Gathering her skirts, Chrystobel preceded the two knights out of the keep, taking the stairs down to the bailey. The smell of rain was heavier in the air now and the wind was brisk. As she began walking across the ward towards the stables, George caught up to her.
“Your father has been stored in the stables, my lady,” he told her. “Mayhap… mayhap you should not enter the stalls. What is the name of this man so that I might seek him out?”
Chrystobel turned to look at him. “Wentzy” she said. “He is not difficult to locate. He is missing one eye.”
George’s eyebrows lifted curiously. “And he is a carpenter?”
“A very good carpenter.”
As George and Chrystobel discussed the skill of the one-eyed carpenter, Gart trailed several feet behind them, his hawk-like gaze roving the castle grounds. It was a big place with lots of places to hide, he thought. But as he perused the grounds, he couldn’t help notice that Lady de Poyer’s sister was walking beside him. He tried not to look at her. He hoped that she would go away if he just ignored her. If he spoke to her, surely it would be like feeding a stray animal and he would never be rid of her. Moreover, he had no idea what to say to the girl. He wasn’t very good with children. Therefore, Gart did what Gart did best – he ignored.
As they drew near the stables, however, he couldn’t help but notice that the girl was moving closer to him. In fact, she was nearly bumping into his right arm as they walked. He could feel her arm brushing against his, so he discreetly moved over to his left to put some distance between them. A few seconds later, he could feel the brushing again as Izlyn moved next to him again. Therefore, he slowed down. She slowed down. He sped up, she sped up. Finally, he stopped completely and folded his big arms over his chest, pretending to inspect something in the distance. He could see in his peripheral vision that the young girl had come to a halt, too. She was just standing there, hovering, like a gnat. He wanted to swat her.
Irritated and struggling not to show it, he turned to look at her. The moment he did, she smiled brightly at him and, like an idiot, he immediately folded. She was a cute little thing. He smiled back, patted her on the head, and continued towards the stables. He hoped that would satisfy her curiosity. But the girl scampered to catch up with him. Gart sighed heavily and shook his head. He’d managed to attract an admirer and he wasn’t too happy about it.
As Gart struggled not to become frustrated with his follower, Izlyn was completely and utterly entranced with the massive bald knight. She had seen him the night before in the great hall as he’d feasted with Sir Keller. In fact, she’d watched him quite a lot. He was very handsome, she thought, and she knew he was kind. She could tell by looking at him. The entire time she’d watched him, he’d never hit anyone like her brother often did, so she knew that meant he must be very nice.
Therefore, like moth to the flame, she was drawn to the enormous English knight with the brooding presence. She decided that she liked him very much. She might even marry him, but she had not decided on that yet. Still, she knew she liked him. As the big knight followed her sister and Sir George towards the stables, Izlyn happily skipped after them.
Little did she know that, from the shadows, her worst nightmare was watching.
He’d managed to slip in through the secret tunnel that led from the Gorge of the Dead up to the kitchen, which was built against the northern wall. It was meant to be a secret escape route if the castle was ever overtaken, but Gryffyn used it to gain entrance. The opening in the gorge was hidden by a few strategic rocks, concealed unless one knew where to look. The stairs, carved into the bedrock, were tiny and slippery, and he fell twice as he made his way up the passage and into the kitchen. When the cook saw him, he had strangled her and dragged her body into the passageway so no one would find it. Now, he had full access to the castle and he intended to use it.
He intended to find his sisters.
Knowing Nether as well as he did, he was able to dodge servants as they went about their duties by hiding in alcoves or in niches, away from those who would recognize him. He also had a rough woolen cloak, one he’d borrowed from Colvyn, so he was less recognizable to those who would know his fine dress. He was worried about his boots, however, because they were of the finest leather, so he made sure to dirty them up before proceeding into the castle. He hoped that all of these measures would prevent him from being noticed before he could accomplish his task.
He’d managed to make it from the kitchen to the stables without being noticed. The fact that de Poyer had saturated the castle with his own men worked in Gryffyn’s favor. None of the English soldiers recognized him and he was able to move past them relatively unnoticed. Once inside the stables, he climbed up into the loft above and buried himself in the dried grass used to feed and bed the animals. Heart racing with fear and excitement, he planned his next move among the smell of grass and horses.
Stable servants moved around underneath him, tending the horses, and he listened to their inane chatter. Unfortunately, they didn’t speak of anything useful so he continued to plot on his own, knowing that whatever he did had to be accomplished before the English knights returned to the castle which, he assumed, would be before nightfall. So he lay there, buried under grass, and waited for the servants to move out so he could leave the stables and make his way to the keep.
But that wasn’t an instantaneous happening. In fact, he had no idea how much time had passed while he waited, for he actually fell asleep at some point, exhausted from the mayhem of the past two days. It was a dreamless sleep, like the kind of sleep he had when he was young and without care. The smell of dried grass reminded him of those days. When he finally woke some time later, it was to the sound of Chrystobel’s voice.
Startled by the familiar tone, he struggled to gain a view of her and not make too much noise or commotion in the process. Grass was noisy, and crunched, so he eventually lay still because he knew he was creating too much noise and didn’t want anyone heading into the loft to see what was causing the disturbance. So he remained immobile and realized he could see part of the stable entry through the slats in the loft. He strained to catch a glimpse of his sister as she spoke to someone about a coffin for Trevyn.
She is here! He thought to himself gleefully as he spied her at the mouth of the stable entry. Already, he could feel her soft flesh in his hands as he squeezed her neck just as he had squeezed the cook’s. To think of Chrystobel breathing her last as he gazed into her eyes, watching her life slip away, thrilled him beyond compare.
His hatred seemed to fixate on her more than anyone else, the foolish wench who looked so much like their mother. The bitch had died shortly after Izlyn had been born. He should hate Izlyn more for killing their mother, but he found his hatred focused on Chrystobel because she looked and sounded just like Elyn. Elyn had been the only person Gryffyn had even remotely loved, and when she died, his hatred and anger had become mainplace. It blackened his heart. Anger and hatred towards the world in general, and mostly towards a sister who looked like the woman he had loved and lost. Chrystobel reminded him of his loss on a daily basis.
But no matter, Gryffyn shook himself of his bitter and sweet memories, of a mother he tried not to remember. He hated her now and that was all that mattered. Hated her for dying.
Below him, Chrystobel’s voice distracted him again and he peered at her through the slats, listening to her speak to someone regarding funeral services for Trevyn at St. Peter’s in Machynlleth. A funeral, he thought, as if a great idea had just occurred to him. She would be out of the castle and it would be easier to get to her, stealing her out from under de Poyer’s nose. Aye, that would be a much smarter move than trying to corner her here in the castle. In Machynlleth, there would be knights and soldiers about, that is true, but if he employed Colvyn and his personal Welsh guard to assist in the covert operation, men who were sly warriors and who could distract the knights while Gryffyn captured his sister, then success would be guaranteed.
Gryffyn rolled over onto his back, listening to the sound of his sister’s voice. Soon, that voice would be silenced. Now, he knew what he had to do. His plans had been laid for him.
He eagerly anticipated the day.
The priests at St. Peter’s spoke the harshest Welsh Keller had ever heard. In fact, he wasn’t even sure it was Welsh until they spoke a few words that he recognized. After he began to understand their accents, it was easier to have a conversation, and soon he had made arrangements for Trevyn d’Einen’s funeral mass to be held on the morrow.
St. Peter’s was a lovely old church, low and squat, and built with the gray granite stone that was so prevalent in the Welsh mountains. The priests pointed out Lady d’Einen’s crypt and he found himself gazing at the effigy of the woman who gave birth to both Chrystobel and to Gryffyn. How one woman could spawn two diametrically opposed individuals was something of a curiosity for him. Heaven and hell sprang all from this woman, in his opinion, so he wasn’t sure if he revered or reviled her.
Seeing Lady d’Einen’s effigy caused his thoughts to linger heavily on Chrystobel. He could only pray that her anger would cool and she would eventually forgive him. He wondered if his poem had done any good, if it had accomplished his purpose and managed to cool the fire of fury. He spent a good deal of time praying in that church about it, softly in his mind, even as he carried on a conversation with the priests about Trevyn’s funeral. His prayers were for his relationship with his wife, one that he hoped wasn’t over before it truly began. He was both eager to return to Nether Castle and terrified of it. Terrified to discover she was still angry with him. Terrified to discover whatever trust that had been building had been lost.
So he braced himself for the possibility, but he also decided to do what he could to ease the woman the only way he knew how – with gifts. Keller was a gift-giver when the mood struck him and had been known to spend copious amounts of money at one time. He’d brought more than enough money with him today. Mayhap if he plied Chrystobel with enough finery, she would soften and forgive him. It was worth a try and, at this point, he felt that he was out of options. He was in groveling mode.
When he was finished making arrangements with the priests and paid them several silver coins for their services, he quit the church with his knights in tow, out into a morning that was becoming increasingly threatened by rain. As he stood next to his charger and tightened up his gloves, Rhys came to stand next to him, gazing up at the angry pewter sky.
“Rain is coming,” Rhys said. “But I suppose it does not do anything else here. This entire country smells like a rotten egg.”
Keller grinned, glancing up at the sky. “I am sure there are a few people around here who would disagree with you,” he said. Then, he started looking around, up and down the muddy street that ran from one end of the town to another. “I must find a goods merchant.”
Rhys began looking around, too, because he was. “What do you need?”
Keller’s dark eyes focused on the western end of the town where there seemed to be several people milling about, doing business. “Down there,” he said, ignoring Rhys’ question. “It looks as if there is some commerce going on down there.”
He mounted his charger effortlessly, spurring the animal down the street. William, who had already mounted his charger and had not heard the conversation between Rhys and Keller, reined his charger next to Rhys as the man mounted his steed.
“Where is Keller off to?” William asked.
Rhys pointed down the street. “To find a goods merchant.”
“Why?”
“He would not tell me.”
William’s gaze lingered on Keller as the man charged off down the road. “I would suspect a peace offering for Lady de Poyer.”
Rhys looked at him. “Did they have a row?”
William shrugged and looked at Rhys. “The man spent the night passed out on the table in a drunken stupor and not with his new wife, which is where he should have been,” he said. “If you were Keller’s new wife, how would you feel about it?”
Rhys grunted heavily and turned his gaze to Keller down the road. “I would be furious.”
William nodded in agreement. “As I am sure she is.”
“I am never getting married.”
“Then you are destined for a lonely life, my friend.”
They didn’t say anything more after that, taking the ten men-at-arms down the road, following Keller, as Aimery brought up the rear. Once they reached the busier part of town with waddle and daub huts, and merchant stalls made of the big granite rocks that were plentiful in the fields and mountain, they slowed their pace and began to inspect their surroundings.
Since Machynlleth was a small village, there wasn’t a great selection of merchants and most of those were agricultural or farming. There was a man selling sheep, a few men selling vegetables and big grass baskets of grains. There was also a merchant who had iron pots all stacked up in front of his shop, while inside the shop, there were bundles of heavy woolen fabric and other odds and ends.
It was this merchant that interested Keller. He dismounted his horse and entered the stall, nearly too big to move around in the small space, as outside, the clouds overhead that had been threatening rain most of the day began to let loose of a heavy mist. When that began to happen, the shopkeeper raced past Keller from well back in the stall and began dragging the heavy iron pots inside so they would not rust. He was a small man with a bent back, so Keller politely helped the man pull in all of his pots. When they were finished dragging them into the stall, the man was very grateful to Keller.
“Diolch,” he said. “Sut ga ’fod o wasanaeth?”
How may I be of service? The man had a very heavy Welsh accent. Keller replied in his perfect Welsh. “I am looking for a gift for my lady wife,” he said. “Would you have anything that a woman might appreciate?”
The merchant cocked his head, perhaps dubiously. “How much are you willing to spend, my lord?”
“More money than you’ve seen at one time, I assure you.”
The merchant didn’t doubt him by the way he was dressed or by the fine steed he traveled on. His doubt turned to the thrill of perhaps making a great sale, which were far and few between in this little berg. Swiftly, he turned for the rear of his shop.
“I keep my precious items away from the street,” he said. “The villagers cannot afford them and I do not want to invite robbers.”
Keller wondered what the man had by way of “precious items”. By the looks of the stall, he was certain it wasn’t much and prepared himself for disappointment. When the merchant reached the rear of the stall, he fumbled under a pile of goods and pulled forth a medium-sized strong box reinforced with an iron cage. There was a lock on it and he pulled a string of keys out of his pocket and located the one he needed. Turning the tumblers on the big iron lock and sliding the bolt, he opened up the box.
Keller was rather surprised to see what the man had. He pulled forth an emerald and pearl necklace that was exquisitely made, set in dark gold. He also withdrew three or four gold rings, with different colored stones, and also removed another pearl necklace that was set with garnets.
The last item he pulled out was a big, heavy necklace made entirely of gold, with one hooked clasp at the back of the neck, and three strands of golden chain, each chain longer than the previous. When on a woman’s neck, it gave the illusion she was wearing three necklaces. Each strand of the necklace was magnificently done. One had purple amethysts, one had sapphires and pearls, and the longest strand had gold beads that were shaped like a cross intermingled with pale green stones. It was absolutely breathtaking and Keller held it up, inspecting it in the weak light.
“Where on earth did you come across items such as this?” he said. “I have seen jewelry like this in large cities with fine merchants. These do not usually come from small villages such as this one.”
The merchant watched him scrutinize the jewelry. “I received them in trade from a local
noble family.”
Keller glanced at the man. “This is very fine work,” he said. “It must have cost a small fortune to commission. Who is the family?”
The merchant was eager to tell the tale. “The ap Gwynwynwyn family,” he said. “The last kings of Powys. They used to be quite wealthy, but the family has grown more destitute over the years and from time to time has come to me to trade some of their more valuable items for things that they need. The necklace that you are holding bought them four barrels of barley, two sacks of beans, an old sow, and six sheep. They come down from the hills every year, usually with some manner of jewelry as you see, and trade it for sustenance.”
Keller glanced at the man. “And this is all from the same family?”
“Aye, my lord.”
Keller’s gaze returned to the exquisite piece of jewelry. As he gazed at it, he turned his head slightly so he could shout out of the stall.
“Rhys!” he boomed in English. “William! Attend me!”
He was still holding the necklace when the knights appeared, struggling to move their bulk into the shop. Rhys in particular was having a difficult time because he was extraordinarily wide. Keller held up the big necklace in front of them.
“What do you think about this?” he asked. “Do you think any woman would be proud to own it?”
Rhys cocked a dark eyebrow, thinking that he was no judge of jewelry, but William reached out to finger it.
“Magnificent,” he said quietly. “I know my wife would love to have it. Are you thinking of purchasing it for Lady de Poyer?”
Keller nodded, looking back at the other jewelry laid out on a bundle of wool fabric. “I am,” he said as he picked up the emerald and pearl necklace. “This, too. What do you think?”
William was interested in the goods only because he had a wife that he often purchased things for. Rhys, however, was bored silly.
“It is quite beautiful,” William concurred. “I am sure Lady de Poyer would be thrilled with any of it.”
The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle Page 103
