distracting as the mystery in her face could be, Thomas had other matters to occupy his mind.
“This must be the valley,” Thomas said for the fifth time in as many minutes. “I am certain the last moor was Wheeldale—for as marked on my map, Wade’s Causeway led us there.”
“A remarkable map,” murmured William. “Few have the ancient Roman roads so clearly shown.”
As Thomas knew from Sarah’s patient teaching, Wade’s Causeway—a road sixteen feet wide that trailed across the desolate moors from Pickering to the North Sea coast—had been laid by Romanlegionnaires over twelve hundred years earlier. The speed of movement that the road allowed the Romans had made them a formidable invading force.
A thought struck Thomas. “How is it you know about Wade’s Causeway? You profess to come from far from here.”
Having local knowledge was not the only thing strange about the knight’s observation. Because so few could read, most barely knew past their own family history back two generations. To show awareness of the Roman invasion said something about the knight, did it not?
“Listen carefully,” the knight said with a grin that reflected their growing friendship. “Aside from faith and honor, knowledge is the most valuable thing a man can possess, and far more useful than a sword.”
Thomas grinned back, but could not help but notice.
The knight had skillfully avoided answering the question.
Silently, William cursed himself. Every second in the presence of this young wolf demanded vigilance. If Thomas was what he appeared, William could not let him suspect he was anything more than a knight, for that would lead to questions. Days earlier, he’d been very calculating about using the point of his sword to threaten Thomas, reasoning that it would reinforce the appearance he was trying to give of a knight reluctantly pressed into service.
If Thomas was of the enemy, he would know William’s role but could not know of the suspicions outlined by Hawkwood. It meant that the knight’s every action and every word had to reflect nothing more or nothing less than a fighting man under obligation to Thomas.
William slowly swung his head to survey Thomas. “England was only a barbarian outpost to the Romans. From where I come, there are many similar to this.”
Thomas looked across the valley again, as if he had accepted the knight’s answer. “Where is Magnus?” Thomas spat at the endless valley. “I know it is somewhere in these moors of York. Shouldn’t we have found a road that leads to it by now?”
William sighed and paused to wipe sweat from his forehead. “You want to do the impossible and conquer Magnus. When facing the impossible, why be in a hurry?”
“It’s far from impossible,” Thomas said. He shifted the bundle across his shoulders.
The knight did not disguise his snort of disbelief, for as a simple fighting man, he would be skeptical. “We are not much of an army. Only in fantasies do two people find a way to overcome an army within a castle.”
“I have the way,” Thomas replied.
“Thomas, where were you raised?”
“What does that have to do with this discussion?”
Everything , William thought. He spoke with exaggerated patience. “It must have been in a place where you were shut in a room day and night and learned nothing about reality. You must see the world as it is. Castles are designed to stop armies of a thousand. Soldiers are trained to kill. Magnus, I’m told, has one of the most forbidding castles in all of the land. It will have a small army. There are just two of us.”
“Delivered on the wings of an angel, he shall free us from oppression,” Thomas said.
William squinted. “Make sense!”
“There is a legend within Magnus,” Thomas said. “ ‘Delivered on the wings of an angel, he shall free us from oppression.’ I have been told each villager repeats that promise nightly during prayers. It will take no army to win the battle.”
William
“This must be the valley,” Thomas said for the fifth time in as many minutes. “I am certain the last moor was Wheeldale—for as marked on my map, Wade’s Causeway led us there.”
“A remarkable map,” murmured William. “Few have the ancient Roman roads so clearly shown.”
As Thomas knew from Sarah’s patient teaching, Wade’s Causeway—a road sixteen feet wide that trailed across the desolate moors from Pickering to the North Sea coast—had been laid by Romanlegionnaires over twelve hundred years earlier. The speed of movement that the road allowed the Romans had made them a formidable invading force.
A thought struck Thomas. “How is it you know about Wade’s Causeway? You profess to come from far from here.”
Having local knowledge was not the only thing strange about the knight’s observation. Because so few could read, most barely knew past their own family history back two generations. To show awareness of the Roman invasion said something about the knight, did it not?
“Listen carefully,” the knight said with a grin that reflected their growing friendship. “Aside from faith and honor, knowledge is the most valuable thing a man can possess, and far more useful than a sword.”
Thomas grinned back, but could not help but notice.
The knight had skillfully avoided answering the question.
Silently, William cursed himself. Every second in the presence of this young wolf demanded vigilance. If Thomas was what he appeared, William could not let him suspect he was anything more than a knight, for that would lead to questions. Days earlier, he’d been very calculating about using the point of his sword to threaten Thomas, reasoning that it would reinforce the appearance he was trying to give of a knight reluctantly pressed into service.
If Thomas was of the enemy, he would know William’s role but could not know of the suspicions outlined by Hawkwood. It meant that the knight’s every action and every word had to reflect nothing more or nothing less than a fighting man under obligation to Thomas.
William slowly swung his head to survey Thomas. “England was only a barbarian outpost to the Romans. From where I come, there are many similar to this.”
Thomas looked across the valley again, as if he had accepted the knight’s answer. “Where is Magnus?” Thomas spat at the endless valley. “I know it is somewhere in these moors of York. Shouldn’t we have found a road that leads to it by now?”
William sighed and paused to wipe sweat from his forehead. “You want to do the impossible and conquer Magnus. When facing the impossible, why be in a hurry?”
“It’s far from impossible,” Thomas said. He shifted the bundle across his shoulders.
The knight did not disguise his snort of disbelief, for as a simple fighting man, he would be skeptical. “We are not much of an army. Only in fantasies do two people find a way to overcome an army within a castle.”
“I have the way,” Thomas replied.
“Thomas, where were you raised?”
“What does that have to do with this discussion?”
Everything , William thought. He spoke with exaggerated patience. “It must have been in a place where you were shut in a room day and night and learned nothing about reality. You must see the world as it is. Castles are designed to stop armies of a thousand. Soldiers are trained to kill. Magnus, I’m told, has one of the most forbidding castles in all of the land. It will have a small army. There are just two of us.”
“Delivered on the wings of an angel, he shall free us from oppression,” Thomas said.
William squinted. “Make sense!”
“There is a legend within Magnus,” Thomas said. “ ‘Delivered on the wings of an angel, he shall free us from oppression.’ I have been told each villager repeats that promise nightly during prayers. It will take no army to win the battle.”
William
Similar Books
