Atticus wouldn’t be easily swayed from thoughts of vengeance. “You do not have to even ask,” he said. “You know I will take care of her regardless. But de la Londe and de Troiu….”
“Listen to me,” Titus cut him off as forcefully as he could. “Isobeau… I realize we have not been married very long, but in that time… in that time I have grown quite fond of her. She is a warm and wonderful and beautiful woman, Atticus. It is imperative that she remarry a man who is worthy of her.”
Atticus was still lingering on de la Londe and de Troiu. “Of course I will select a man worthy of her,” he assured him. “You do not even have to ask, Brother. I will make sure she is well taken care of by someone who will treat her with respect and kindness.”
“I meant you, Atticus.”
Atticus’ eyebrows lifted in surprise and astonishment. “Me?” he repeated. “You want me to marry your wife?”
Titus squeezed his hand, although the gesture was weaker than it had been only moments earlier. It was clear his life was fading. “You are the only man I trust,” he whispered. “Atticus, she is all to me. These past two months that she has been my wife have been the two most wonderful months of my life. I know you will be kind to her and that you will respect her. It is most important that you marry her, Atticus. I… I could not bear it if another man were to have her.”
Atticus tried to keep the look of horror off his face. “Titus, I… I cannot marry,” he said. “Not her, not anyone. You know this. You know my mind and future is not focused on a wife. There is the battle in support of Henry, now more important than ever as Edward takes the throne.”
Titus would not be put off. “You must marry her.”
“And you would have her widowed twice if anything happens?” Atticus hissed. “I will not stop fighting if I marry her, Titus. She will be secondary to my vocation.”
Titus looked at him; really looked at him. Tears began to stream from his eyes and down his temples. “Please,” he begged, a tight whisper. “Isobeau is the most important thing in the world to me. Please marry her and be kind to her. I will trust you, Atticus. You must do this for me.”
Titus’ tears poked holes in Atticus’ resistance. In fact, it destroyed his resistance altogether. He was shocked to see the tears, the emotion, coming from Titus, who had perhaps been one of the strongest and most emotionless people he knew. But in this brief conversation, he could see one thing clearly; Titus’ new wife was much more entrenched in her husband’s heart than Atticus could have ever guessed. He was, frankly, astonished. He never suspected Titus capable of such emotion. Squeezing his brother’s fingers again, he placed a big hand on the man’s forehead.
“As you wish,” he said, giving in without another word of argument. “I will… marry her and take care of her. You needn’t worry. Isobeau will be well tended.”
Titus closed his eyes, emitting a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he whispered sincerely. “I can die in peace knowing she is taken care of. Bless you, Atticus. And for the years of being my brother and sharing a bond with me that few men know, I thank you. I love you very much.”
Now, the tears were returning to Atticus’ eyes, but this time he could not stop them. Is this really the end? He thought. Is this really the last time I will ever speak with my brother?
“And I love you,” he whispered tightly for the lump in his throat. “You are my older brother, Titus. I have always worshiped you. I am not sure how I am going to go on without your guidance and your wisdom.”
Titus opened his eyes, although it was a struggle. The peculiar numbness in his legs had now reached his chest. It was difficult to breathe.
“But you will,” he ordered. “You will go on and you will do great things. You are The Lion of the North, a man so fierce that your reputation borders on myth. You are the greatest de Wolfe of all. Know that I am proud, Atticus… so very proud that you are my brother. It… it has been an honor….”
He faded off. Atticus didn’t try to stop the tears now; they streamed down his cheeks as he bent over his brother. “Titus?” he asked hoarsely. “Titus, can you hear me?”
There was no response. Northumberland’s personal surgeon, who had been standing behind Atticus during the exchange, moved around Atticus and put his fingers on Titus’ neck. After a moment, he lifted both eyelids and peered into the glazed eyes. Then, he looked at Atticus and shook his head.
“He is gone, my lord,” he said quietly.
Atticus released his grip on Titus, his hands flying to his head as if to hold back the explosion of grief that was building.
“Nay,” he breathed. “He is not gone. Not yet.”
The surgeon nodded his head again, glancing over at Warenne, who had also been watching the exchange. There was great concern on Warenne’s features as Atticus went into denial.
“I am afraid he is,” the surgeon said, putting himself between Atticus and his dead brother. “I will make sure your brother is properly cleaned and prepared for the return home. I will take care of him, my lord, I swear it. Mayhap you should go with Thetford now. Go with him, Sir Atticus. There is nothing more you can do for your brother.”
Atticus stared at the man, his hands still on his head, as if hardly understanding what he was being told. His gaze moved back to Titus, who was pale and still upon the pallet. In fact, he seemed rather peaceful. Atticus pushed the surgeon aside and put his hands on his brother.
“But he is still warm,” he insisted.
He knew it was a stupid thing to say even as he said it. The surgeon shook his head again, motioning to Warenne, who quickly came forward.
“He is dead, my lord,” the surgeon said again, removing Atticus’ hand and gently pushing the knight towards Warenne. “Please go with the earl now. I will take good care of your brother.”
Atticus’ first instinct was to resist, to deny what he had been told, but he knew deep in his heart that the surgeon was correct. Titus was truly dead. Atticus had seen far too much death in his lifetime and should have been conditioned to it, but he found when it came to Titus that he was not. He wasn’t conditioned at all. Still, he had to maintain control. He couldn’t let others see him in an emotional state. With every ounce of willpower he possessed, he steeled himself against the reality of Titus’ demise. The truth was that he was numb.
Quickly, he wiped any remaining tears from his face and stood up even as the earl came to him and tried to help him. Atticus shook the man off, though not unkindly.
“I will take him back to the Lair,” he said, sounding hollow and matter-of-fact. Greif had him reeling. “He will be buried there with our mother.”
Warenne was watching Atticus closely, with great regret. He could see that the man was off-balance, stunned. “Of course, Atticus,” he agreed softly. “Shall I send a messenger to Wolfe’s Lair to inform Solomon de Wolfe of his son’s passing?”
Atticus didn’t respond for a moment, seemingly lost in his own world of grief and turmoil. He was trying very hard to think clearly, to plan what needed to be done. Anything to stave off the sorrow of Titus’ death. At the moment, he was pretending it never happened. He was ignoring it, hoping the anguish of it would leave him alone, at least for a while. Stay strong!
“Nay,” he said. “I will inform my father personally when I deliver Titus home. For now, my first task will be to return to Alnwick Castle to inform my brother’s wife, Lady de Wolfe, of her husband’s passing. I can make it to Alnwick in four or five days, but I will need a good mount. I lost my horse in battle this morning.”
Warenne put a hand on him, stopping him from charging right out of the tent and jumping on the nearest horse to ride to Alnwick Castle. “Wait, Atticus,” he said. “With our defeat, Northumberland’s army must all return to Alnwick immediately and reinforce her against an onslaught by Edward’s forces. I realize you want to return at this moment, but look around you; with Henry Percy dead, Northumberland is in need of leadership. With Titus gone, that unfortunately falls to you. You need to
secure the men and organize them for their return to Alnwick where you may then inform Lady de Wolfe of her husband’s passing.”
Atticus looked at Warenne, his expression torn between Titus’ death and the immediate plans for Northumberland’s survival. With their defeat at Towton, everything was in question now. That is, everything but one particular point.
“There are other Northumberland knights to assist with that,” he said, his jaw flexing. “There is le Bec, Wellesbourne, and both de Russe knights. There is even Lady de Wolfe’s brother. There are at least five excellent knights to organize the men to return home, but for me, there are things I must do.”
Warenne didn’t like the rather deadly look in the man’s eye. “I have not seen Lady de Wolfe’s brother for hours,” he said. “Le Bec, Wellesbourne, and both de Russe knights are already out assessing the damage. You are needed very badly, Atticus. You must organize the breakdown of Northumberland’s encampment and make sure the wounded are separated for the return home. You must also ensure that the earl himself makes it back to Alnwick and to his family. We have a new Earl of Northumberland now, you know. A twelve-year-old lad must now helm a mighty empire.”
Atticus’ hazel eyes were riveted to Warenne, the deadly gleam evident. He didn’t seem swayed by the fact that a child was now his liege. “I cannot help, Ren,” he said. “You will forgive me, but there are things I must now do that do not include Northumberland’s future.”
Atticus had never disobeyed an order in his life so his answer surprised Warenne. Technically, he wasn’t Atticus’ liege but he was his superior. Atticus was bound to obey him. But, then again, men suffering the pangs of grief could behave oddly.
“Atticus, please,” Warenne begged quietly. “You will have all the time you need to tend to the things you must do but for the next few hours, will you please take charge of Northumberland’s troops and move them away from this place? You cannot walk away when you are needed most.”
Atticus’ expression hardened. “I must find de la Londe and de Troiu,” he said, his tone a growl. “There is no negotiation on this. I must find these men and I must kill them.”
Warenne knew that; he’d known the moment Atticus had entered his tent and had been told of the treachery against his brother that Atticus would seek out those who had betrayed Titus. He also knew there was no way he could stop him; more than love or passion, vengeance was perhaps the strongest emotion of all. It could move mountains or dam rivers. Once it was in a man’s veins, it was not easily removed until the vengeance itself was sated. That was the only antidote. Warenne sighed faintly.
“Atticus, you must listen to me or your father will lose two sons,” he said, his voice low. “You must return to Alnwick so that you may inform Lady de Wolfe of her husband’s passing. You must also inform all of Alnwick that there is a new earl. In fact, I will go with you to accomplish this. Henry was my friend, you know. I will then send men with you to escort Titus back to Wolfe’s Lair for burial. Those are the things that must be done first. After that, you will be free to seek out de Troiu and de la Londe to do what must be done. All I ask is that you not act rashly or without great consideration to the situation. A man who acts without thought in a hazardous situation is as good as dead and right now, you are prepared to run off and get yourself killed. Do you think de Troiu and de la Londe will simply throw aside their swords and allow you to kill them? Of course they will not. They are seasoned men, just as you are. They will defend themselves against you and if they have the chance, they will kill you. I cannot bear to lose yet another friend. Please, Atticus… think.”
Atticus was glaring at Warenne by the time the man finished but Warenne also realized that it wasn’t so much of a glare as it was an expression of extreme grief and disappointment. There was great pain reflecting in Atticus’ eyes because he knew Warenne, a wise and just man even at his young age of thirty-three years, was correct. Atticus had to be smarter than those he sought to kill, which meant he had to be methodical in their extermination. Running off blindly to challenge them would more than likely not work. His sense of revenge, that age-old hatred that was filling his heart, would have to wait for the moment.
But its time would come.
“I will not stop,” Atticus finally said. “I will never stop until de Troiu and de la Londe are dead.”
“I know.”
“Then understand this has nothing to do with Norfolk seeking to turn Northumberland knights into traitors and everything to do with justice for my brother.”
“Killing them will not bring Titus back.”
“Mayhap not. But they will be punished for what they did. I cannot let their deed go unanswered.”
Warenne was coming to think that he’d already lost Atticus; the man was singularly focused on revenge. Not that he blamed him. There were shadows of revenge in his heart, too, cast there by a day of defeat and sorrow. He’d seen his mighty army humbled, his men killed, friends killed, and his cause badly damaged. The battle at Towton had been a disaster all the way around. He cleared his throat softly.
“When you do kill them,” he whispered, “twist the sword just a bit more for my sake, so that I may fulfill my sense of vengeance as well. Titus did not deserve what they did to him.”
For the first time, Atticus could see that Warenne, too, held the same sense of punishment that he did. It was as close to revenge as the even-tempered earl could come and Atticus finally felt as if the man understood somewhat. That moment of clarity helped Atticus a great deal. It made him much more willing to obey Warenne’s immediate commands.
“Nay, he did not,” Atticus finally said, hanging his head because he could no longer look the man in the eye. His sense of grief was now threatening to overwhelm his sense of rage. Stay strong! God help him, he was trying. “That being said, I will pull the men together. I will ride to Alnwick with the army. I will return Titus home. But after that, I go on the hunt for de Troiu and de la Londe.”
“I know.”
Atticus drew in a long, deep breath, struggling to focus on the tasks that lay ahead. He struggled to push aside his grief for the moment, clearing his mind. “You say that you have seen le Bec, Wellesbourne, and both de Russe knights,” he said. “I must go in search of Tertius. Let us pray that Lady de Wolfe has not lost her brother in addition to her husband this day.”
Vastly relieved that Atticus seemed to be calming, Warenne nodded his head. “Find de Shera,” he said. “As I said, I have not seen him in hours. The last I saw of the man, he was to the north near Cock Burn. You may want to start there.”
Atticus nodded, thinking of Tertius de Shera, a knight who was also his friend. In fact, he was close with all of Northumberland’s knights. Three of them were cousins, all grandsons of the great Richmond le Bec – Sir Kenton le Bec was the son of Richmond’s eldest son, while Sir Adam Wellesbourne had married Kenton’s cousin, Audrey, the daughter of Richmond’s youngest daughter and the mighty Bastian de Russe. Lastly, Sir Alec le Bec was the son of Richmond’s second son, Gannon. All three of these knights were related, as were the de Wolfe brothers and Tertius de Shera because Titus had married Tertius’ sister. Warenne had a close-knit stable of knights because of these family ties and he liked it that way. Men who were linked by blood were sometimes more loyal and bonded than others.
But it was a bond that had been shattered this day between Atticus and Titus. Already, Atticus felt lost and alone because he’d never been without his brother. Finally acknowledging Warenne’s command, he couldn’t help but glance at his brother as he prepared to quit the tent. He shouldn’t have done it because one glance at Titus’ ashen face fractured the weak composure. He broke away from Warenne and returned to his brother’s corpse, dropping to his knees beside the man and pulling him into his arms.
No one had expected that sudden move; one moment, Atticus was speaking with Warenne and the next, he was on his knees, clutching Titus against him. The surgeon, who had been cleaning the man up, was very nearly pushed
out of the way as Atticus held his brother for the very last time. It was a deeply poignant and sorrowful moment, one of finality.
Atticus couldn’t leave without bidding his farewell to Titus in his own way. He loved his brother deeply and holding the man’s cooling body against him somehow made everything more real; life and death and the sense of vengeance that was starting to eat away at Atticus’ soul. Already, it was like a cancer, threatening to consume him. Hugging Titus against him, he whispered in the man’s ear.
“I swear that you shall be avenged,” he pledged. “As I live and breathe, I shall punish those who have done this to you. It will be my all for living, the force that drives me. I swear your death shall not be in vain. You will be well remembered, Titus. But those who did this to you will pay.”
With a final kiss to Titus’ cooling cheek, he lay his brother back down and very nearly ran from the tent. Only outside, in the freezing weather and the blanket of white across the ground, did he let the tears fall unashamedly.
For Titus, he finally wept.
CHAPTER TWO
Ionian scale in C – Lyrics to My Heart Awakens
As the sun will rise, my heart awakens.
Your voice is beauty to my ear, my soul cannot be contained.
As I watch the sun rise, it reflects my longing,
’Tis only you I dream of, the hope for love is restored.
—Isobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c.
Alnwick Castle
April 04, 1461 A.D.
The weather had been fickle, petulant, and quite mad.
At least, that is how she looked at it, but at the moment it was behaving itself. From the snows that had fallen at the end of March to the very spring-like weather they were currently experiencing, it was enough to make one’s head swim. The earth, now warmed by the weak sun that had decided to emerge from behind the veil of winter, was becoming alive with blooms and blossoms and little creatures that liked to dart about the fields. Even the bugs were celebrating, swarming and dancing upon the newly green earth. It was, in truth, delightful.
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