Chapter Fourteen
War could see why William de Wolfe was considered England’s greatest living knight.
Even at the man’s age, which could be considered elderly by some, he was still the most skilled warrior War had ever seen. When they’d fought at Thropton, War hadn’t actually done battle side by side with William, but during the raid at Coldstream, he’d never left the man’s side.
It was truly something to behold.
It also did something to War’s psyche.
His entire life, he’d been an overachiever.
He’d always been the best, the strongest, the smartest in everything he did.
Even at Blackchurch, where all of the trainees were the best of the best, he stood out among them.
There was nothing deficient about War Herringthorpe, but in fighting next to the Wolfe of the Border, he felt awed.
As if he still had more to learn. As if the man who had given him life was everything he’d ever wanted to be.
And he couldn’t tell him.
Wouldn’t tell him.
At least, not yet.
While William used skill and talent rather than raw power in most instances, War was young and beastly.
He sliced off arms and heads and, at one point, ending up in a fist fight because he and William and a few other men had been ambushed by some wily reivers and he’d been dismounted at the time.
There was punching and kicking and neck wringing going on and through it all, War found himself watching William when he wasn’t fighting for his own life.
Watching the man who fathered him was like watching a mythological god from old.
And War couldn’t decide how he felt about it.
He’d wrestled with it all through the battle, which was fortunately short-lived because the reivers were badly outnumbered.
When the knights brought up the rear of the army that had been sent to Coldstream and they descended on the reivers in earnest, that was when the fighting began to dwindle.
Before that happened, however, the battle was quite vicious.
And quite eye opening.
The Bones.
They’d heard the name of that horrible band of reivers the moment they’d entered the village and they kept hearing it from everyone around them.
Even the soldiers were speaking of The Bones, men who dressed in finery that wasn’t easily found or cheaply purchased, but men who fought brutally and terribly.
They were the most feared outlaws on the border.
Their tactics were barbaric. Men on horseback were in danger of losing their lower legs because rather than try to fight a man who was on a horse, the men of The Bones would go for the legs and feet, trying to disable them.
They also went after the horses themselves but, in the case of the knights, they were met with beasts that were as trained as their masters.
War’s black and white stallion was particularly brutal against a man in fine silk and expensive leather protection who had tried to go for the horse’s legs.
The man came away missing part of his hand when the horse snapped at him.
After that, the men of The Bones stayed away from the distinct stallion and the powerful knight astride him.
War found himself chasing men, beating them away from soldiers on foot who seemed to be targeted more than most. Rather than running away from the men from Castle Questing, The Bones ran in circles, trying to confuse and disorient the English.
But the English held firm.
It wasn’t an easy fight to win, however, and it continued for most of the afternoon.
When the evening began to set and the sun’s last rays disappeared in the west, the men of The Bones decided their time was finished and they began to disappear.
The English weren’t going to give up Coldstream and although The Bones had done damage, they hadn’t really run off with anything substantial. No stores, no valuables.
For The Bones, the incursion into Coldstream had not been successful.
The English garrison from Castle Questing was victorious.
When William realized the enemy had retreated, leaving behind several wounded who were put under restraints and taken back to Wark Castle, he left about three hundred soldiers in Coldstream to guard the village for the night.
In the morning, he’d send more men over to help the cleanup.
The villagers of Coldstream had been through battles before so they were a hearty bunch, capable of rebuilding, but William’s men offered extra protection.
It was protection much appreciated.
War remained in Coldstream with the men while William and Kieran took the rest of the army back to Castle Questing.
Troy, who had been stationed at Wark Castle, also remained in Coldstream to command the de Wolfe men and help with the cleanup.
But the old knights like William and Kieran headed home.
They’d put in their time in the past, as young knights who took posts for the night or helped cleaning up after a battle, but no more. They’d long since proved their worth.
The old men were looking forward to a warm meal and a warm bed.
The de Wolfe army heading for Castle Questing was being led by dozens of torches even though the moon overhead was fairly bright.
Castle Questing was less than an hour from Coldstream, so it would be a short journey this night that seemed oddly still after the bedlam of the day.
William found himself looking into the night sky, to the dusting of stars that spread across the heavens, when Kieran spoke up beside him.
“You did not have a chance to see Herringthorpe fight at Thropton, did you?” he asked.
William shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “There were moments when we were near each other, but I never saw the heavy fighting that I heard tale of. Why do you ask?”
Kieran sighed faintly. “I am going to tell you what you have already heard,” he said quietly. “Tonight only confirmed it.”
“Confirmed what?”
“The man fights like you,” Kieran muttered.
“William, I know I told you that Herringthorpe looked like you back at Thropton and we’ve discussed it since, but I have never been more convinced that the man is related to you than I am tonight.
It was like watching you in your younger years.
His movements, the way he swings a sword… everything.”
William looked at him. “I know,” he said with some resignation. “I saw.”
“You see it, too?”
William shrugged, looking back to the sky. “It’s more a feeling,” he said. “I cannot describe it, but it’s in his facial expression at times. It’s not me he looks like – it’s my father. I swear to you, he looks just like Edward de Wolfe.”
Kieran grunted softly. “It’s not possible that he’s your father’s bastard,” he said. “He died years before Herringthorpe was conceived.”
William shook his head. “I wasn’t suggesting that,” he said. “I am suggesting that it is, indeed, me.”
“You’re convinced?”
“Possibly. Or it could be that we are imagining things that do not exist.”
“True.”
“A mind can play tricks.”
“I would agree in Paris’ case, but not in mine. Or yours.”
A shadow of a grin crossed William’s lips.
“Paris will see him when we go to Northwood tomorrow,” he said.
“He was the first one who really spoke of it back at Thropton. The trick with Paris is to keep the man’s mouth shut.
He will ask Herringthorpe to his face if he is my bastard and this situation must be handled far more delicately.
If there even is a situation. We could all be mad for all we know. ”
Kieran thought he heard something in William’s tone and he looked at him, preparing to reply, but he was prevented by Christian’s sudden appearance.
Christian rode a big, gray warhorse that was as fat as a holiday goose. He rode up beside his father and uncle, flipping up his visor as he looked at them.
“May I send a rider ahead and tell Castle Questing to be prepared for the wounded?” he asked. “We’ve got three men with fairly serious injuries and I would like for Aunt Jordan and my mother to be ready for them. We should tell them we have incoming.”
William nodded. “Send a rider,” he said. “Since we are not sure where The Bones went, you will tell Anthony to be on his guard. I do not want them sneaking up on my castle. Where is Talus?”
Christian threw a thumb towards the rear of the column. “Back there,” he said. “He took a serious gash to his left leg. Those bastards tried to cut if off.”
“I know,” William said. “I saw it. He’ll need immediate tending with a wound like that.”
Christian agreed. He spurred his horse forward, finding a young soldier astride a jumpy horse and sent the man charging ahead to Castle Questing.
They would soon be seeing it in the distance, its ramparts lit up with torches against the dark night, and there was comfort in knowing they weren’t far out.
Once Christian sent the rider ahead, he returned to his father and uncle.
“I think we can pick up the pace a little,” he said to his father. “What say you?”
Kieran agreed. In battle, or on a battle march, as William’s second in command, he made most of the logistical and general decisions for the army.
William didn’t bat an eyelash as Kieran began to give commands to pick up the pace.
The men began to move faster, including Talus with his gashed leg, and the warhorses broke into a steady trot.
“How long do you intend to keep men in Coldstream, Uncle William?” Christian asked as the horses bounced along.
William’s horse had a smoother trot than most of them, so he was riding easily.
“At least for a few days,” he said. “I told Troy to send Herringthorpe and his men back to Castle Questing in the morning. It is not his duty to protect one of our villages. Moreover, he did not come for that. He came to meet my allies.”
“Did you see the man fight?”
“Of course I did.”