Pollard was cut off by Warwick as he moved to his broken-legged desk. “It can wait,” he snapped at the man. Then, he gestured wildly to Wellesbourne and de Russe. “And that is something else, good knights, our winter stores are very low and require replenishment. It is my suggestion we purchase goods immediately because we are returning to Warwick Castle very soon. From what we heard this morning whilst we were in Wakefield, it appears that Edward has gathered sufficient force and is moving south towards London. We need to move as well, quickly, and will need the supplies to sustain the men on the march.”
De Russe was removing his gloves as he spoke. “What about regaining Babylon and Manchester?”
“Our focus is elsewhere now, de Russe. Edward is on the move.”
The knights understood. They’d been told that morning by their scouts whom they met at a tavern in Wakefield that Edward, who had landed in Yorkshire the previous month, had gathered a significant army and was moving south, towards London. They had known of Edward’s landing in Yorkshire right after it happened but they hadn’t heard about the army he’d collected until recently. Now, things were changing all around them and the reclamation of Babylon wasn’t a priority any longer. Stopping, or engaging, Edward was now the focus. The situation was fluid and rapidly changing.
“How soon do we leave, my lord?” Wellesbourne asked.
Warwick took a deep breath, evidently laboring to calm himself. His entire focus was now on Edward’s movements and he was brittle and preoccupied.
“Within a few days,” he said, eyeing Lady Katryne in the dim tent as if just remembering someone else was there. Realizing it was a young woman, thoughts shifted from Edward as he foundinterested in her. “We will speak more of it later, but for now, do as you are instructed. We must rally supplies.”
De Russe and Wellesbourne nodded, quitting the tent with orders to fulfill. It was at that point that Warwick turned to Pollard and to Lady Katryne, who was holding the blanket tightly around her small body. Warwick fixed on her.
“Ah,” he said appraisingly. “Who can this be?”
Pollard spoke. “This is Lady Katryne St. John,” he said. “She has been brought from Lincolnshire, at your request.”
Warwick’s face lit up and his expression relaxed. “St. John,” he repeated with great satisfaction in his tone. “Can this be the sister?”
“It is, my lord.”
Warwick stepped out from behind his desk, his attention riveted to Katryne. “So she was with Lady Holland?” he said, more to Pollard, who nodded his head. “How splendid. Welcome to my humble encampment, my lady.”
Katryne, a small and very pretty girl, obviously backed away from him as he moved towards her. “I was told my brother was ill,” she said, her voice trembling. “Where is he?”
Warwick smiled thinly. “Were you well-treated on your trip north?” he asked, avoiding her question. “Were you well-fed? Were my men polite?”
Katryne backed away as he came close. “I was well-fed,” she said. “But where is my brother? I was told he asked for me.”
Warwick stopped stalking her because she was moving away from him with every step he took towards her. He scratched his chin thoughtfully.
“Your brother is not here,” he said. “Your brother is Brome St. John, is he not?”
Confused, frightened, Katryne nodded. “If he is not here, then where is he?”
Warwick jerked his head in a westerly direction, off in the general direction of Conisbrough. “He is the garrison commander at Conisbrough Castle, so I am told,” he said. “Can you confirm this?”
Katryne was puzzled at the moment more than she was frightened. “Aye,” she said. “The last I heard from him, he was. Why do you ask? And why am I here?”
Warwick moved away from her, back to his leaning desk where a covered pitcher of wine sat surrounded by dirty cups. He uncovered the pitcher, picked up a cup and shook it out, and filled it with some of the contents from the pitcher.
“Because I have need of you, my lady,” Warwick said, extending the cup to Pollard but indicating it was meant for the lady. “Will you please sit? I should like to discuss something with you.”
Katryne was standing far back from Warwick, in the shadows, but she timidly accepted the cup of wine when Pollard came near, mostly because she was very thirsty. Pollard indicated a chair for her to sit in, one he’d been trying to coerce her into for the past two hours. This time, she moved near the chair but she didn’t sit. She stood near it, very much on her guard. She didn’t want to be trapped by the man in armor, the man who had yet to tell her his name, so she remained on her feet, ready to run at a moment’s notice. Not that she could go anywhere, but she was ready to run nonetheless.
“I want to know why I am here,” Katryne said, firmly, although her voice was tremulous. “Why have you brought me here?Whoare you?”
Warwick was seated at his desk, near the brazier. “I am Richard Neville,” he said. “Have you heard of me?”
Katryne frowned, thinking. “I… I believe so.”
“I am the Earl of Warwick.”
Her eyes widened as her fear returned, full-bore. “Warwick!” she gasped. Then, she started to move away from the chair again, preparing to run even though she knew she had nowhere to go. “What do you want of me?”
She was frightened. Warwick could hear it in her voice as well as see it in her actions. He didn’t move, watching her as she tried to angle towards the tent opening, possibly to make an escape. “You are quite important to me right now, Lady Katryne,” he said. “I wish you would sit so that we may discuss this rationally.”