Chapter Eighteen #2
Tiberius couldn’t help but watch the very big youth as the lad rode a big, brown rouncey on the battle march north.
Tiberius had only been informed about the boy the day they left Isenhall for Kenilworth and now, ten days into their march northward, Tiberius was still having difficulty accepting the fact that Maximus had a bastard.
For years, the rumors of such things had always been about Tiberius, so for the grandson of a smithy to have been declared Maximus’ bastard was still something of a shock.
Tiberius always imagined he would be the one meeting his bastard child someday, not Maximus.
Not strangely, however, he took to the awkward, young man right away and for the past several days, Cassius had been following Tiberius around and Tiberius had been imparting his knowledge on the boy.
Tiberius had a wonderful way of communicating, a skill that was not lost on Cassius.
Additionally, Cassius seemed very attached to Stefan, and the son of Maximus with the skip in his speech was finding acceptance among the greatest knights that England had to offer.
For a young man who had known little acceptance or even friendship in his life because of his speech impediment, it was a wonderful, new world for him. Finally, he felt as if he belonged.
“Have you ever been this far north, Cassius?” Tiberius asked the lad.
Cassius shook his head. “N-Nay, m’lord,” he replied. “I-I have spent all of my t-time with my grandfather at Ogmore. We d-did not travel much at all.”
Tiberius slanted the boy a long look. “You do not have to address me formally,” he told him patiently. “Did I not tell you that before?”
Embarrassed, the boy shrugged. “I c-cannot help it,” he said. “I f-feel as if I must.”
Tiberius gave him a wry expression. “Every time you address me formally, I am going to throw something at you,” he said.
“It may be a tiny pebble or it may be a giant rock. You will not know so the fear of not knowing will cause you to think twice before addressing me as ‘my lord’. Is that understood?”
Cassius laughed although he was trying not to, not entirely convinced that Tiberius was serious about the threat. “I will try,” he said. “P-Please do not throw rocks at me.”
“Then do not address me as ‘my lord’.”
“W-What should I call you?”
Tiberius puffed up proudly. “I am your Uncle Tiberius,” he said. “Does that not sound grand? Not many people can claim to have an Uncle Tiberius.”
Cassius nodded and chuckled. But he soon sobered up, his dark green gaze looking north. “A-Are we soon to reach our d-destination?”
Tiberius nodded. “Soon,” he said, looking around at the green, rolling hills of the north.
The scenery at times was quite dramatic.
“Possibly tomorrow. But if we happen to see any action before that time, I will tell you what I have told you before. You will go back with the provisions wagons and remain. I do not want you anywhere near any fighting. Is that clear.”
“A-Aye.”
“Good.”
Cassius felt rather scolded but he knew it was for a purpose.
No one wanted to see him hurt and, since he had not yet mastered the skill of a sword, he understood.
His gaze traveled to the front of the column they were riding in, to the multiple banners they were flying.
It looked quite crowded, and quite impressive, up there. He pointed up to the front.
“Where is Hugh B-Bigod’s seat?” he asked.
Tiberius could see the blue and yellow Bigod banner up ahead. “He is from Norfolk.”
“A-And de Clare?”
“He is a marcher lord, so he stays to the Welsh borders.”
“These are very g-great men.”
“Indeed they are.”
“D-De Montfort has gathered a mighty army, then.”
Tiberius shrugged. “As great as he could gather at such short notice,” he replied.
“We were lucky that Bigod and his men were still gathered at Kenilworth and we were able to join with de Clare as we marched north. It takes time to assemble a great army and since we are moving so quickly, there has not been much time.”
Cassius looked around him. “S-Sir S-Scott said that his f-father had returned home,” he said. “S-Stefan said that as well. Do you think their f-fathers will be joining us?”
Tiberius shrugged. “It is possible,” he said. “De Wolfe is much closer to Cumbria than du Bois is, so it is possible you will be able to experience battle with the mighty William de Wolfe. It would be something to tell your grandchildren.”
Cassius grinned at the impressive thought. Even he had heard the legends surrounding the Wolfe of the North, William de Wolfe. He looked over his shoulder at all of the infantry following them.
“H-How many men do you t-think there are?” he asked.
Tiberius looked around, too, at the variety of different factions gathered under the de Montfort battle march, all moving northward.
“I would say well over two thousand men,” he said. “Mayhap even more than that.”
That was a lot of men having gathered for de Montfort’s cause. “Are more c-coming?” Cassius asked.
Tiberius cocked his head thoughtfully, thinking on what he had heard from d’Vant – ten thousand French mercenaries. If that was really the case, then two thousand men would not stand much of a chance, but he didn’t voice his concerns.
“Mayhap they are,” he said steadily. “Word has gone out to most of the major barons so it is possible that more of them are moving for Erith as we speak. We will not know until they actually arrive.”
It was an overwhelming thought for a young man who had hardly seen such things.
It seemed to him that all of England was moving and his father and uncles were right in the middle of it.
Now, he was right in the middle of it. For a lad who had only been introduced to the knighthood recently, he was coming to think that he might indeed like to have it as his profession.
As difficult as it was sparring with Stefan, and working from dawn until dusk with the de Wolfe brothers hanging over him, he still found it something worth doing.
In spite of everything, he was coming to like it. He wanted to fight, too.
To the west, dark clouds were forming and as the de Montfort army traveled norward, they could hear the thunder rolling in the distance.
A storm would soon be upon them. As most men were looking to the west, Cassius was looking to the east. He was seeing something dark as well, only it wasn’t clouds.
It looked like a dark line on the horizon, on the crest of a distant hill.
He stared at it awhile before pointing it out to Tiberius.
“L-Look over there,” he said. “W-What do you suppose that is?”
Tiberius looked to where the lad was pointing and it didn’t take him long to realize exactly what it was. He was suddenly furious that the scouts and sentries, men who were supposed to be on watch, hadn’t seen it sooner.
“Get back to the provisions wagon,” he told Cassius. “Go now and do not argue.”
Startled, and also fearful, Cassius did as he was told as Tiberius spurred Storm through the ranks of men, charging to the front of the column where the great barons were riding, including de Montfort and Prince Edward.
Tiberius charged right up in front of them, nearly cutting off the entire group.
“Look!” he shouted, pointing.
All heads turned to the east, seeing the thin dark line that was moving, shifting, and undulating. Like a line of ants, the dark mass was moving and everyone who saw it knew what it was, just as Tiberius had. The cry began to go up and men began to move.
“We form lines here!” de Montfort bellowed. “Move the men off the road and form lines! Form them now!”
Gallus, Maximus, and Tiberius were moving with the de Shera men, eight hundred of the best men England had ever seen.
They had around two hundred archers with them, men skilled at the long bow, and then every infantry man was armed with a crossbow.
The de Shera contingent usually went to the front of any fighting line and this battle line was no exception.
As the storm rolled in from the west and big, fat droplets of rain began to fall, the de Montfort army positioned itself against an army of men approaching from the southeast.
“We are hours away from Erith Castle,” Gallus said to de Montfort as the two of them watched the incoming black tide of men take form. “If we take a stand now, then mayhap we can prevent them from reaching Erith altogether.”
Simon was watching the incoming army with great concern.
“I have already sent messengers ahead to Erith announcing our arrival and telling my garrison commander, my son Richard, to be vigilant,” he said, agitated.
“I want to know why none of our scouts returned to tell us that the army was coming at us from the southeast.”
Gallus adjusted the straps on his helm. “I want to know that as well,” he muttered. “The only reason I can think of is that they were spotted by Henry’s army and killed before they could reach us. That is the only explanation.”
As the two of them pondered that scenario, Hugh Bigod, a powerful blob of a man, rode up on his great, white charger.
Gallus and Hugh had a good deal of history together, most of it bad.
Months ago, before Gallus had married Jeniver, Hugh had wanted Gallus for his own daughter and Gallus’ marriage to Jeniver had caused a great rift between them.
These days, the peace between them was very brittle but they were able to work together when necessary.
As Hugh came to a halt, he looked directly at Gallus.