be able to start moving forward—and that would take mutual understanding.
Reluctantly, she sat down on the floor. “Close the window shutter. You don’t have to tell me anything. Just show me. Take me back.”
He frowned. “Take you back?”
“Don’t you know how to share memories?” she asked, puzzled. “You must. We’ve all shared our memories, even Rose. Come sit here. You just think back, and I’ll follow inside your head.”
Still uncertain, he sat on the floor in front of her. “I just focus on a memory and you can see it?”
How could he not know this? He was five hundred years old.
“Yes, go back as far as you need to go.”
“I only need to show you one.”
“All right,” she answered. To the best of her experience, none of them had ever shown each other a single memory—as the flow always started in one point and just continued until it finished or somebody managed to pull away.
“Just relax and think back,” she said, closing her eyes.
She reached out for his thoughts, stretching her consciousness into his.
Think back, she projected. As far back as you need.
She felt a moment of panic inside him as her consciousness meshed with his, and then his memories began to surface, and then she lost awareness of herself, falling into his past.
chapter 12
Robert
Robert Brighton cared nothing for titles or power—or even for family. His grandfather had been a soldier, his father had been a soldier, and he never considered any other life than following the same path.
He didn’t mind the simple designation “man-at-arms,” and he was loyal to the lord he served.
In the year 1514, his lord, Thomas Howard, was named Earl of Surrey. And Robert, at the age of twenty-three, had already been in his service for five years. He rejoiced in his lord’s success.
By this point he had followed Thomas Howard into wars with Spain and Scotland, and he liked traveling from one battle to the next.
The course of his life simply followed that of his lord’s, and this was comfortable, with a natural kind of flow that Robert desired. His left arm was broken once and his nose twice, but he always healed enough to fight again. He did not think into the future. He preferred living day to day, and the earl made certain the needs of his closest men were always met. Robert had little to consider besides loyalty, courage, and following orders—and he excelled at all three.
The earl’s first wife died of consumption, but Robert had barely been aware of her existence. He was almost equally unaware when his lord had remarried in 1513 to Elizabeth Stafford, daughter to the third Duke of Buckingham.
A man-at-arms like Robert would hardly be included in the wedding party, and he and his lord were rarely at home. He’d seen Elizabeth a few times, but she was barely sixteen at the time of the marriage. Later, he wished he had taken more note of the event, as it came to shatter the course of his life.
After the Battle of Flodden Field in Scotland, to Robert’s disappointment, his lord began growing interested in the political arena, and they spent more and more time at court in Eltham or Lambeth Palace—wherever the king was residing. Robert hated inactivity, and there was little for him to do. But he enjoyed those weeks when the court made preparations to “move,” and then the hordes of Henry VIII’s household took to the roads for a short journey.
Always acting as guard to his own lord, Robert liked the traveling and the break in monotony.
There were brief stints when the earl took time to rejoin his new wife, either at court or their seat at Arundel Castle in Sussex or their family home at Kenninghall, Norfolk. As a result they had a son named Henry and a daughter named Mary, but again, Robert barely noticed these domestic happenings.
Then, in 1520, his lord was given the thankless task of “putting Ireland in order,” and Robert rejoiced once more. The following year they fought in France. They were merciless, burning all of Morlaix. After this, Robert hoped the earl would not be recalled home, and he got his wish. They were sent back to Scotland, killing men and ravaging lands, and Robert felt nothing but respect for his lord.
Then . . . in 1524, Thomas Howard’s father died, and so he became the third Duke of Norfolk. As a reward, he was allowed to go and live in his own house in Kenninghall. At first,