“Why Nether?” Colvyn demanded. “It is not as if the castle is in the marches and is of contention between the Welsh and the English. It is thirty bloody miles from the marches, so to attack Nether makes no sense at all.”
Gryffyn slurped down the last of the watery stew. The flavor had been terrible but it was warm, and that was all that mattered. “William Marshal desires it,” he told Colvyn. “The man desires a foothold in Powys and now he has it.”
“A foothold for what?”
Gryffyn sucked the scraps of meat from his bowl and tossed it aside, watching the dogs fight each other for the privilege of licking it.
“Long have the Normans desired to conquer Wales,” he said, eyeing the short, dark man across the table from him. “You know this. They have already conquered southern Wales and now they move north. Today it will be Nether; tomorrow, mayhap it will be Castell Mallwyd. You must send word to your teulu for more men so that we can take Nether back and vanquish the English from our region. If we do not strike now and strike fast, all will be lost.”
It was an impassioned plea but Colvyn, unlike Gryffyn, was not quick to react. He was more methodical, and frankly, the story seemed a little far-fetched. He’d never heard of English attacking a fortress this deep into Wales, at least not without good reason. Conquest of the region, especially with winter bearing down on them, seemed odd. All skepticism aside, however, it was not an entire unlikely prospect. The English had been known to do stranger things. Torn between real possibilities and Gryffyn’s dramatics, he sighed heavily.
“There is some truth in what you say,” he replied. “I can think of no other reason for the Saesneg to attack Nether other than it must be a part of a greater plan. Mayhap of conquest, as you said. And you say your father was killed in the attack?”
Gryffyn nodded, appearing properly grieved. “The Saesneg warriors killed him because he resisted,” he replied. “Then they took my sisters as a prize.”
“But you escaped?”
“Only by the grace of God was I able to,” Gryffyn said, sounding properly convincing. “They tried to restrain me but I was able to break free. See this broken wrist? This is proof of their brutality.”
He was holding up his heavily bandaged wrist, one that Colvyn’s soldiers had set because Colvyn didn’t have a physic. His castle was too poor for that. Eyeing the wrist, Colvyn digested the story. He had known Gryffyn d’Einen for many years and they were friends, although Gryffyn at times had tested that friendship. He was a nasty man with a brutal streak and there were times that Colvyn had been disgusted by his actions.
Once, on a visit to Nether, he caught Gryffyn slapping Chrystobel, but Gryffyn had come up with a very plausible and convenient excuse for the action, and Chrystobel had kept her mouth shut out of fear. She’d neither condemned nor defended her brother, but the incident had left a bad taste in Colvyn’s mouth. Still, men had a right to discipline their women and Gryffyn was no exception. Colvyn gave him the courtesy of not questioning him further on the matter, even when he saw Chrystobel the next day with an eye swollen shut.
However, facts were facts – Gryffyn had never shown any real concern for his family, so his story of his family at the hands of the English seemed questionable. Colvyn had been listening to it for over an hour. With that in mind, Colvyn contemplated his next volley of questions.
“That may be true,” he said. “They are a brutal race. But why have you come to me for help? You hold no real love or affection for your family, Gryffyn. Do you panic because the English seek to steal your legacy? Surely you do not wish for me to save your family from their clutches. They are probably better off with their Saesneg captors than they are with you.”
As he laughed quietly into his cup, Gryffyn struggled not to become enraged. If he did, Colvyn would throw him out and he would have nowhere to go. More than that, if he offended the man, he would lose his only real ally. Therefore, it was imperative to convince Colvyn that the English were bent on conquest of the region. There was no other way to force Colvyn to rally his men and, consequently, his very large teulu. The Gwynwynwyn teulu had hundreds of members at the very least. With that in mind, he decided to go for the man’s heart. It was the only way to get what he wanted and Gryffyn was a man who did not like to be denied his wants.
“They took Chrystobel,” he said. “We have no way of knowing what they have done to her in the time I have been gone. Rape and brutality is commonplace with them. Will you leave her to their clutches or will you help her?”
Colvyn’s general disinterest began to fracture. He was very fond of Chrystobel. He’d made no secret of that. He’d sent her gifts and messages for the past six months with the intention of asking for her hand in marriage at some point. The thought of the woman being a captive of Saesneg filth had his genuine concern.
“They have probably already marked her,” he muttered. “Like the dogs they are, they have marked her as their own. She is too beautiful to be left untouched. As fond as I am of her, I will not accept Saesneg leavings.”
Gryffyn appeared stricken. “Then you will not help her?”
Colvyn eyed the man. It was evident that he wanted help very badly but Colvyn wasn’t apt to give it so readily. Unlike many of his fellow Welshmen, he wasn’t particularly hot-headed. He was rather methodical and weighed all options before attacking. He set his cup aside, gazing intensely at Gryffyn.
“This is not my fight,” he said. “If I help you, then the Saesneg might come after me, too. It is true that Castell Mallwyd is difficult to reach, but it is not impossible and this place could not stand a siege. It would fall, and I cannot say I am willing to risk that.”
Gryffyn’s first reaction was to scream at the man but he bit his tongue. He knew it would not do any good. He would be stupid to berate him. Taking a deep breath, he downed what was left of the watered ale in his cup, coughing up the dregs in the bottom that managed to make it into his throat. He had to make this worth Colvyn’s time and effort; think, man, think! He mulled over the man’s response. Since playing on his sympathies as far as Chrystobel was concerned hadn’t worked, he tried another tactic – a more profitable tactic.
“I understand,” he finally muttered, moving to pour himself more wine with his awkward left hand. “If I were in your position, then I might say the same thing. But the fact remains that I need your help to oust the Saesneg and I will pay for the privilege. With my father gone, I am now in control of Nether’s wealth and you know as well as I do that there is a good deal of it. I will pay you handsomely for your assistance in removing the Saesneg and if my sister is untouched by them, you can have her, too. Will you at least think on it?”
Colvyn had to admit that Gryffyn’s proposal had his attention. Even if he was the bastard son of the last king of Powys, the truth was that any family fortune had gone to the legitimate offspring. All Colvyn had was a broken-down fortress and limited income. He mulled over the proposal. His conviction to not involve himself in Gryffyn’s battle was fading at the lure of being paid for his manpower.
He knew Nether was very wealthy. It had herds of sheep, orchards, and coveted lands. Perhaps he should rethink his refusal to lend assistance. As much as he didn’t want to, he found himself doing just that.
“How much?” he finally asked.
Gryffyn grinned, knowing he had the man’s interest and, with the right answer, his help. “Half of everything I have,” he replied without hesitation.
Colvyn was stunned. “Half?” he repeated. “Do you swear this to me?”
“I will write it in blood if I must.”
Colvyn thought on that a moment, realizing with sickening certainty that he was about to involve himself in another man’s fight because the lure of money was just too great. He found that he couldn’t refuse.
“Not in blood,” he said. “But I will have it in writing and I shall give the document to my kin. If I help you chase off the Saesneg and you fail to pay, they will bring everything they have down around Nether and take a
ll of it. Is this in any way unclear?”
Gryffyn nodded his head slowly, his dark eyes glittering wickedly. “It is perfectly clear.”
“And I will have Chrystobel, too.”
“Aye… Chrystobel, too. You can even have Izlyn just for sport.”
Colvyn simply sat and eyed the man. He was afraid to say anything more. He was afraid he’d said too much already, because it seemed as if he had indeed committed himself to Gryffyn’s cause. For a price.
He wondered if that price would ultimately prove to be too high.
Nether Castle
Keller wasn’t happy in the least. In fact, he was damn well furious. Standing in the solar in Nether’s keep, the one with the door cut into the floor that led down into the storage area, he faced William, George, Aimery, and several senior sergeants. He had eleven men altogether, and all of them were in the chamber because all of them were, to varying degrees, responsible for a significant failure. They were all bracing themselves for de Poyer’s rage.
“You let that bastard escape,” Keller growled, eyeing the men around him. “One man against how many English? Is he really that cunning or are all of you really so bloody incompetent?”
William cleared his throat softly. “In fairness, d’Einen seems to be quite cunning,” he said. “He escaped George and Aimery by throwing a large rock at George’s head and nearly braining the man. George barely escaped unscathed, and Aimery was already injured at that point. It made it difficult to keep up with the man. By the time the horses were brought out, d’Einen was in hiding and he knocked one of the soldiers off his horse and stole the beast. After that, we gave chase but lost him in the mountains to the south. We could not risk pursuing him any further.”
Keller’s jaw was ticking as he listened to William. He had fallen asleep the day before and had slept all day and all night because Chrystobel wouldn’t allow anyone to awaken him, not even when William came to tell him about Gryffyn’s escape. Therefore, the man had been gone nearly an entire day by the time Keller awoke, refreshed and feeling very well indeed, until William told him what had happened. By then, Keller’s legendary temper had been unleashed.
“Spare me your explanations,” he snapped softly, holding up a hand to quiet William. “The fact remains that d’Einen escaped. Three hundred Englishmen could not capture one lone Welshmen and that is a shameful statistic. If the Marshal ever found out, we would all be consigned to scullery duty. This failure is inexcusable.”
William glanced at the men who were stoically receiving their verbal beating. “In speaking with some of d’Einen’s men, they have offered to assist us in locating him,” he said. “But I would advise caution, my lord. These men are Welsh, and loyal to the House of d’Einen, so it would not be my inclination to trust them. I have already sent scouts to pick up Gryffyn’s trail, so we should know something more by tonight.”
Keller’s expression was wrought with disgust. He was furious with their ineptitude and with the fact that he had slept through the crisis. Truth be told, he was perhaps more angry at himself than anything. He had allowed himself to be lulled into a deep and dreamless sleep. Never again, he vowed. I will never let myself be so at ease ever again. After a moment, he looked away from the men crowding the chamber.
“Get out of here,” he told the group. “Go back to your duties and stay out of my way. All but my knights, you will remain.”
The senior soldiers filed out silently, quitting the chamber and eventually the keep altogether. Keller waited until he heard the entry door shut before looking at his three knights.
“I am having a serious difficulty grasping this,” he said, rubbing at his eyes in an exasperated gesture. “I cannot fathom how you let that man escape. Well? I am waiting for an explanation that makes sense because right now, all I can see is three massive failures standing before me. How on earth did you achieve your current posts when you were capable of such failure?”
Aimery, with a swollen nose and two black eyes, spoke softly. “It was inexcusable, my lord,” he agreed. “I apologize for myself because I should not have let my injury slow me down as it did. I should have….”
George cut his brother off. “He could hardly see, my lord,” he told Keller, watching his brother’s indignant expression. “He fell down twice running behind me and the third time, he was in the kitchen yard and slipped in the mud. He went right into the butcher block and knocked himself giddy. D’Einen had already passed through the postern gate at that point so I ordered several soldiers to pursue the man so that I could help my brother. The failure is all mine, as I should not have returned to aid my brother. I am willing to accept your punishment.”
Aimery’s mouth was hanging open in outrage as he glared at his brother. “It was my fault,” he declared, turning to Keller. “You must punish me first.”
George scowled at his brother. “Shut your pie hole, you fool!” he hissed. “You were in no condition to capture d’Einen, so I am the one who must be punished! It was my fault!”
“It was my fault!”
William opened his mouth to shut them both up but Aimery threw a punch at his brother and they both went down, tumbling over a table and crashing to the ground. William began yelling at them, moving to pull them apart, as Keller just stood there and rolled his eyes. He realized, to his surprise, that he was very close to grinning at the foolery of the Ashby-Kidd brothers. He’d seen them pull this kind of idiocy before and he’d always yelled at them, frustrated at their behavior. But at this moment, all he could feel was amusement, especially when Wellesbourne began tossing them about.
“Enough!” William roared, grabbing George by the neck and throwing him off his brother. “Sweet Bleeding Christ, Aimery, get off the damn ground. What is the matter with you, behaving like that?”
Aimery was furious as William yanked him to his feet. “George only backed off the pursuit of d’Einen because of me,” he insisted angrily. “It is not right for him to take the blame when it was clearly my fault.”
Keller put up his hands. “Shut your mouths, all of you,” he snapped. “God’s Bloody Rood, what a stable of knights I have. Throwing punches and demanding to be blamed for a failure? I have half a mind to lash you to the vault and beat you all senseless. Yet as much as it would give me hours of endless joy to do that, I must refrain. The fact of the matter is now that d’Einen has escaped us, we must locate him. That is our task at hand.”
George and Aimery managed to calm themselves, but it was a struggle. William slapped George on the head and directed the young man across the chamber, well away from his brother. When William was sure they weren’t going to charge each other again, he turned to Keller.
“As I told you, I have sent scouts out to pick up d’Einen’s trail,” he said quietly. “But I must ask this question; do you truly care if the man is returned? If he is gone, then the trouble he creates is gone, including the threat to your wife and her sister. Nether will be a more peaceful place, one would hope.”
Keller, too, was calming after his initial rage. The antics of the Ashby-Kidd brothers had managed to loosen him a bit. In fact, he was coming to appreciate these men who served under him. They were competent in spite of what he had said, and they were genuinely dedicated to his service. He’d spent the past two months trying not to get close to them, to let them into his world and into his thoughts, but he was coming to think that the wall he’d put up around himself to protect his damaged heart had been too big a wall. It was lonely being isolated like that. Chrystobel had already succeeded in knocking down some of that wall. Perhaps he needed to lower it further to include the men that served him. Especially Wellesbourne; he suspected the man would make a fine friend. With a heavy sigh, he turned away and sought out the nearest chair.
“And I would agree with you except for one thing,” he said, easing his big body onto the oak frame chair with the rigid back. “It is my fear that d’Einen has gone off to rouse trouble against us. His father mentioned that he was friends wit
h a local lord. What if he goes to that lord and manages to rouse the man against us? At least if he is locked up in the vault here at Nether, he cannot create trouble.”
William agreed, somewhat. “I still say he’s better off away from Nether,” he said, scratching his blond head in a weary gesture. “But I will tell you what the scouts say when they return. Mayhap he has not gone too far and capturing him will not be an issue.”
Keller sat back against the chair, shifting when the wound in his back pained him. He shifted around a few more times until he could find a comfortable position.
“Mayhap,” he agreed softly as he moved around. Once he was comfortable, he cast William a long glance. “I understand that you tried to tell me of this situation last night but Lady de Poyer would not wake me. Is this true?”
William looked at him. “Who told you that?”
“I did,” George said helpfully from the other side of the room.
William gave George a rather exasperated expression before returning his focus to Keller. He hadn’t told Keller of Chrystobel’s intercession when he had gone to rouse the man, fearful that her actions would bring her husband’s anger against her.
“She said that you were injured and exhausted,” he said. “I told her that it was an urgent matter but she said unless the Romans were pillaging the castle and murdering people in their beds, she was not going to wake you. She was very firm about it.”
“And you naturally complied.”
“I had little choice.”
Keller suspected as much. He held William’s gaze for a moment before exhaling heavily and looking away. “I suppose that if I am angry with anyone, it should be her,” he muttered. “But I cannot bring myself to do it.”
William could see that the man was calming and he was thankful. “She was only thinking of your health,” he said. “You were injured and you had not slept in two days.”
Keller pondered his wife’s protective instinct. He’d never known anyone to be protective over him, ever, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He felt humbled, but he also felt suspicious. Why should someone care for him so much that they would be willing to protect him? He cleared his throat softly, uncomfortably.
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