Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ionian scale in C – Lyrics to Light

  Of all of the brightness the sunshine brings,

  Your face is the only light I see.

  In the sky, I can clearly see,

  Your loving eyes gazing back at me.

  —Iseobeau de Shera de Wolfe, 15th c.

  Wellesbourne Castle

  Warwickshire

  Wellesbourne Castle was a little over seven miles south of Warwick Castle, seat of the Earl of Warwick, and the history between Warwick and Wellesbourne had always been one of allied harmony until the last few years. With Warwick allied with Henry one day and Edward the next, that allegiance had been put to the test. Andrew Wellesbourne remained a staunch supporter of the true king of England, one of the more powerful barons in Henry’s arsenal.

  It was well known in military circles that the Wellesbourne army was eleven hundred of the best trained and best supplied men in all of England. They were usually the strike force, put out front in the event of a battle because they were usually very successful in surviving, and then countering, an enemy assault. They had not been at Towton because four months prior, they had seen major action in another massive battle at Wakefield in Yorkshire that had seriously weakened the Wellesbourne lines.

  Andrew had been given permission to return his army home to regroup and he was in the process of doing just that. He’d lost almost three hundred men at Wakefield and through recruiting in the neighboring shires, he had managed to reclaim those numbers and more. Now, Andrew had new recruits that were seeing serious training every day. When Simon de la Londe and Declan de Troiu rode through the gatehouse of Wellesbourne in friendship, Andrew had no reason to think their visit was anything other than a welcomed social call.

  Wellesbourne was a congenial man with dark hair and dark eyes, features his son Adam had inherited. He was an old knight, but still quite powerful and spry even at his advanced age, and was still very active upon the field of battle. Andrew Wellesbourne took no issue with being in the middle of a fight. In fact, he welcomed it. Therefore, as the evening feast commenced, Andrew shared his table with de la Londe and de Troiu as an associate and fellow knight, not as a man who had once held a sword.

  It was a companionable meal that started out with the dreadful news of Towton. Andrew had heard pieces of news as told to him by travelers who had been to the north, or who had heard of the defeat from others, so it was something of a shock to hear the truth from de la Londe and de Troiu. It was even more of a shock to hear of Henry Percy’s death and of Titus de Wolfe’s death. Andrew had particular trouble swallowing that one; he knew Titus and considered the man a friend. Based on the information from Towton, the pleasant evening meal turned into a depressing and serious affair.

  But that was what de la Londe had planned all along. In fact, he’d had days to plan on what, precisely, he was going to tell Wellesbourne to ensure he had the man’s attention when he brought up the subject of swearing fealty to Edward and the best thing he could come up with was to try and gain the man’s sympathy. If he believed Adam had already turned to Edward, if there was some way to build up knightly angst against his own allies, then there might be a chance. De la Londe proceeded carefully.

  “As you can imagine, my lord, the entire country is in upheaval after the battle at Towton,” he said seriously. “I have never seen so many dead. Someone said at least twenty thousand men and animals. And look at the wound to my face – that should tell you how brutal the fighting was.”

  Andrew drew in a long, pensive breath, closing his eyes briefly as if to ward off the horror. When he opened his eyes again, it was to the badly damaged face of de la Londe. “Unfathomable,” he muttered. “And Henry Percy with them.”

  De la Londe nodded. “Northumberland, Andrew Trollope, and others,” he said. “Lancaster is all but defeated. We have heard that Henry has fled into Scotland where he will more than likely remain. Henry is finished and Edward now takes the throne. If, for no other reason, I am glad to make that statement because it means the death and destruction is over. Mayhap men’s lives will be spared now that the dominant king has emerged.”

  Andrew was watching him from across the table, over the glow of the flickering tapers. “The battles will never be over so long as a usurper sits upon the throne of England.”

  De la Londe could see, in that moment, that convincing Wellesbourne to join Edward’s cause was not going to be a simple thing. Not that he believed it would be, but he had hoped the gloom and doom of the defeat at Towton might give Wellesbourne pause to think. De la Londe sipped at his wine.

  “I suppose you have to think about it from the point of view for the good of England,” he said, smacking his lips at the tart taste. “Henry is quite mad. We know he is quite mad. Because he is mad, his wife, Margaret rules for him. That means, essentially, a French whore rules England. That does not sit well with me or many other men. Edward, at least, is not mad and he does not have his French wife ruling in his stead. He is skilled, an excellent warrior, and possesses a keen mind. Those are all attributes of a man I would wish to have sitting upon the throne of England.”

  Andrew should have sensed something was afoot but he did not; he simply viewed de la Londe’s statement as his opinion. He shrugged his big shoulders.

  “Possibly,” he said. “But the fact remains that he is not the rightful king.”

  De la Londe cocked an eyebrow to make a point. “Edward has a very strong claim to the throne. More than that, he has more support than Henry does. It is only a matter of time before Henry, and his supporters, are completely wiped out.”

  Andrew considered that for a moment. More than that, he was now starting to suspect something. He wasn’t sure yet, but it was clear that de la Londe was advocating Edward for the sake of the argument. Calmly, he poured himself more wine.

  “Is that what you truly believe, Simon?” he asked.

  De la Londe nodded, glancing at de Troiu, who hadn’t imbibed any alcohol the entire meal. De Troiu’s mind was still quite clear and when he caught de la Londe’s expression, he spoke up.

  “Towton was a disaster,” he said. “So many dead, including Titus de Wolfe. It was a horrible scene. There are not many Lancastrian supporters left and there is a great deal of talk among those who remain about ending these wars and throwing their support behind Edward. Now with Northumberland gone, his ranks of knights are discussing what is to be done now. There is now a twelve-year-old boy at the helm of Northumberland’s armies and the lad is not a military leader like his father was. It has caused the Northumberland knights to rethink their loyalties, including Adam.”

  Andrew’s head came up and his dark eyes focused intensely on de Troiu. “My son?” he questioned. “What has Adam said?”

  De Troiu cast de la Londe a long look, a purposeful move, as if to imply he did not want to tell Andrew the truth. It was an obvious gesture that only made Andrew more suspicious of their motives.

  “Like the others, he is considering supporting Edward,” de Troiu said softly. “He has sent us here to ask you to consider the same.”

  Andrew sat back in his chair, surprised. “He has?” he asked. “Why did he not come personally?”

  De la Londe spoke, an off the cuff answer because he had not expected Andrew’s question, nor had he expected de Troiu’s suggestion that Adam had asked them to approach his father on a change in loyalties. That was not how he and de Troiu had originally discussed approaching the subject and he silently cursed de Troiu for changing the rules of the game mid-stream. Now, they were forced to come up with believable answers in a hurry.

  “Because he was injured at Towton,” de la Londe lied. “He cannot travel. He asked us to come in his stead.”

  Andrew looked stricken. “Why did you not tell me he was injured when you first arrived?”

  De la Londe shook his head. “It is not a terrible injury,” he assured the old man. “But it is best that he not travel for a time. The physic wants
him to rest. We are all considering swearing fealty to Edward’s cause, Andrew. In fact, Declan and I have already sworn fealty to him. Adam and the others will soon follow. We need you with us, Andrew. As it is, you support a mad king who has very little support. If you attend battle for him again, you will be terribly overwhelmed. I do not want to see you slaughtered if I can help it and neither does your son.”

  Andrew simply sat there, digesting everything he’d been told. His son had been injured, the king’s supporters had been defeated at Towton, and now knights that he had known and fought with for years were telling him that, out of necessity, their loyalties were shifting. That in of itself held warning for Andrew; he had accepted these knights into his home as allies. Now, they were telling him that it might not be the case. If they were not allies, they were enemies. He was very concerned with enemies in his home.

  The more he thought about it, the more it disturbed him. Why did they not tell him of Adam right away? Why wait until the end? The manner in which the news was delivered suggested that de la Londe and de Troiu were trying to play on Andrew’s sympathies. In fact, the entire conversation seemed to be designed to play on his sympathies. Death, destruction, and a mad king… as Andrew pondered all of these factors, he realized that he was becoming enraged. Quite enraged. How dare these men come to Wellesbourne under the flag of friendship, only to inform him that they were, in fact, traitors to Henry? Was anything they had told him even true?

  Andrew Wellesbourne was many things but he was not a fool. He was a warrior and warriors knew what needed to be done. With that in mind, he began to carefully lay his trap.

  “Then I suppose I must consider it,” he finally said, regarding his cup. “It sounds as if Henry’s cause is dying.”

  De Troiu nodded, relieved that Wellesbourne wasn’t up in arms over the course the conversation had taken. He had suspected resistance, anger at the very least, but Andrew seemed to be seriously pondering their offer. Perhaps their coercion had worked, after all.

  “After Towton, there is not much hope,” he replied. “I suppose it is good that you were not there. You may have known serious casualties among your own men.”

  Andrew pretended to contemplate that statement when, in fact, he was contemplating much more that had nothing to do with switching loyalties to Henry. He glanced up, seeing two men-at-arms at the door to the great hall of Wellesbourne but he knew there were more armed men about, including his two knights, Juston de Royans and Jasper de Llion. De Royans and de Llion had been part of the meal at the onset but had soon left to complete their duties for the night. It was rather unfortunate, for Andrew wished the knights had remained to hear what de Troiu and de la Londe had to say. But they would hear it soon enough.

  “You could be right,” Andrew said, peering into the wine pitcher and pretending it was empty when it was really about a quarter full. “It is certainly something I shall think about, especially if Adam is so inclined. Let me summon a servant to fetch more wine and we shall continue this line of conversation. I am also interested to know how badly my son was injured.”

  He stood up, taking the wine pitcher with him. As he headed for the entry, presumably to summon a kitchen servant when the hall seemed to have several of them lingering about, de la Londe turned his head slightly in de Troiu’s direction.

  “Why did you tell him Adam had asked us to demand his change in loyalty?” he hissed, covering it up by lifting a cup to his mouth. “He will want to send word to Adam. What then?”

  De Troiu pushed a piece of candied fruit into his mouth. “Hopefully by that time it will not matter,” he muttered. “Hopefully Norfolk will have extracted complete loyalty from Wellesbourne and the matter will be settled. You know that Norfolk will want to come and visit Andrew if the man shows any interest in Edward’s cause.”

  De la Londe sighed heavily with doubt, and took a couple of big gulps of wine. Then he looked around the great hall of Wellesbourne, a two-storied monstrosity with a minstrel gallery above.

  “Have you thought about what you are going to do when these wars are over?” he asked quietly, his mind wandering to something other than war. “My family is originally from Rouen. I’ve no desire to return there. Norfolk promised Titus lands in Westwick but since Titus cannot accept, mayhap he will give them to me. I would be happy to settle in Norfolk.”

  De Troiu shrugged. “My family is from Northumberland,” he said. “I was born at Deauxville Mount Castle. It will be mine when my father dies.”

  De la Londe glanced at him. “Then you have no need for the wealth Norfolk can provide.”

  “I will take anything he gives me.”

  De la Londe snorted into his cup. Further conversation was cut short, however, when Andrew reappeared and took his seat on the opposite side of the table. When de la Londe and de Troiu looked at him, expectantly, he grinned.

  “I am having some of my private wine brought up from the vaults,” he said. “It is wine I only share on special occasions and I would assume this is one of those times. Now, tell me more about my son. What has happened to him?”

  De la Londe and de Troiu looked at each other, each man expecting the other to reply since neither of them really had an idea what to say, but de Troiu made it clear he had no intention of answering. He wasn’t the one who had told Wellesbourne his son had been injured. That being the case, de la Londe had no choice but to speak.

  “An archer strike,” he said in a vague description. “There were thousands of Edward’s archers that day. The physic expects him to fully recover.”

  That answer seemed to satisfy Andrew for the most part. “I see,” he said. “I will have to tell his wife. Audrey is here at Wellesbourne, you know. She is pregnant with their third child.”

  De la Londe nodded; he had caught a glimpse of the woman when they had arrived, a lovely blond with a big belly. “He has two older boys, does he not?”

  Andrew nodded. “Matthew is ten and fostering at Kenilworth along with his brother, Mark, who his eight,” he said. “Matthew will be a great knight. He is bright and big and cunning. I am not entirely sure about Mark yet, but time will tell.”

  De la Londe and de Troiu simply nodded. De la Londe drained the last of his wine whilst de Troiu found interest in the candied fruits on the table. Andrew watched both men with a hawk-like stare, his dark gaze moving between the pair, knowing what was coming for them. With the excuse of having more wine brought from the storage vaults, he’d sent a servant running for de Royans and de Llion. He soon expected his knights in the hall, heavily armed, and he was counting the seconds with great anticipation. De la Londe and de Troiu had declared themselves to be enemies. He would treat them as such. But he had to trap them before they could make the first move against him.

  “You have not yet wed, have you, Simon?” Andrew asked, making conversation until help arrived. “I seem to remember hearing you had a contract marriage. Or mayhap it was someone else; I cannot recall.”

  De la Londe shook his head. “It was not me,” he said. “That was Titus. He married a de Shera.”

  Andrew was impressed. “The Lords of Thunder,” he murmured. “The family is old and distinguished. They are related to the hereditary kings of Anglesey as well as the House of de Wolfe, if I recall correctly. So Titus married a cousin?”

  De la Londe shrugged. “A very distant one, I think,” he said. “Truthfully, I do not know much about the de Wolfes and the de Sheras. Titus’ wife, the former Isobeau de Shera, seems pleasant enough. She is quite beautiful.”

  Andrew thought on the widowed young wife. “Tragic,” he said. It was then that he noticed de Royans and de Llion appear in the entry, fully armed. Since de la Londe and de Troiu had their backs to the hall entrance, they could not see what Andrew saw. Therefore, he sought to keep their attention. “Now, tell me more about your opinion of Henry’s future following Towton. You are proposing that I make a very big decision. I would have all of the information necessary to make the best decision possible.�
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  De la Londe spoke up, encouraged that the man was asking such questions and completely oblivious to the threat stalking up behind him. “You must understand the scope of the support that Edward had at Towton,” he said. “Warwick was there, no less. It would seem to me that if Warwick is supporting Edward, then the man must be worth that measure of respect.”

  Andrew lifted an eyebrow, his focus on the two men in front of him even though he could see de Royans and de Llion coming up behind them in his periphery. He didn’t want to tip them off. “Indeed,” he said. “But let us be frank; all Warwick wants is power and he will support the king most likely to give it to him.”

  De la Londe opened his mouth to reply but was cut short when de Royans brought the hilt of his broadsword down on the back of de la Londe’s skull. De Troiu had no time to react at all before de Llion was smashing him against the back of the skull, too. Both men fell in a heap to the ground, wallowing at the feet of the knights who had just disabled them. Victorious, Andrew leapt to his feet.

  “Excellent,” he hissed, moving around the table to get a better look at his unconscious victims. “The vile bastards.”

  Juston de Royans, a big man with blond hair, peered curiously at Andrew. “What has happened, my lord?” he asked, concerned. “We received your message to incapacitate these men at all costs. What goes on in here? Did they threaten you?”

  Andrew frowned at de la Londe, who was trying very hard to wake up. He kicked the man in the head to still him. “Lying bastards,” he said. “They came here under the guise of friendship and fed me lies. More than that, they have declared their support for Edward. Put them both in the vault and make sure they are secure. Consider them enemies, is that clear?”

  De Royans and de Llion were rather surprised at the news, looking down at their victims as they splayed across the dirt floor. More men-at-arms were now entering the hall, pulling de la Londe and de Troiu off the ground. De Llion went with the prisoners to secure them in the vault but de Royans remained behind. He was still quite confused.