CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cathlina had only seen the sea once in her life, and that had been when she was a small girl. Her father had taken the family to the sea near Maryport in Cumbria where they had spent a week with one of Rosalund’s cousins. Cathlina had loved the sea, the power and majesty of it. Now, as they drew near Kinghorn, she could smell the salt in the air.
In the summer season, the weather was beautiful and pleasant. There was no need for cloaks or heavy clothing during the day. In fact, as they drew near the coast, Cathlina was clad in a simple linen surcoat with a wide neckline and a soft linen shift beneath, and she was perfectly comfortable. The sun was warm and she would close her eyes, turning her face upwards to bask in it. It was perfectly lovely.
Seagulls screamed overhead, perhaps at Midgy who was running along beside the party from the Devil’s Den. There were all manner of road ditches containing water, and they had passed several lochs and ponds on their journey, and Midgy made sure to swim and frolic in every one of them. He also caught himself several fish, gorging happily. Cathlina didn’t worry about him because he always stayed close and even if he fell behind because he was swimming, he always caught up. He was a happy boy.
Cathlina was happy as well. Mathias rode ahead of her astride a big silver charger that Pembury had brought north with him and Cathlina had found out that the horse had been Mathias’ before he had been stripped of everything. Mathias wore his custom-made armor with the Westbury crest emblazoned in the breastplate, also delivered by Pembury. It seemed that Stephen had held on to Mathias’ possessions all of this time, waiting for the moment when he could return them to his friend.
Now, Mathias looked like the legend of old, the mythical knight who was larger than life. Even though he wasn’t Baron Westbury any longer, he still wore his emblem with pride. As Midgy raced along the road beside them and slid through great puddles of mud, Cathlina directed her palfrey up to the front where Mathias was.
“Greetings, husband,” she said.
He turned to her with a smile on his face. “Greetings, love,” he said sweetly. “We should be at the outpost within the hour. It should be over the next rise.”
Cathlina nodded, inhaling the sea air deeply. “This is so beautiful,” she sighed. “Everything is so… so violent and primitive looking, like the rocks and the sea has collided here and the carnage is scattered among the hills. I have never seen anything like it.”
He looked around at the sky and rugged landscape. “You should have been a poet.”
Cathlina giggled. “I do not think I would be very good at that,” she said. “I cannot write.”
He looked at her over his shoulder. “But you can speak of beauty in such ways,” he said. “I will write it down for you.”
Cathlina shrugged, embarrassed, watching Midgy as the otter found another small pond and dived in. Even though the mood between them was light, and had been for two days, she still felt the need to clarify something.
“Am I forgiven, then, for not leaving the battle in the great hall the other night?” she asked softly.
A faint smile creased his lips. “You were forgiven the moment I spanked you,” he said. “But you will not disobey me again.”
“Never,” she swore, eyeing him in his imposing and functional protection. “You look very handsome in your armor. Does the blue and yellow lion tunic belong to Westbury?”
He shook his head, fingering the tunic he was wearing over his armor. “Nay,” he said. “This is de Beaumont’s colors. The Westbury standard is black and white.”
“Do you think you will be able to wear it again soon?”
He nodded, slowing his charger down so she could ride beside him. When she came close, he reached out and took her hand, gently holding it in his massive glove.
“Hopefully very soon,” he said quietly. “That is why I am here, love. It is my hope that in fighting a war supported by King Edward to ensure my loyalty to him, a victory attained will once again restore me in the eyes of the crown. Everything I do, I do for our future. It is important to leave a legacy for our children.”
Cathlina smiled as she thought on the children they would have, sons in their father’s image and perhaps even a daughter or two that looked like her. She prayed nightly that they would be so blessed but as she thought on their children, she began to think of her own siblings. Those thoughts brought about images of her father and what de Beaumont had said about him. Her good humor faded.
“What do you suppose de Beaumont was speaking of when he said he thought my father traveled on campaign with a whore?” she asked. “Why would he say something so outrageous?”
Mathias shrugged. “He is an intelligent man but not very diplomatic,” he said. “You must understand that he has known literally thousands of men in his lifetime. It would be so easy to mistake one for another. I am certain he was thinking of someone else when he spoke of your father.”
Cathlina thought on that. “He did mention that the whore’s name was Abbie,” she said, almost in passing. “I have a sister with the same name.”
“A coincidence.”
“Are you sure?”
“I can always write your father and ask him if it would ease your mind.”
She looked at him, sharply, only to see that he was grinning at her. Fighting off a smile, she shook her head.
“I am not entirely sure he would take it too kindly,” she said.
Mathias laughed in understanding and kissed her hand, letting it drop gently. Midgy suddenly bolted onto the road, grunting and startling the horses, especially the big bay stallion that Pembury was now riding. The beautiful young horse had made the rounds from St. Héver to Mathias to Pembury. As Stephen struggled to calm the animal, the group heard a good deal of howling off to the left.
Men in tartans of orange and black were descending on them, spilling out of a grove of young trees that backed up to a small range of rocky hills. There was quite a gang of them, unorganized, but they had significant numbers. Waving weapons and clubs in the air, their intention was obvious.
There was no delay in the reaction of the knights. They swung around to face the onslaught, bellowing orders to the infantry that had accompanied them from the Devil’s Den. They were trained for war, cool in a crisis, and none calmer or more succinct than Mathias.
“Father!” Mathias yelled at Justus. “Take my wife and ride as hard as you can for the outpost. Go!”
Cathlina was swept up in the panic but she was only concerned for one thing at the moment. “Midgy!” she cried. “Where is he?”
No one could tell her. The otter was nowhere to be found and furthermore, Mathias was more concerned about people and not pets. He grabbed the reins of her horse, forcing the animal to move as Justus thundered up and smacked her palfrey on the behind. Both horses took off, tearing down the road towards the outpost while Mathias, Stephen, and Sebastian charged out to meet the incoming Scots.
As soon as Justus and Cathlina crested the rise in the road, they could see the outpost about a mile ahead. The sea was on the horizon, a glistening band of water that was clear and inviting. Had the circumstances not been so harrowing, the view would have been gorgeous and peaceful.
As it was, Cathlina hardly noticed. By the time they reached the outpost, the heavy iron gates were open and men were coming out to assist. She was weeping for her husband’s safety and for her otter, which seemed to have disappeared. Justus quickly ushered her inside the enclosure and towards the small keep. When they reached the door, he practically shoved her inside.
“Stay here,” he ordered, throwing her satchel at her in his haste. “Bolt the door and do not open it for anyone you do not know. Is that clear?”
Fearful, sniffling, Cathlina nodded. “It is.”
Justus turned and ran back to his charger as Cathlina slammed the door. It was an old door, warped from the salt air, but very heavy and braced with big iron bars. She threw the massive iron bolt and stood there a moment, hugging her satchel and leaning against the door trying to catch her breath. She could hear shouts and movement out in the bailey, feeding her sense of fear.
Struggling to calm, she backed away from the door, holding her satchel tightly against her chest as if it would bring her some comfort and protection. Then she started to look around, at the dark and dreary stone prison with tiny lancet windows cut into the walls. The Pelé tower was small, smelling of mold and damp earth, and as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she could see green moss growing at the base of the walls. There were water stains everywhere.
She was standing in a small entry with a low ceiling. Immediately to her right, she could see through the darkness a very steep and narrow flight of steps built into the thickness of the wall that led up to the dark first floor. The ground floor had just one room, it appeared, with a hard packed dirt floor, a table and a few chairs, a cold hearth, and possibly a well in the corner. She couldn’t really tell but it didn’t matter at the moment. It looked as if it had been well lived in. There was a single tiny lancet window cut high in the wall to allow for some ventilation and light.
Timidly, Cathlina mounted the narrow steps to the first floor. It was one big, open room with two small windows, a broken down rope bed, and other bedding strewn about the floor. It smelled like a sewer. There was also a small alcove that protruded over the stairwell and she peered from it, realizing it was a small watch tower of some kind. There were windows, very narrow and long, cut into it and she could see very well to the north and to the west. She could see the bailey below and how men were scrambling to the walls and how the great iron gates were now closed. Unable to see over the walls clearly, she took the second flight of steps cut into the wall and ended up on the second level.
This level also only had one big room and a privy cut into the same small alcove that was above the watch tower on the first floor. The privy had an even better view of the landscape and she could clearly see the battle going on to the west. Shocked, she stood up on the privy seat to watch the happenings. Having never seen a battle before, it was a frightening and awesome sight.
Cathlina stood there for a very long time watching the battle. It was far enough away that she couldn’t make out any individuals, but she could clearly see the chargers, including the big silver beast, and that was how she started keeping track of her husband. Mathias was a very busy man.
Every so often he would disappear into a sea of men only to reemerge and then plunge back in again. For the first hour or so, men seemed to be in a big boiling mass and she could hear the cries over the wind. Then, the battle seemed to weaken somewhat and it became clear there were dead and dying on the ground as the bulk of the fighting moved closer to the outpost. Men on the walls of the castle watched the battle but no one made a move to assist, mostly because those they could spare were already in the fight and they didn’t want to open the gates again and risk a breech.
The day drew long, the skirmish active, and the sun eventually set as the battle continued in the dusk. The old Pelé tower was becoming very dark and very cold, and Cathlina knew she needed to at least light a fire and get herself organized. Eventually, Mathias and the knights would return and she wanted to make sure they had some comfort after the horrific day. Climbing down off her privy perch, she went about her tasks.
The first thing she did was take stock of any supplies in the tower and she came across more than she thought she would. There was a stash of peat on the ground floor along with kindling and she was able to start a fire in the first floor hearth. The second floor hearth proved a little more of a challenge because as night fell, the fog rolled in and the air became very moist. Trickles of water dripped down the chimney to the second floor hearth and dampened things up quite a bit but Cathlina prevailed. When a fire was burning in the second floor hearth, she made her way down to the bottom floor again and inspected what she thought was the well.
It was indeed a well and the water level was high. Since men had been living in the tower, there were cooking pots and a store of food on the ground level. Cathlina inspected the sacks and scrap that were all organized, more or less, under a small table that was wedged into a corner.
She came across a sack of little brown dry beans, some dried turnips, hoards of dirty carrots, and a half-eaten fowl of some kind that was cooked until it was charred. There were also stiff brown chunks of dried meat that was very salty. Pulling forth a fairly large cooking pot from the remains in the hearth, she took a small bejeweled dirk out of her satchel, cut everything up that could be cut, and threw it all into the pot with enough water to fill it. Then she put the pot on the arm over the fire and let the snapping fire do the rest. She wasn’t sure if the stew would be any good, but at least it would be something.
After that, she went to check the battle again to see that it had moved to the north but was still going on. The sun had almost set completely but the tower was fairly well lit thanks to the two fires burning. Growing anxious, and the slightest bit bored, Cathlina ended up cleaning up the remainder of the tower and fashioned beds from the blankets and other items strewn about. She knew that Mathias and the knights would return and she wanted to make it as comfortable as possible for them. Moreover, it was easier not to think of what horrors might befall her husband if she was busy doing something. She had to stay focused. She had to prepare for Mathias’ return.
By midnight, in spite of her best efforts to stay awake, she fell asleep in a chair next to the fire.
*
Mathias had no idea how long he had been pounding on the old iron door to the tower when it finally opened. It was the dead of night and he was carrying his father, who had been hit by an axe in the chest. Justus was very conscious, and very active, and trying very hard to pretend his wound wasn’t bad when it was. Once the tower door opened, he shoved inside and dragged his father along with him.
Cathlina gasped when she saw Justus being carried in by his son. “My God,” she said. “What has happened to him?”
As Mathias set Justus down in the nearest chair, Sebastian and Stephen entered the tower. They were dirty and somewhat roughed up, but neither was injured. Mathias made sure his father wasn’t going to topple over before turning to his wife.
“An axe wound,” he said, his voice hoarse from exhaustion. “He took a blade squarely to the chest although the mail stopped it somewhat. It could have been much worse.”
Cathlina had never seen a battle wound before. In fact, she had never even been around a battle until today. She stood there, unsure what to do, as Mathias and Stephen began pulling Justus’ protection off. They moved carefully and with skill. Cathlina struggled not to become ill at all of the gore.
“What can I do?” she asked her husband. “Please tell me what I can do.”
Mathias was trying to pull the damaged mail coat off of his father’s chest without causing the man too much pain. Pieces of the mail were stuck in the wound, which was starting to coagulate. Stephen seemed to be guiding him, instructing him quietly on how to accomplish the task.
“Hot water,” Mathias finally told her. “Can you find something to boil water in?”
Cathlina nodded eagerly and fled. She went on the hunt for a second pot she had seen while organizing the tower and soon came across it with some of the other items she had stacked up. Drawing water from the well, she filled the pot to the rim and lugged it over to the burning peat, setting it in the coals and trying not to burn herself in the process.
Meanwhile, Stephen had brought his saddle bags and pulled forth a big leather satchel shoved deep into them. As Cathlina watched curiously, he began pulling out all manner of mysterious instruments. There were things that looked like tongs and other things that looked like knives or hooks. Everything was made from either iron or steel, wrapped carefully in linen to protect it. Cathlina watched the man as he efficiently and concisely began arranging what he would need to tend Justus.
Mathias was standing over his father, trying to keep the man calm. He was also watching Stephen work. When he glanced up and saw his wife standing a few feet away, watching everything going on with apprehension and concern, he caught her attention.
“Are you well, love?” he asked softly.
Cathlina looked at him as if he had gone mad. “Am I well?” she repeated. “God’s Bones, Mat, you are the one who just fought a battle. Are you well?”
He smiled faintly. “Well enough,” he said, watching her as her attention was repeatedly drawn to Stephen and what the man was doing. “Stephen is a healer, and one of the very best in all of England. He used to be a Hospitaller knight. He will heal my father.”
Cathlina had heard of the Hospitaller order, men meant to tend to the sick and poor pilgrims in the Holy Land but who were also fearsome fighters. She had never met one before and was properly awed. Before she could voice her respect, however, Stephen spoke.
“Mat,” he said, hovering over Justus as the man slouched back on the chair. “I must cauterize this wound. You must put this on the fire and get it nice and hot.”
Mathias went to Stephen’s side, accepting the small iron implement from him to put upon the fire to heat it. It was about as long as a man’s forearm with a flat end. As he tried to stoke the heat in the hearth so they could get a proper burn on the end of the instrument, Sebastian came up behind his father and put both hands on his shoulder to steady him. Cathlina thought he seemed particularly subdued, unusual for the normally fiery man. He was exhausted like the rest of them. When their eyes met, she smiled timidly.
“Are you well, Sebastian?” she asked.
Sebastian nodded his head, returning his attention to what Stephen was doing. “I am,” he said, pausing for a moment. “I… I tried to look for Midgy. I did not see him at all, but with all of the water around here, I am sure he has found a safe place. I will look for him again in the morning.”
Cathlina was touched and saddened. Touched that he should go to the trouble and saddened because her beloved pet was still missing. “You do like Midgy,” she said to him. “You pretend not to care for him but I know you do.”
Sebastian pursed his lips irritably. “Untrue.”
She smiled as she made her way over to Sebastian and Justus, putting a hand on Justus’ arm as she focused on Sebastian.
“You are not telling me the truth, Sebastian de Reyne,” she declared, though it was gently done. “I know you are just as worried as I am.”
Sebastian looked away. “You are mad.”
Cathlina laughed quietly, looking to Justus as Sebastian tried to avoid her. “And you?” she said, squeezing the old man’s arm. “You will be none the worse for the wear when this is all over. I will feed you great and fattening things while you recover.”
Justus looked up at her, a strained smile on his face. “I would hope you would tend a foolish old man,” he said. “In fact, I smell something cooking now.”
Cathlina gestured towards the floor above them. “I found some food scraps and put a stew in a pot,” she said. “I do not know how it will taste but at least it will be something warm.”
Justus merely nodded, grunting because Stephen was picking bits of mail out of the wound. Cathlina smiled encouragingly at him as she patted his arm one last time and returned to Mathias, who was kneeling by the hearth and trying to work up a substantial flame. It was the blacksmith in him, the innate ability to heat metal. She crouched down beside him.
“Who were those men?” she asked with concern.
Mathias was poking at the peat. “Scots from Clan Wemyss,” he said. “They have been harassing the outpost fairly steadily for months now. This was just another raid.”
Cathlina pondered the statement. “There seemed to be a lot of men.”
“There were enough.”
“Did they go home?”
He nodded. “They did indeed,” he replied. “But they will be back. The outpost commander says they have been hitting harder and harder each time, with more and more men from other clans.”
Cathlina leaned against his back, watching him as he fussed with the fire. “What does this mean? What will happen?”
Mathias didn’t say anything for a moment. When he did, it was softly uttered as he turned to look at her sweet face, so close to his own.
“It means I should have never brought you here,” he whispered. “I knew when I came here that I would be facing battle of some kind, but in my mind, you would be safely bottled up somewhere far from the fighting. It appears that it will not be the case. I cannot have you in the midst of hostile territory where fending off raiders will be a daily event.”
She looked at him with her big brown eyes. “What will we do?”
He kissed the end of her nose. “As much as I loathe the thought, I fear that I must send you back to Kirklinton,” he groaned. “I have no choice. I cannot have you here in the midst of a war.”
Her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed. She moved away from him. “You cannot send me home,” she hissed. “You are my husband. My place is with you.”
Mathias could see the brewing storm. “Love, I have no choice,” he said. “I cannot take the chance that the next raid will tear down these walls and those barbaric Scots will get at you.”
She was growing angry. “I can take care of myself.”
“They will kill you after they have made sport of you. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
“You want to send me away!”
“I want you safe.”
Infuriated, and sickened at the thought of going back to Kirklinton and being separated from Mathias, Cathlina opened her mouth to argue with him but noticed that Sebastian was listening. She didn’t want him to overhear. Bewildered, angry, she turned away from the group and hastened up the stairs to the first floor.
Mathias let her go. With a heavy heart, he removed the cauterizing iron from the fire and brought it over to Stephen, who had Mathias and Sebastian hold their father down while he seared the wound.
Cathlina heard the howling on the floor above them and smelled the burning flesh. It scared her to death.