Page 22 of Wolfehound (De Wolfe Pack Generations #11)

Denys smiled faintly. “I never met Paris de Norville, but I met William de Wolfe once,” he said. “I was younger. Much younger. I remember a very large man with a patch over one eye. He came to Norwich Castle and supped with my father.”

“He lost his eye in a battle in Wales,” Cassius said. Then he cocked his head as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Doesn’t the Bible say something about restoring a body after death?”

Denys nodded. “I think so,” he said, picking up the pitcher of wine for the first time and pouring it into the cups that had been brought alongside it. “It says that God will restore the body and soul of believers.”

“Then the day my grandfather died, he awoke in heaven and saw with two eyes for the first time in more than sixty years,” he said.

“Strange I didn’t think of that until now.

And on the twenty-first day of April, he saw the best friend he ever had for the first time in six years. What a reunion that must have been.”

Denys pushed a cup in his direction. “That’s a lovely thought,” he said. “I hope that brings you comfort.”

A lump formed in Cassius’ throat. “It does,” he said.

“But I’m also jealous. Jealous that Paris is seeing my grandfather and I am not.

I had to stand through that conference today and listen to Canterbury spout lies about my grandfather and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

How dare that man insinuate that my grandfather somehow behaved ignobly.

How dare he intimate that he betrayed the king somehow.

I should have ripped that bastard’s head off. ”

Denys could see the grief rising, the anger. “William de Wolfe was a man of honor and integrity and everyone knows it,” he said firmly. “Do not be troubled by it, Cass. It’s just Canterbury spouting his vitriol again.”

Cassius shook his head. “But I am troubled by it,” he said. “How can I not be? To attack a dead man like that, who is not even able to defend his good name.”

“But you will. Your family will.”

Cassius sighed heavily. “Aye, I will,” he said. “I’ll defend it to the death. And now with Uncle Paris’ death… it just emphasizes the fact that my grandfather is no longer here. I miss him more than I can express, Denys. It just… hurts.”

Watching Cassius wrestle with his grief, Denys lifted his cup. “Then let us honor him,” he said softly. “Let us remember those men who have gone before us. To Kieran Hage, to Paris de Norville, and to William de Wolfe. Long may their stories be told.”

Cassius lifted his cup in return, acknowledging the tribute, before draining the contents.

Then he lowered his head and let the tears fall, just a little.

Like most of the de Wolfe grandchildren, Cassius had grown up with three grandfather figures in his life.

Kieran Hage was one such figure, and they’d lost Kieran the same year his Uncle James had returned from the dead.

Then William’s death came six years ago and Cassius still hadn’t recovered from that.

Now… now, Paris had finally slipped away, ascending to the heavens, and Cassius felt as if a big piece of his life was gone.

Pieces of the past, all fading into memory.

Wiping the tears from his face, he suddenly stood up and faced a common room that was half full of men and women.

“My name is Cassius de Wolfe,” he said loudly, lifting his empty cup.

“My grandfather was William de Wolfe, Earl of Warenton, the great Wolfe of the Border. It was men like my grandfather who made England what it is today, great men who fought and sacrificed for their country. I want you to know, all of you, that he was the greatest man who has ever lived. Today, I have received word that his closest friend, Paris de Norville, has passed away. Now those men who fought and died for England are stars in the heavens, shining down upon us, and we are unworthy. I will ask you all to drink to my grandfather’s memory and to the memory of those he fought with. They have earned our respect.”

The tears were back on his cheeks by the time he was finished.

Denys, touched by the show of grief, quickly moved to find the tavernkeep, and in little time, ale was being distributed among the tables.

As soon as men had full cups, they began to stand alongside Cassius.

One man, older and with a missing right ear, spoke out.

“My name is Cannock,” he said in a gravelly voice.

“I served at Beverley Castle for many years until my wife got ill and we moved south, to London, where her family lived. But I fought in battles with your grandfather, Cassius. It was many years ago, but I remember them like they were yesterday. I knew Hage and de Norville and they were the greatest knights I ever saw. I’ll drink with you to their memory. ”

That made Cassius smile. What a coincidence to find someone who had fought with his grandfather and Paris and Kieran here in London—but on the other hand, the trio had been fighting for so long that surely there had to be men everywhere in England who had fought with them at one time or another.

Cannock had a couple of companions and they spoke up, one after the other, announcing that they, too, had fought with William de Wolfe.

They were barely finished when a man sitting at the back shouted that he’d fought with de Wolfe at Carlisle twenty-five years earlier, and proceeded to tell the entire common room that de Wolfe single-handedly subdued the enemy that day.

A little lie, of course, but it didn’t matter.

Today was a day for legends of greatness.

Somehow, hearing their testimonials eased Cassius’ grief a little.

He wasn’t the only one who loved his grandfather or acknowledged the man’s prominence.

Canterbury’s words had cut him so much that he needed to hear that there were still those who loved his grandfather and the men who fought with him.

It did his heart good.

Wiping at his face once more, he accepted another full cup of ale from Denys before lifting it again to the room full of men.

“To my grandfather,” he said as fresh tears spilled over. “The greatest knight I ever knew. May he find peace in paradise.”

“Nay, lad,” said a man over near the hearth. “That’s not what he wants.”

Cassius turned to see an old man sitting with his back up against the stone.

The rocks were warm, bringing heat to his old bones.

He was a big man, heavily dressed, and Cassius noticed a broadsword on the table.

A knight . When he saw that he had Cassius’ attention, he smiled weakly and lifted his cup.

“The Northmen’s idea of heaven is a place called Valhalla,” he said in his raspy voice. “In a great hall, they feast and fight through eternity. There is an old poem about it, and part of it is this:

Wine to carry,

as for a king’s coming,

here to me I expect

heroes’ coming from the world,

certain great ones,

so glad is my heart,

as they enter the halls of Valhalla.”

Cassius smiled in return. “I’ve heard that, from an old tutor,” he said. “It is a larger poem that speaks of the Northmen’s heaven.”

The old knight nodded. “That’s what a warrior wants, young Cassius,” he said.

“He wants to feast and fight. De Wolfe cannot spend eternity walking through a green field and weaving flowers in his hair like a woman. That is not peace for a man with a fighting spirit. But let him walk through a green field with a sword in his hand, facing an enemy, and then toasting his victory all night… That’s heaven for him. The Northmen understood that.”

The smile on Cassius’ face broadened. “Then he can do that until my grandmother comes,” he said. “I do not think she would like the idea of him fighting all day.”

The old man snorted. “Women never do.”

That brought laughter from about half the room. It made Cassius feel so much better, bringing him comfort in such a difficult moment. He nodded his thanks to the old man.

“I am grateful,” he said, feeling emotional again. “You have given me a vision of my grandfather that brings me peace.”

The old man stood up and came to Cassius, smiling at him, looking him over before speaking again.

“My name is Broderick de Marsh,” he muttered.

“I had the pleasure of serving with your grandfather many years ago, when he was in London serving Henry. When your grandmother came to visit for a time, I was part of the escort that returned her home. The escort was ambushed and I received what many thought was a mortal wound, but I survived. I remained in London, remaining in service to the king, but I never forgot your grandfather and his kindness. I learned a great deal from him. Mostly what I learned was loyalty. I’ve never seen a man more loyal to his friends and family.

You were fortunate to have him, Cassius. He was, indeed, a great man.”

Cassius nodded, touched by the knight’s words, but also feeling more grief because of them. A very great man had passed into legend. With a lump in his throat, he put a hand on the old man’s arm.

“Thank you for that,” he said. “It is appreciated.”

Le Marsh smiled, nodded his head once, and then he was gone, leaving Cassius wiping tears from his face again.

As he sat down, nursing his grieved heart, the men who had told him of fighting with his grandfather or Paris or even Kieran in the past came over to the table to continue their tales of serving alongside those great men.

Those words were like a salve to his grief, a balm to his soul.

The stories went on all night.