said. “You’ve only just returned from battle and I am certain you have duties to attend to, but none more important than this right now.”
He was right. War had duties to attend to with his army, but there was nothing more important at this moment.
He braced himself.
“I am listening, Papa.”
Edmund’s dark eyes glittered faintly as he looked at the lowered head of his son.
“It seems that your mother and I have had a secret all of these years,” he said.
“I had always promised her that I would tell you when the time was right, but it just never seemed… right. If I do not tell you now, you will never know and that seems wholly unfair to you.”
War’s head came up, his brow furrowed. “Secret?” he repeated. “What secret?”
“About you.”
“What about me?”
Edmund didn’t reply right away. Perhaps he was resolved to tell him, but he didn’t seem entirely willing to do it. In fact, he still seemed quite hesitant.
War leaned closer to him.
“What secret, Papa?”
Edmund couldn’t seem to look at him. “About you,” he said. “War, I have loved you since the moment you were born. I will love you until the end of time, as my son. That will never change.”
“Of course it won’t. Why would you say that?”
“Because your mother was pregnant when I married her.”
War’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Ah,” he said, thinking that was all there was to the secret. “I see. Well, it does not matter. You loved Mother and she loved you. There is no shame in conceiving a child before you were married because you demonstrated that love.”
Edmund shook his head. “Nay, lad,” he whispered. “You misunderstand.”
“What do I misunderstand?”
“I was not the one who impregnated her.”