A black tide in the distance signifying men on the approach met with Christopher’s apprehensive scrutiny. Given the uncertainty of the Marches at this point, he had to assume the worst was approaching.
“Seal up the castle,” he told Jeffrey calmly. “Edward is to the north with de Velt and his army, but they are going to have to fend for themselves. I must make Lioncross secure.”
Jeffrey nodded swiftly and was on the move, bellowing to the soldiers to begin sealing up the keep. The massive gates of Lioncross and the equally large portcullis began to shift, preparing to move, as men ran about with great intensity. The fear in the air was palpable, given what happened to Comen, and Jeffrey made it down to the gates, rushing in any peasants that were running to the castle for protection. On the walls overhead, Christopher had two men who sounded big bronze lurs, like trumpets, in times of trouble, and the peal of the lurs could be heard for miles.
As the haunting notes blasted overhead, Christopher and several sentries were still trying to figure out who the approaching army was. Christopher assumed it was de Llion but he hoped he was wrong. As the army drew closer, banners could be seen waving in the breeze, although no one could make out the colors quite yet. The men standing around Christopher were straining to see, straining to make out anything they could about the approaching army. Christopher’s eyes weren’t what they used to be so he let the younger men make the call. When someone spouted out that the banners were black and green, a bolt of realization shot through Christopher. Running to the parapet, he yelled to Jeffrey down below.
“Kessler!” he boomed. “Send out a rider to the approaching army! They are bearing the black and green banners of de Poyer!”
De Poyer! Word started to spread like wildfire as Jeffrey sent a young, skinny soldier out on a swift horse to make the confirmation. Christopher watched the soldier race off, thundering down the road that led off to the northwest to intercept the approaching army, and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d sent word to de Poyer what seemed like years ago but, in truth, it had only been weeks. Now, de Poyer had come and it looked as if he was bearing several hundred soldiers. His relief was palpable.
The halls of Lioncross would be filled with men of legend tonight.
*
Lioncross had seen its share of important people within her walls, kings and great counselors included, but tonight was different. The men within the walls of Lioncross tonight were men of power, men who had shaped the course of a nation. They were soldiers at heart, born and bred for war.
Keller de Poyer was one of the premier knights of William Marshal, a man who could only be described as the consummate knight. He was a big, muscular man with massive hands, dark hair flecked with gray, and an awkward social manner when he wasn’t with people he knew and respected. He was also one of the most highly intelligent men ever to walk the earth, a razor-sharp mind that the Marshal had greatly depended on. Eight years ago, Keller had been awarded Nether Castle in Powys, Wales, for his dedicated service to the crown. He had married the Nether heiress and, at last count, had five children. For Keller, life had been very good and Christopher was happy for his friend.
Since Keller had manned Pembroke Castle for years as the garrison commander before assuming his property at Nether, the man had a very good handle on the workings of Wales in general. It was this knowledge that he brought to the table, confident and unflappable as always, but even Keller raised an eyebrow when he was introduced to Jax de Velt.
Keller had been a young knight when Jax had ripped through the mid-Welsh Marches, so he was well aware of what the man was capable of. He was surprised to see that de Velt had come peacefully to Lioncross, but in reality, he wasn’t particularly surprised to see him in general. He, too, had heard what was happening on the Marches again and he had even heard about Alberbury. But once he heard that de Velt’s daughter had been abducted by the same mercenary who was claiming de Velt properties, one by one, he began to understand more of what was going on. Something sinister was afoot that could affect them all. If they didn’t band together, there was no telling what would happen.
“We received word of the fall of Cloryn Castle and Ithon Castle,” Keller was saying, “but we had not heard of Rhayder or Comen. I take it these are recent events?”
The men were sitting around Christopher’s feasting table, a long, heavy thing that had seen much action over the years, both good and bad. In the great hall, the knights gathered, and their retainers stood behind them, on the outskirts of the conversation, and this included Keller’s two knights, Sir William Wellesbourne and George Ashby-Kidd, as well as Jax’s two sons, and Christopher’s men. Rod and Berwyn were standing behind Christopher, listening to every word spoken.
Therefore, the hall was crowded with knights, all of them concerned with what was happening in Wales and along the Marches, so it was time to settle things and establish a plan. They had families and property to defend, and a young woman to save. What was happening along the Marches not only affected Jax, but all of them as well. There was much at stake.
As servants brought forth food and drink, putting it on the table within arm’s reach, Christopher answered Keller’s question.
“The fall of Comen and Rhayder was recent enough,” he replied. “You say you heard of Ithon’s fall?”
Keller nodded. “We received word about it.”
Christopher glanced at Jax, who merely shook his head in disgust. Christopher returned his attention to Keller.
“De Velt received the severed head of Ithon’s garrison commander several weeks back,” he said. “He assumed Ithon had fallen but this is the first we’ve heard independent confirmation.”
“A traveling merchant told me he had seen it with his own eyes,” Keller said. The dark eyes narrowed curiously. “When I arrived, you briefly explained what was going on, Chris, but surely there is more to it.”
Christopher nodded, with great reluctance. “Unfortunately, there is,” he said. “The mercenary in question landed in Liverpool back in May, from Ireland we believe, and made his way down the Marches to the area that de Velt claimed twenty-five years ago. Everything this mercenary has done has mimicked de Velt’s actions from twenty-five years ago with the exception of torching Alberbury Priory. That was accomplished to abduct de Velt’s eldest daughter. De Velt came to me for assistance, believing a mediator might help his daughter’s cause, so I sent the mercenary a missive at his seat of Cloryn Castle asking for terms of the daughter’s release. What I received in reply was a demand for de Velt himself or his daughter would suffer. Therefore, I sent a second missive, but the answer to that missive seemed to come in the form of the conquest of Comen Castle. At the moment, the mercenary is charging through the mid-Marches unopposed. I fear the time has come for someone to stand in his way or we may risk greater chaos.”
Keller was listening to Christopher with great interest, as were the rest of the knights. Jax, seated across from both Keller and Christopher, seemed to be the most pensive about the situation, and for good reason. In fact, the man struggled not to appear distraught. Keller glanced at the great Dark Lord of legend for a moment before replying.
“It is clear this mercenary is bent on destruction against de Velt,” he said. “Do we even know who it is?”
Christopher turned to look directly at Rod, standing behind him. He nodded slightly to the man, encouraging him to come forth in spite of the fact that Berwyn was standing next to him. Go ahead, lad. Tell them what you know. In the interest of making sure everyone who would be going to battle against the mercenary knew exactly what they were getting in to, there was little choice. Rod cleared his throat softly.
“Back in May when the mercenary first began his raids, Lord de Lohr summoned me to Lioncross Abbey because of a missive had had received from the Earl of Shropshire, Robert de Boulers, detailing the activities of a mercenary creating chaos along the Marches,” he said. “The reason I was summoned was simple – the mercenary gave a name as something Lord de L
ohr believed I would recognize. The name was Bretton de Llion.”
Berwyn, standing beside his grandson, grunted with disbelief and hung his head. Rod, hearing his grandfather groan and sigh, continued with more information that Berwyn was not aware of. He had no choice. A glance at Christopher saw the man nodding encouragingly, spurring him onward. The time had come for Berwyn to know the truth of the matter, whether or not he wanted to believe it.
“You must understand that Bretton de Llion is the name of my young cousin, a young man we believed killed when Jax de Velt conquered Four Crosses Castle where my uncle, Bretton’s father, was garrison commander,” Rod said. Then, he shook his head as if at a loss for words. “When I told my grandfather what name the mercenary had used, he refused to believe it. You see, as far as he knows, his son and grandson lost their lives twenty-five years ago at Four Crosses Castle. I, too, believed that until this mercenary appeared, following the path of destruction that de Velt had carved out those years ago. I was curious, nay, more than curious about the identity of this mercenary so, unbeknownst to my grandfather, I sent a missive to Cloryn Castle, the mercenary’s seat, asking if Bretton de Llion, son of Morgan, would meet me in Newtown. I wanted to meet the man on neutral ground to see if it was, in fact, my cousin whom we believed to be dead. I am sorry to say that it was him. He has returned from the dead as a killer of men.”
Behind Rod, Berwyn had been listening with growing horror, now completely overwhelmed to realize that the mercenary commander was indeed his long-lost grandson. He grabbed hold of Rod’s arm in sheer astonishment but he wasn’t able to speak. His knees gave way and Rod found himself catching his grandfather before the man collapsed completely. Edward, also standing behind Christopher, helped Rod guide his grandfather onto the bench. Gasping for air, his face a mask of disbelief, Berwyn clung to Rod.
“It is not true!” he breathed.
Rod held his grandfather tightly. “It is,” he confirmed quietly. “I am sorry I did not tell you. I did not want to upset you. But it seems that you must know, for it is indeed Bretton tearing up the Marches. It seems that he escaped the carnage at Four Crosses and has spent all of this time gathering an army to return for revenge. He did not want me to tell you that he is alive, but I fear I must break my vow to him. He is alive and he is not a man you or I would hope to be associated with. He is death.”
For the most part since Berwyn’s arrival at Lioncross, Christopher had made sure to keep Berwyn and Jax apart for obvious reasons. The old man had been aware of Jax’s presence, as told to him by Christopher, but it had been explained to him in no uncertain terms that Jax was at Lioncross peacefully and any past hatred or grudges would not be played out at this time.
It had taken Berwyn two days to come to terms with the fact that de Velt was at Lioncross but he still hadn’t met the man face to face until today, at this moment, in this council. He’d remained remarkably silent about everything, as he had been instructed, but at this moment, all he could feel was utter hatred and agony. He looked over at de Velt, seated across the table from them, and his careful control shattered.
“You,” he gasped. “You did this to my family. You destroyed Four Crosses Castle and my son and his family along with it. You put my son on a stake and let the birds pluck his eyes out, and you murdered his wife and my grandchildren. You did this, you bastard! You brought this all down on yourself, do you hear?”
Rod grabbed his grandfather, yanking him up from the bench and dragging the old man from the room.
“Quiet,” Rod hissed at him. “Be quiet before you say something you will regret.”
Berwyn struggled against his grandson. So much, in fact, that Edward came up behind them and helped Rod take his grandfather from the hall. But not before Berwyn fired off his last terrible curse.
“I hope your daughter dies the same way my son died!” he yelled, his voice muffled as Rod slapped a hand over his mouth. “I hope you feel my pain, do you hear? I hope you feel it!”
He was finally gone, carried away by Rod and Edward. Christopher sat still as stone, his eyes trained on de Velt, who was watching the old man as he was dragged from the room. When he was gone, Jax turned to look at Christopher. They simply looked at each other for a moment, both men unsure what to say. Finally, Jax looked around the table at the other men, at Keller and his knights, at Christopher’s men standing behind him.
“Please,” he said, lifting his hand in an ironic gesture. “If there is anyone else at this table I have wronged, please speak your peace. We have all done things in our lifetime that we are not proud of but I suppose I was the worst of it. I have no excuse except to say I was young and full of ambition, and saw what I did as a means to achieve an end. It was not until later in life that I realized the gravity of what I had done. Therefore, if anyone else has anything to say to me, I will accept it.”
Next to Christopher, Keller spoke softly. “You killed a cousin of mine at Ithon Castle those years ago,” he said. “He was a rotten excuse for a human being, lying to my mother, beating his own mother, and once he even stabbed his father in an argument over a horse. I have always wanted to thank you personally for doing away with him. You saved me the trouble.”
Jax looked at Keller, surprised, until William Wellesbourne, standing behind Keller, broke out in soft laughter. The giggles were infectious because George Ashby-Kidd started giggling, followed by Max. Hearing Max and his high-pitched laugher set Christopher off and, soon, the entire table was roaring with laughter. It was a welcome bit of respite after Berwyn’s outbreak, easing the tension. Keller, with little sense of humor, looked around at those laughing as if they had lost their minds.
“I am serious,” he insisted. “My cousin was a boil on the buttocks of our family; sore, ugly, and difficult to pop. Had de Velt not done away with him, I would have had to. He saved me the trouble!”
Everyone screamed with laughter and even though Keller was serious, he, too, started to snort just because everyone else was. He supposed it was rather humorous, a light touch in the midst of such seriousness. Wellesbourne slapped him on the shoulder in his revelry, causing Keller to lose his humor immediately. But William didn’t. He clapped him again.
“God help you, Keller,” he said. “Sometimes, your honesty is the best part about you.”
Keller wriggled his eyebrows. “I sincerely hope that is not what my wife thinks,” he quipped, returning his attention to Christopher. “If everyone will stop laughing at me, I would like to return to business. It sounds as if we have a blood feud on our hands. De Llion is seeking vengeance for what de Velt did to his father. There is nothing worse than one relative seeking justice for another.”
Christopher still had a smile on his face as he replied. “That is true,” he agreed. “But my fear is that de Llion will not be content with capturing de Velt’s holdings. He is painfully close to Lioncross right now with his latest conquest at Comen Castle. Who is to say he will not set his cap for my castle or Shropshire’s castle? He may even move into Wales and move for Nether. Nay, we cannot know his mind and that is what concerns me. It is best to stop this mercenary before he does too much damage. I fear that if we wait, we will have a massive problem that will be difficult to control.”
Keller wasn’t hard pressed to agree. “Wales has been, as of late, relatively peaceful,” he said. “This mercenary along the Marches is the first serious threat I have encountered in several months. In fact, knowing his scope in Powys, I took the long way around him from Nether Castle, mostly because I did not want to engage him. I know he is moving his army around in the mid-Marches and did not want to chance running into him, so we moved straight across Wales into Shropshire and then down to Lioncross.”
Christopher nodded. “I can understand your caution,” he said. “I am inclined to move on Cloryn Castle, the mercenary’s seat, before the week is out if we can agree on a strategy. But before we convene a war council, you should know something else. Now that Berwyn has left, I can speak freely ab
out it. It may be a gift from heaven or it may be a great disappointment. In any case, in speaking with de Velt I learned that he did not kill everyone at Four Crosses. He retained some men for slave labor, including one knight with a serious head injury who calls himself John Morgan. You must understand that Bretton de Llion’s father’s name was Morgan, and it is quite possible that John Morgan is really Bretton’s father. John Morgan currently serves Yves de Vesci as his personal bodyguard and I have sent word to de Vesci asking him to send John Morgan to us so that we may see if he is, indeed, the mercenary’s father. If he is, then it is quite possible the battle will be over before it begins. But if it is not his father, then we must be prepared to strike and strike hard.”
Keller digested what he was told. After a moment, he shook his head with some amazement. “That is an incredible story,” he said. “Let us hope the man is indeed de Llion’s father.”
“Agreed.”
“How long ago did you send word to de Vesci?”
“About a month. I expect to see John Morgan any day now.”
Keller reached for a wine cup in the middle of the table, pouring himself a measure of rich, red wine. “That is a reasonable time frame, even traveling from the north,” he said. “And you say Berwyn does not know that his son may indeed be alive?”
Christopher shook his head. “Nay,” he replied quietly. “You saw how he reacted to de Velt. One more shock and we may lose him altogether.”
Keller took a long drink of wine. “But you are going to have to tell him, eventually.”
Christopher glanced at Jax, who shrugged. “I thought it would better if we did not tell him anything,” he said. “Let John Morgan show himself and then we shall see if Berwyn recognizes him. If he does, then it will be a wonderful reunion. If not, then we did not get an old man’s hopes up.”
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