De Wolfe Pack 05 - Walls of Babylon (25 page)

Gaston was silent as they walked across the frozen earth, heading for the corral where their horses had been tethered. The sky above was pewter as a storm rolled in and bad weather once again threatened.

“I do not believe it is any of the knights,” de Russe finally said. “For all we know, only the knights had been told of Kenton’s plans. But we cannot control who
else
Kenton told.”

Matthew looked at him. “What do you mean?”

Gaston cast him a long glance. “Who was Kenton close to who had ties to Edward?”

Matthew scratched his head. He replied without hesitation. “Lady Thorne.”

“What if he told her his plans and she is the one who sent word to Conisbrough?”

Matthew simply shook his head. He didn’t have an answer for that, mostly because it made perfect sense. “But why?” he wanted to know. “She seemed as fond of him as he was of her. Why betray him?”

De Russe’s gaze lingered on the horses up ahead, his manner weary and serious. “It is possible she only pretended to be fond of him,” he muttered. “It is possible she was using him for information just as le Bec claimed he was using her.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I do not know what to believe.”

The men continued on in silence, thoughts lingering on the lovely Lady Thorne. Was it possible that she had only used Kenton for her own means? Was it possible they were both simply using each other? Of course, it was. But what seemed odd to both Matthew and Gaston was the fact that Kenton seemed to let her use him quite freely. Never did the man have his guard up around her from what they had seen. That being the case, he wouldn’t be the only man to fall victim to a pretty but vicious face.

It would seem that even great men like Kenton le Bec had a weakness when it came to a beautiful woman.

A viper in disguise.

He’d been asleep again.

Startled awake, the first thing Kenton realized was the very strong smell of cloves in the air. The air itself was warm and stale, smelling of that rotted smell of fabric that had become wet and not dried out properly. It was a heavy scent, mixed with the cloves, making the entire atmosphere wholly unpleasant.

Kenton lay there a moment, staring up at the canvas ceiling. The cloth was oiled, and draped, and he began to remember where he was: Saxilby’s tent. He remembered being brought here, put onto a pallet, but that was the last he recalled. A hand moved to his forehead where he had fallen and he gingerly fingered the lump there, although it wasn’t as sore as it had been. His vision was clear, too. As he lay there and fingered the bump, he heard a quiet voice.

“So you are awake?” a man said. “I was wondering if you ever would awaken. That was a nasty bump on your head.”

Kenton turned in the direction of the voice, seeing an older man seated upon a rather sumptuous bed. Kenton noticed that his neck didn’t hurt like it had earlier, either, and he was able to move better than he had in days. He shifted slightly to gain a better look at the man who was addressing him.

“Forgive me, my lord,” he said formally. “It is not usual for me to greet someone lying on my back. The bump on my head feels better but I am not entirely sure I can sit up.”

The man smiled faintly. “You look strong and healthy enough to me, Sir Kenton,” he said, his gaze moving over Kenton’s supine form. “You are, in fact, Kenton le Bec?”

With great effort, Kenton managed to roll onto his right side and realized that all of his pain hadn’t gone away, after all. He was still very sore.

“I am,” he grunted, breathing heavily. “Would you be so kind as to introduce yourself so I know who I am speaking with?”

The man on the bed stood up, stiffly. “John Saxilby,” he replied. “Finally, we meet in person. I have faced many a battle against you, le Bec, and I even saw you once, but I will admit that when you were brought to my tent, I did not recognize you. You appear quite different with your armor on.”

Kenton smiled, though it was without humor. “I can only imagine that I do not look like my usual handsome self,” he said. “It also seems that my armor and weapons were taken from me, however, things that would make me recognizable.”

Saxilby nodded. “I will make sure your things are returned to you,” he said. “But you should know that you are now my prisoner.”

“I assumed as much.”

“My physic has tended to your head for the past two days. He says you will recover.”

Very slowly, Kenton managed to push himself up into a sitting position. He was unsteady, and the world rocked a bit, but all things considered, he didn’t feel all that bad. More than anything, he was simply exhausted and hungry, with perhaps a bit of apprehension for the immediate future.

“You have my gratitude,” he said. “May I inquire to the status of my men? I saw that many were prisoners. What do you intend to do with them?”

Saxilby was moving stiffly because of the gash to his buttocks and hips. Sixty-nine black catgut stitches were holding the skin together. He shuffled towards a collapsible table, scratching gingerly at his arse. “Damn stitches,” he grunted. “They itch like the devil. I will have such a scar across my backside that not even my wife will find me attractive any longer. More is the pity.”

Kenton watched the man pour a measure of wine into two cups. He then collected the cups and headed to Kenton, extending one to the man. Kenton took it gratefully.

“Women are strange creatures, I am told,” he said as he gulped down the very tart wine. “Mayhap she will surprise you.”

Saxilby drank with Kenton, eyeing the big man on the floor. “Are you married, le Bec?”

Kenton shook his head. “I am not.”

“A betrothed, mayhap?”

“Nay.”

Saxilby drained his cup and turned back for more. “Then you are fortunate,” he said. “Women are more trouble than they are worth at times. Daughters, especially. I have five that you could have your pick from should you ever decide to lift your sword for Edward.”

Kenton’s grin turned genuine; it was a far more pleasant conversation than he had expected as a captor to a prisoner. In fact, he was quite astonished at Saxilby’s amiability. Even so, Kenton was on his guard. That was natural in his world.

“I am afraid I am not the marrying kind, my lord,” he said. “I would make a terrible husband.”

Saxilby glanced at him in puzzlement as he poured his wine. “The great Kenton le Bec would make a fine husband for any woman,” he said. “Are you sure you would not consider lifting a sword for Edward? My daughters all have vast dowries. It would make you very rich.”

Kenton shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Would you really marry one of them off to a man you just captured?”

“Possibly. I have five daughters, le Bec. Capturing their husbands may be the only way I am able obtain husbands for them all.”

Kenton couldn’t help the laughter now. “That is unfortunate, my lord,” he said, “but as I said, I would not make a good husband. Even though I am not married nor betrothed, I am afraid my heart does belong to someone. I suppose that sounds strange coming from a man such as myself, but it is the truth. You will have to look elsewhere for a husband for your daughters.”

Saxilby’s gaze lingered on him, a sort of appraising sense of amusement in his expression. “Then you are a romantic, le Bec?” he asked. “I find that astonishing. Does this poor woman have a name?”

“If she does, you will never hear it from my lips.”

Now it was Saxilby’s turn to laugh. He downed his second cup of wine and poured himself another. “That is wise,” he said. “But you were correct when you said women are strange creatures. They are, indeed.”

Kenton sensed something more to that statement as Saxilby came to him and refilled his cup. He eyed the older man, waiting for him to elaborate, but Saxilby remained silent. Kenton drank deeply of his wine.

“Now that I am your captive,” Kenton said, shifting the subject, “mayhap you can tell me what will become of me now.”

Saxilby nodded. “It is your right, I suppose,” he said, his gaze lingering on Kenton. “Tell me, Sir Kenton, if you were in my position, what would
you
do with a prisoner like yourself? A warrior of such high regard?”

Kenton lifted his dark eyebrows in thought. “I would lock me up in the safest place possible, I suppose,” he said. He cast a long glance at Saxilby. “I could possibly ransom me. Or I could send me to Edward as a prize.”

Saxilby snorted. “You would not execute you?”

Kenton shook his head. “I would be more valuable alive than dead.”

Saxilby could not disagree. “That is exactly what I was thinking,” he said, stroking his chin. “It would be a travesty to execute a knight of your caliber. Moreover, I am sure Edward wishes to speak with you. He is a great admirer of yours.”

“That is flattering.”

Saxilby simply lifted a cup to him, as if saluting him, and turned around to rummage for some food to eat. There was a tray nearby with remnants of an earlier meal and the man went to pick through it. Kenton watched him, thinking that the entire conversation had been far too casual. Jovial, even. He couldn’t help wonder if there was an ulterior motive to Saxilby’s hospitality although he really couldn’t think of what, possibly, that might be. Would they try to probe him for information on Henry and Warwick’s movements? That was very likely and Kenton braced himself for that possibility. But before they moved to interrogate him, Kenton had a few things he wanted to know.

“May I ask a question, my lord?” Kenton finally asked.

Saxilby was picking through some stale cheese. “You may. But I reserve the right not to answer.”

“Fair enough.”

“Then ask.”

“You laid siege to Babylon Castle two weeks ago,” Kenton said carefully, watching the man for his reaction. “You fled, defeated, but then now you came to Manchester where I happened to be. You came as an army prepared to engage, as if you knew where I was. What made you come to Manchester? And how did you return so strong after so recent a defeat?”

Saxilby managed to find a few edible bits and brought them over to share with Kenton. “You handed us our defeat at Babylon, did you not?”

“I did.”

“You and the weather.”

“Thank God for all of that snow.”

Saxilby snorted ironically. “God had nothing to do with it,” he said, handing Kenton one of the less-stale pieces of cheese. “Tell me where Warwick is and I will tell you about Babylon and Manchester. Warwick is in Yorkshire, is he not?”

It was a fair question and, Kenton supposed, no great secret. Warwick never made his movements secret. But more than that, Kenton wanted very much to know how Saxilby knew where he was, or how he had happened upon him. He was very curious and increasingly concerned about Babylon now that Edward’s forces knew Kenton was no longer there to protect it. Therefore, he was inclined to give a little information in order to receive some.

“He is in Yorkshire,” he said, although he didn’t say exactly where the man was. “The last I saw the man and his army, he was heading west.”

“
Where
in Yorkshire?”

Kenton shrugged. “Your spies could probably tell you better than I could,” he replied evenly. “He said something about Wakefield but that could have easily changed. He could have headed to Leeds or Beeston. He has supporters there, but you probably already know that.”

Saxilby nodded, picking at the stale bread. “We had heard Wakefield as well,” he said. “My scouts have not returned from Yorkshire so I do not know if, in fact, Warwick has gone there.”

“Nor do I,” Kenton said truthfully. “My focus has been on Babylon. Now, will you tell me how you came across me in Manchester? I would like to know. We thought you and your men were well gone, at least for a while, but you returned with strength.”

Saxilby eyed him a moment before answering. “We returned with Conisbrough.”

Conisbrough.
Somehow, Kenton wasn’t surprised. Warwick had even warned him about the garrison.

“I see,” he said. “That is where you went after you left Babylon?”

Saxilby nodded in confirmation. “That is where we went, chased by Warwick until he veered away so as not to confront the garrison,” he replied. “Warwick did not send you word of any of this?”