Warwolfe (de Wolfe Pack Book 0)(5)

Queensborough nodded, glancing at Groby, who was sitting back in his chair with his hands resting on the top of his cane. There was some guilt in Queensborough’s expression.

“I know it,” he said. “My old friend, Groby, knows it, but to his credit, he’s never told anyone what he knows. He’s been all through this book but he’s never told a soul about it. He knows that it is my decision to make it known and if anyone knew what I have, they’d beat down my door to get it.”

Abigail was nearly beside herself. “Yes, they would,” she agreed fervently. “And rightly so. Surely… surely you know what you have there, what this means to the historians of the world.”

“I do.”

“But it could be the most significant find of this century!”

Queensborough reached out to touch the old book, affectionately, as one would touch a pet or a child. In a sense, maybe it was his pet or child, something he’d been protecting so long that it was oddly a part of him. But all Abigail could see was the man touching an ancient document with his grimy hands and she resisted the urge to slap his fingers away. Meanwhile, Queensborough was deep in thought.

“It probably will be one of the most significant finds in English history,” he finally said. “I don’t know why my family never turned it over to the authorities. It was just something we kept, like grandmum’s furniture or an old aunt’s silver set. It was just part of our family. But I suppose… maybe it’s time now. I’m an old man. Maybe it’s time to finally let this go.”

Abigail left her seat to go and stand next to Queensborough, bending over the manuscript and admiring the craftsmanship. Getting a closer look at it only fed her sense of amazement. “This is just exquisite,” she said, awe in her tone. “And it’s in remarkable shape for being as old as it is. But how did your family come into possession of it?”

Queensborough was looking at the old book as he spoke. “This house has belonged to the abbots of Battle Abbey since the beginning,” he said. “When Henry VIII came along and the dissolution of the monasteries happened, things that were kept safe at the abbey were brought here and buried in the floor beneath the stones so that Henry’s men couldn’t find them. When my ancestor was granted these lands, this house came with it and when he sold everything, our family still kept the house. That’s why these things belong to us. They have for centuries.”

It made sense. “And somewhere along the line, you had someone translate this book?” Abigail asked. “Or are were your ancestors able to read it?”

Queensborough shrugged. “Both,” he said. “It’s written in Latin, which most people learned in the old days, especially if you were Catholic. But back in the nineteen twenties, my grandfather took it over to the Church of the Virgin Mary, right across from the demolished abbey, and asked the priest to translate the entire book for a sizable donation. Until then, all the family really knew were bits and pieces of the story. I supposed no one really cared enough to read the entire thing. But the priest did the translation and it’s here, in this box. That was the first time anyone had ever heard tale of the Duke of Normandy’s Warwolfe.”

Abigail cocked her head curiously. “A Warwolf? You mean those big trebuchets that Edward I had built for his battles in Scotland?” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Did the Duke of Normandy have those war machines, too? Two hundred years before their use was first recorded? Holy Smokes… did he bring those war machines to the Battle of Hastings?”

She was very excited about it but Queensborough shook his head. “No, not the war machines,” he said. “At least, not the ones you are referring to. But those machines were named after the original Warwolfe, I’ll wager. Because there was a man known as Warwolfe and, according to Jathan, he led a team of the most powerful Norman knights the world had yet seen.”

Those words hit Abigail like a ton of bricks; it was what she’d been looking for, what she’d been waiting to hear all of these months. The most powerful Norman knights the world had yet seen.

The unsung heroes whose stories needed to be told.

“Oh, my God, yes,” she said, breathless in her glee. “Those are the men I want to know about, men that history has forgotten but the ones who changed the course of history. And you’re telling me that the fighting priest wrote about those men?”

“He did, indeed,” Groby said, a twinkle in his eye when he saw how excited Abigail was. “When you first came to the museum and spoke of what you were looking for, the first thing I thought of was Queenie and his manuscript. I knew he had it, you see, but I also knew he didn’t want the world to know about it. It’s taken me nine months to convince him to tell you the story and let you see the manuscript for yourself. I agree with you, Abby – these men need to have their stories told. This Warwolfe – he was the greatest one of all. He very much needs to have his story told.”

Abigail listened to Groby, a stunned expression on her face, before looking at Queensborough. “I swear to you that I will only treat this subject with the greatest respect,” she said, her voice trembling with excitement and emotion. “Could you possibly let me read the translation?”

Queensborough didn’t know Abigail; he didn’t know her heart or mind. But at that moment, he could see into her soul, in through those big brown eyes, and he could understand what this meant to her. Maybe Groby was right; maybe it was time for the men buried within the Book of Battle to have their stories told. Men of war, of conquest, but flesh and blood men who had risked everything for glory. And Warwolfe… well, he had quite a story.