In Honor Bound (25 page)

Philip could not answer, could not meet the man's penetrating, accusing eyes.

"We'll fight no more," Hawkins repeated emptily, and Philip's soldiers began to drift silently away, defeat charactered in their every step.

"Wait! You must go on fighting!"

The tearful plea stopped them and they turned, stubbornly prepared not to hear any more. Rosalynde stood at her husband's side, the body of a little girl, perhaps three or four years old, in her arms.

"You must go on fighting," she said again. She held the small body out beseechingly before her, and the child's white-blonde hair fell thickly over her arm. "Need you any more reason why Ellenshaw should not be king?"

There was an abrupt change in the men. Philip could feel it in them and in himself.
Before God, Stephen should not be king.

"Hear her," he said, his words no longer failing him. "If you do not wish to fight for me, for my right, I'll not hold you. But, if you do not fight, you give your voice alongside Ellenshaw's in the order of more such butchery."

He put his hand on Hawkins' thin shoulder, seeing the fierce hatred was gone, and only the grief and bewilderment remained. "I mourn with you, Peter," he said gently, then he raised his voice for all to hear. "I mourn with you all. You have lost dear ones, but they were dear to me as well, because they were dear to you." He gave Hawkins' shoulder a squeeze then began to pass through the men, speaking sympathy and comfort as he viewed each private scene of grief.

"You men have given me all you have. A king could ask no more of his subjects nor a general of his soldiers. This," he said sorrowfully, "believe me, I would have renounced my true title to the crown to prevent, or given my heart's blood. But, my soldiers, we cannot make these sacrifices live again. We can only seek to prevent another such slaughter by driving Ellenshaw from this land. All of you, it is for you to decide what you will do next. I've no chains on you. God knows I've seen blood and death enough to last fifty lifetimes. Go, those of you who've a mind to. I cannot fault you for it."

He paused a moment, but not a man moved from his place, not a word disturbed the thick silence. "Shall we continue on then?" he asked finally, his soft voice carrying easily on the cold air. Hawkins looked up at him, desperation in his red-rimmed eyes.

"Yes."

The others echoed him, their common grief bonding them together more firmly than any question of state could have done. Philip let out a weary breath and told
Darlington
to see that the dead were buried. He took the little body from Rosalynde's arms and handed it to Eastbrook.

"Bury her," he ordered, "then take the queen back to Attlebrae. She should never have come here."

"My lord, will you not come with me?" Rosalynde asked, taking his hand. "You've had no rest and–"

"They've had no rest," he reminded her sharply, then he brought her hand to his lips. "Forgive me, my lady, but I must see them through this. I owe them that much." He paused. "I'll not forget I owe you, too."

"Philip–"

"Go," he said thickly, then he turned again to Eastbrook. "Take her back. I'll come with the men."

It was very late before the signs of slaughter were covered by black Lynaleighan earth and Abbey was left to smolder into oblivion. The army limped back again towards Attlebrae, demoralized and defeated. Bone weary, Philip led them, stumbling mechanically forward, always forward. How quickly their joy in victory had been drowned in grief.

He could see the deep despair on the faces that surrounded him, but he could not afford the luxury of displaying his own desperation. He knew they all looked to him for guidance and encouragement. If he did not provide it, he would lose them. Everything depended on how well he could counterfeit wisdom and confidence, but he was weary of the game, weary of these men with their grimly frightened eyes who depended on him to know all the answers and make miracles where there was no hope. He needed a quiet place and some time, time to lick his wounds and catch his breath, time to rest both mind and body, time to unshoulder his burden, if only for a moment.

Is there no refuge?
he wondered numbly as they reached Attlebrae, knowing here, too, they were vulnerable.

Let God be your refuge. Take strength from Him.

He heard the words again as clearly as if Tom had just spoken them, but he pushed them to the back of his mind and called together his lieutenants.

"Have you secured the town?"

"It is deserted, Your Majesty," Eastbrook informed him. "The people heard what happened in Abbey and fear Ellenshaw will come here next in search of us."

"Do we have knowledge of him yet, where he is?"

"Not yet, my lord, but we should have some report soon."

"Well, my lords, I put the men to your charge. Have their comforts seen to. That is all for tonight."

"Will you not speak to them once more, Your Majesty,"
Darlington
pled. "They are weary and grieved. Some of them have the fever. I fear yet that many of them will go after today's business."

Philip refrained from telling him to let them all go. "I'll not try to hold any man with words tonight," he said instead. "They've done too much already. Tomorrow."

"But, sire–"

"No. Tomorrow is soon enough."

With that he left them and made his way through the solemn huddled soldiers, heading towards Kimberlin's house. The men looked at him strangely, startled to see their king walking alone and unheralded. He could hear the swell of murmuring voices as he passed and knew they spoke of him. One of the bolder ones, an archer, stepped out before him and made an awkward bow.

"Pardon me, my lord king, but where will we go now?"

Philip shook his head. "I do not know, friend. You men have a rest due you, God and Ellenshaw willing, then we must see where we can engage them again. Leave that for now, though. It will come soon enough."

"Not for me," the archer said, with hate in his eyes. "That was my little one Her Majesty was holding today. I had three others, too, and a wife. It cannot come soon enough for me."

Philip stared at him, grief and pity and remorse tugging at his face. Abruptly, he threw his arms around the surprised man, embracing him fiercely.

"Dear God, I am sorry."

"Your Majesty, I– I– "

As startled as the soldier, Philip released him and backed away, shaking his head, then he turned and broke into a run. By the time he reached Kimberlin's house, his limbs felt heavy and weak and he was forced to drop into a walk. The pounding in his heart slowed to an almost-painless throb.

Rosalynde looked up expectantly when he pushed open the door, relief and joy mingled in her face.

"Oh, my lord-"

She broke off, seeing his strained expression, the discouragement in his eyes. He took three shuffling steps to the table and dropped into a chair, his back to her, his shoulders sagging. Before she could go to him, Bonnechamp came into the room.

"Your Majesty," he said with a hasty bow, "I am sent to beg you to return to the men. My lord Eastbrook has report that Ellenshaw is no farther away than Holyvale and may be making his way here even now. He begs Your Majesty to come to him."

Philip slowly nodded. "I will be there," he said, and Rafe bowed once more, relieved.

"I will tell him so."

Philip flinched when the door slammed, then buried his face in his hands with a moan.

***

Swallowing her fear of rebuff, Rosalynde went to Philip and put her hands on his shoulders, massaging the tension-knotted muscles. He started at her first touch but did not resist it, and she continued for several minutes, pleased to feel him relax, pleased to hear his breathing slow, pleased that he did not order her away.

"Rest," she urged gently, but she knew he would not stay long.

"I must go to them," he said, his tired voice muffled and indistinct, but she put one hand on his over-warm brow and drew his head back to rest against her.

"Just another moment," she said, holding him there. He made a half-hearted attempt to pull away from her, then, with another low moan, he gave himself over to his exhaustion. She rubbed his temples with her soft fingers, and he leaned into her soothing caresses, gradually going limp against her. Gaining confidence from his yielding tractability, she decided to tell him the news she had hardly been able to contain. She let her hands travel down over his shoulders to rest on his chest.

"When you speak to your soldiers, cheer them with the tidings that there will soon be another
Afton
prince to lead them."

Her eyes sparkled as they sought his, for she felt sure he would take as much pleasure in the news as she did, but he was Philip still and never what she expected him to be.

"You are with child?" he asked woodenly. He did not look surprised, doubtless he knew this was the natural course of things, but he seemed unprepared, unwilling to add this burden to those he already carried.

"I had thought you would be pleased," she said uncertainly.

He sat there unmoving, still entwined in her arms. She had felt his muscles tighten again at her announcement, yet when he spoke it was with a calm that belied the disquiet in his heart and mind.

"A king must have an heir," he said, disentangling himself from her, "and an heir must have an inheritance. There shall be no unrest in Lynaleigh when this child is born."

With that he stood up and went out to his men.

She put her hand on her stomach and tried not to cry. "He will love you, my little one," she whispered. "You are not a reality to him yet, but he will come to love you. I know he will." She sat down and pillowed her head on her arms. "He will love me, too."

She had meant only to rest her eyes, but it was dawn when the door flew open and a blast of cold air woke her. Rafe stood in the doorway with Philip unconscious in his arms.

"Philip!" she cried.

Rafe carried him to the fire. "Quick, my lady, get blankets. As many as you can."

She closed the door and went to him. "Has he been wounded, Master Bonnechamp?" she asked, worriedly smoothing the tangled hair back from Philip's forehead and caressing his face. He was much warmer than before.

"No. He's taken this fever that's swept through the army. I can feel it through his cloak. Please, my lady, turn down the bed and get some blankets."

She managed to find four and followed Rafe into the bedchamber with them.

"Warm them," he ordered brusquely, then he turned back to his master. "Young fool," he muttered as he began to strip off Philip's damp clothes. "Not enough food, not enough sleep, taking this whole war on your shoulders. It's a wonder you've lasted this long! Spending the night in the chill and–"

He broke off, seeing Rosalynde watching him.

"Tell me what happened, Master Bonnechamp."

"My lords Eastbrook and
Darlington
think that Ellenshaw is likely to come against us again at any time." He struggled for a moment with one of the rawhide bindings on Philip's leggings and finally had to cut the moisture-tightened strip before he went on. "They and my lord Philip and some of the others were debating what was to be done when he went very pale and had to steady himself against a tree. Before I could get to him, he was flat of his face in a puddle and hot as new-forged iron. Bring one of those, please you, my lady."