WolfeHeart: de Wolfe Pack Generations, page 23
A rebirth.
Come what may, Markus de Wolfe had done that for her, in more ways than she could imagine.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The army from Trastamara moved out before dawn the next day.
The trek to Mordrington was a short one, all things considered, and Cassius and Atlas rode at the head of the army while Damien was positioned at the back of the column, watching their rear. With one provisions wagon and four hundred heavily-armed soldiers, they moved with surprising speed on a morning that had dawned misty at first, but had soon cleared.
It had rained the night before, leaving the roads a bit muddy, but nothing that was impassable or particularly difficult. The pace was quicker than normal because Cassius and Damien knew that any patrols from Mordrington would pick up the approach of an army and it was quite possible that they would run headlong into a shield wall of Scots before they could even get to the manse. Therefore, they wanted to give the Scots less time to prepare for their arrival.
The men were moving swiftly.
The knights were in full battle gear, while Atlas’ mode of dress was a little different. He was taller than his father, but not quite as heavy, so he was able to wear almost all of Roget’s mail and protection, including a beautiful broadsword that had once belonged to Amabella’s father. It was Spanish, from the great metalworkers of Aragon, much as Shand’s broadsword had been. But Shand’s broadsword was back at Trastamara, probably never to be used again, at least not by Atlas. He couldn’t bring himself to touch the thing. But he carried his grandfather’s sword quite proudly.
He was also wearing the old Trastamara colors of red and white, old tunics that had been stored when Roget had become the Lord of Trastamara and had commissioned tunics of red and blue, representing the House of de Sauque. But Atlas refused to wear them or show tribute to his father in any way. He and several old soldiers who had served under Alonzo Abril had hunted down the old tunics, and now many of the old guard were wearing their tunics proudly once again.
So was Atlas.
In fact, he rode at the head of the column as puffed up as a peacock, this young lord who now commanded his hereditary army. Cassius and Damien kept passing amused glances because Atlas was singularly focused on the road ahead as if nothing else in the world existed. Cassius had to remind him, twice, to keep his attention on the land surrounding the road so he wouldn’t be surprised by any marauders brave enough to take on an army. Sheepishly, Atlas did.
Nearly an hour into their march, Atlas had the army slow because they were approaching Mordrington. They could smell it, even at this distance, but they hadn’t met any resistance so far, which they took as a hopeful sign that the Scots weren’t alerted to their presence. Cassius asked for permission to disperse the army around Mordrington and Atlas agreed, so Cassius split the army into two factions. A smaller group split off, with Damien at the helm, and headed into the trees to flank Mordrington on three sides while Cassius and Atlas took the bulk of the army to the front of the manse.
Having never seen the manse, Cassius wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but once it came into view, he could see that it wasn’t a very big structure. Surely no more the fifty Scots could be inside because it simply didn’t have the size that a castle would. As they approached, they could see that the drawbridge was down, but there didn’t seem to be anyone moving about, not like Atlas and Markus had seen the day before.
In fact, it appeared strangely deserted. Within full view of the manse, Cassius called a halt to the army, who began spreading out to form the front line. Cassius, next to Atlas, scratched his head.
“It does not look as if anyone is there,” he said, confused. “And you are sure you saw men here?”
Atlas nodded firmly. “Most definitely,” he said. “There were Scots and they threw a dead body into the moat. Shand came out to speak with them.”
Cassius thought on that. Then, he emitted a low whistle between his teeth, summoning a couple of men. He gave them orders to send scouts out into the surrounding countryside to make sure there wasn’t a Scots army lying in wait for them, waiting to pounce and box them in between an attacking army and the castle walls. As four men mounted steeds and charged off, Cassius returned his attention to the manse.
“The army will remain here and position archers,” he said. “You and I will approach. Bring your shield.”
Atlas nodded, sliding off his horse and collecting the shield that was strapped to the saddle. Unlike most shields, which bore an animal like a bear or a boar or a falcon, or even a symbol of war, the old Trastamara shield bore the Archangel Michael. It was the simple design of an angel with big wings and a sword in the right hand. It had been the symbol of the House of Abril in battle for a century until Roget de Sauque used it, but the shield Atlas had in his hand had belonged to his grandfather. Other than the armor, which he wore only because it fit, he didn’t intend to carry on anything his father brought to Trastamara.
The House of Abril would shine again.
Beside him, Cassius carried his de Wolfe shield, with the recognizable wolf’s head. It was the same design that he had tattooed on his left shoulder, a symbol of the grandsons of William de Wolfe. Like Markus and the rest of the extended male cousins, he wore the stigmata proudly.
Shields in-hand, the two of them cautiously made their way to the lowered drawbridge. There was a sense of concern since the place appeared deserted. It didn’t seem natural. The drawbridge was open and they could see into what appeared to be a courtyard with a roof overhead, or even a hall of sorts. It was difficult to tell. The shadowed light of whatever was beyond told them there was something overhead and they could both clearly see that there was someone standing in the hall, waiting for them.
Cassius and Atlas came to within ten feet of the drawbridge before Cassius called a halt. Shield lifted, he called to the figure inside.
“Show yourself,” he boomed. “I bring four hundred men, so any resistance will be strongly met.”
The figure moved immediately, coming out of the shadows towards him. As it came through the doorway, Cassius and Atlas could immediately see that it was a well-dressed woman with two small boys, one in each hand. The three of them emerged from the manse without hesitation, coming out onto the drawbridge.
Atlas knew immediately who they were.
“The whore,” he hissed. “That is my father’s whore.”
Cassius didn’t take his eyes off her, but he could hear the loathing in Atlas’ tone. The woman was not unattractive, with red hair and a rather round body, and both boys were dark-haired, like Atlas was. In fact, they looked a little like Atlas, but Cassius didn’t comment. He could already sense how tense Atlas was at the sight of them.
“Stop,” he commanded the woman. “Who are you?”
The woman looked between the two men. “My name is Fenella Foulden Hume,” she said. “These are my sons, Edmund and Emrys. Why do ye bring yer army here? Who are ye?”
Cassius regarded the woman for a moment. “You were standing inside, waiting for us with the drawbridge open. Surely you know.”
“I saw ye coming from the battlements. I wanted tae show ye we posed no threat.”
Cassius considered that, glancing at Atlas to see the young man’s reaction. There was none. He returned his focus to the woman.
“Where are the Scots who fill this place?” he asked.
“Gone.”
“Gone where?”
“I dunna know,” she said. “And ye have not identified yourself.”
“I am Atlas de Sauque,” Atlas said, suddenly moving in her direction. “You are my father’s whore, but now that he is dead, Mordrington belongs to me. You will pack your bags and your bastards and get out today. If you are still here when the sun sets, I will have the army remove you.”
Fenella’s eyes widened as she stared at him. “Atlas,” she breathed. “Is… is it true?”
“Of course it is. I would not lie.”
She looked him up and down, almost proudly. “I can see that it is because ye have the look of yer father about ye,” she said. “He spoke of ye often and fondly and said that ye…”
Atlas cut her off rudely. “Shut your lips,” he said. “I do not want to hear your voice. I do not care about you or what my father told you about me. All I care about is that you pack your things and leave.”
Fenella acted as if she didn’t hear him. She bent over, speaking to the boys beside her. “Look,” she said, pointing at Atlas. “That is yer brother. Ye must greet him properly.”
Atlas moved closer to her. “Lady, are you deaf?” he said. “I told you to pack your bags and get out. If you do not, I will turn this army loose on you.”
Fenella looked at him, finally forced to address his demand. “I have nowhere tae go.”
“That is not my concern,” he said. “I want you out, and out you shall go. And where is Shand Bexwell? Why was he here yesterday?”
Fenella cocked her head. “I dunna know what ye mean.”
Atlas marched up to her, posturing angrily over her. “Aye, you do,” he said through clenched teeth. “Stop playing stupid. I know he was here yesterday and I want to know why. And where are all of the Scots that were here yesterday? I want answers and you’d better give them to me, or I will separate you from your sons and you will never see them again. Do you understand me?”
That seemed to strike some fear into Fenella. She clutched the older boy but before she could grab the younger one, he pulled away from her and would have run off had Atlas not grabbed him. The child screamed, Fenella screamed, and Cassius came forward to take the screaming child from Atlas.
It happened that fast.
“My bairn!” Fenella cried. “Dunna hurt him! He’s only a babe!”
“I have no intention of hurting him,” Atlas said. “But you will get out. Once you pack your bags and leave, I will give you back the lad. Refuse me and I will take him back with me to Trastamara.”
Fenella began to panic. “How can ye do this?” she wept. “He is yer brother!”
“He is not my brother,” Atlas roared. “He is my father’s bastard. He has nothing to do with me and I care less for him even than I care for you, so do as you are told, woman. My patience grows thin.”
Fenella had gone from being fairly excited to finally meet Roget’s son, thinking that somehow, someway, he would have a heart for her plight and the plight of his half-brothers, to being terrified and furious. She had been told by Shand that Atlas wanted her out of Mordrington, but she didn’t really believe it until now. It was clear that Atlas had no use for her. There was no warmth in his eyes, no consideration.
No mercy.
This was not how she had planned this day.
She knew Trastamara was coming. Win and Shand had told her of their plans because they wanted her to try and keep the Trastamara army at Mordrington as long as she could so that they would have ample time to breach the walls of Trastamara Castle.
Of course, Fenella was willing. She had heard the talk from her brother and his men, and Shand, when they spoke of how they would divide up the de Sauque properties once Trastamara surrendered to the reiver army. Win even spoke of calling upon the other reivers in the area, Na Bràithrean, and creating a large outlaw army to capture Trastamara, but that idea was discarded because Win knew he’d have to share Mordrington with them. If his brethren reivers helped capture a castle, they would want a part of the spoils.
And Win didn’t want to share.
Therefore, he took his men and, along with Shand, made his way south to Trastamara before dawn, knowing full well that the Trastamara army would more than likely be mobilizing on them. It was really a lucky guess based on the fact that there were spies watching Mordrington the day before, but it was more like an educated guess. If Atlas de Sauque really wanted to throw Fenella from Mordrington, then it stood to reason that once the Scots were spotted, Trastamara would move quickly.
And they had.
Clearly, the spies had been from Trastamara because Atlas knew of Shand and he knew of the Scots. But the situation had spiraled out of control once Atlas took charge of Emrys, who was screaming in the grip of an enormous English knight. Fenella was willing to do what she could for her brother, and for her future at Mordrington, but that was until the Sassenach caught hold of Emrys.
Then, she wasn’t so willing to go along any longer.
“Ye want tae know about Shand and the Scots?” she finally hissed. “Give me back my lad or I’ll tell ye nothing!”
At that point, Cassius came forward, still gripping the weeping child. “Then you do know about them.”
“I’ll tell ye nothing!”
“If you want your son returned, you most certainly will.”
She took a step back, whispering something to the other boy, who ran inside the manse and disappeared. That forced Cassius to emit a piercing whistle between his teeth as two soldiers rode forward. As the men drew near, he lifted the child to them, but Fenella started to scream.
“Nay!” she cried. “Give him back tae me!”
Cassius still had hold of the child, now lifted up in his big hands. “Answer our questions and he will be returned to you.”
She shook her head, her frizzy hair whipping back and forth. Cassius promptly handed the boy over to one of the soldiers, who took off in the direction of the army with a screaming child in his arms. Cassius motioned to Atlas, who began to follow Cassius back the way they had come.
Fenella could see that they weren’t going to give her back her child until she told them what they wanted to know. She was normally a calm woman, but not when it came to her children. Living with animals as she did, she had seen men kill one another for little to no provocation and she’d always managed to keep her children away from it.
But not now.
Convinced the army from Trastamara was going to kill her younger son, she began to scream.
“Ask me!” she cried, following them as they walked away. “Ask me what ye will, but give me back my bairn!”
Cassius came to a halt and Atlas right after him. They both turned to look at her.
“Where is Shand?” Cassius asked.
Fenella was shaken, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Please,” she whispered desperately. “My bairn…”
“I will not ask again. Where is Shand?”
She swallowed hard. “He’s not here,” she said. “Ye can search the place if ye like, but he’s not here. No one is.”
“Then there were Scots here.”
She nodded unsteadily. “My brother and his men.”
“From Clan Hume?”
She shrugged. “We are part of Clan Hume,” she said. “But my brother… his men come from other clans, too. Men seeking money.”
It took Cassius a moment to realize what she meant. “Reivers.”
Fenella nodded. “They… they do as they please.”
“Is Shand part of them?”
She shook her head. “He only came here two days ago,” she said. “He said… he wanted their help tae lay siege tae Trastamara. He wants the place.”
“We know he wants it,” Cassius said. “Where did he go? Where did they all go?”
“South.”
“South where?”
“Along the road ye came on. The one that leads tae The Orchard crossing.”
“We did not see them and we were on the road since we left Trastamara.”
“They stayed tae the trees, out of sight.”
An ominous feeling swept Cassius and, suddenly, he was standing in front of her, his expression tight. All of her clues were leading to one destination.
“Is that where they are?” he demanded. “Trastamara?”
Fearfully, she nodded. “They knew ye would come here,” she said. “They knew there were spies here yesterday and they knew the spies came from Trastamara. They figured ye would come tae rid Mordrington of Scots and I see they werena wrong – ye did come. They went south this morning as ye came north.”
Cassius’ eyes widened for a split second as he realized Trastamara was being targeted and her army was gone. He and Markus and all of the knights had badly misplayed this situation. They’d done exactly what the Scots at Mordrington, and Shand, had wanted them to do.
They’d left Trastamara with hardly enough men to defend her.
Suddenly, Cassius turned on his heel and began to bellow.
“Give the woman her son!” he boomed. “We return home now!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
At dawn, Markus had been on the battlements of Trastamara, watching his brother lead the four-hundred-man army out of the gatehouse and to the road heading north. He and Kieran had watched the men march out, followed by the wagon, a relatively small army as far as de Wolfe armies went. Markus had seen thousands of men march out at one time from Berwick or Castle Questing, two of the larger outposts in the de Wolfe empire.
It wasn’t like the army wasn’t going to face a major battle that would determine the course of a family but, in a sense, it was a serious enough battle. They were going to purge the Scots, and Shand Bexwell, from Mordrington Manse and Damien had specific orders to kill Bexwell on sight. Atlas didn’t know about that particular order because the young man had enough on his mind. That order was between Markus, Cassius, and Damien.
It would be carried out, no matter what.
Markus had watched the army move north along the road until they disappeared from view on a surprisingly bright morning after the mist had lifted. He had followed the wall walk around until he ended up above the kitchen yard. Even at the early hour, he could see Alfie prowling around below with his wooden sword and Roget’s old helm. A couple of the horse guard were out with him, drilling, and Markus watched them for a few minutes, smiling at the sight.
