Chapter Two #3
Rod returned the man’s stare, realizing in that moment that Christopher was speaking of his brother, Rhys.
Rod didn’t know just how he knew that, but he did.
He sensed it. Everyone believed Rhys to be dead even though he wasn’t.
Somehow, someway, Christopher knew the truth.
It was in his tone, his expression, and his words.
Perhaps David had told him. It was the only explanation and Rod knew the man was in on their secret as surely as he was living and breathing. De Lohr knows!
But this wasn’t about Rhys. It was about Bretton, and with that awareness, Christopher’s words came to make a great deal of sense. Sometimes the dead aren’t truly dead. Aye, anything was possible. The more Rod thought about it, the more he realized that de Lohr was correct. Anything was possible.
Oddly, that mindset seemed to calm him. The wave of hysteria had rolled over him, leaving still waters in its wake. Not completely calm, but still nonetheless. Rod looked at Christopher, choosing his words cautiously.
“Possibly,” he finally murmured. “But this is fantastic to say the least.”
Christopher held Rod’s gaze a moment longer before averting it as he rose from his chair.
“Incredulous and amazing,” he agreed. “But it is not impossible. There would be no other reason for the leader of the mercenary army to give the name of Bretton de Llion if he was, in fact, not Bretton. Why would he? It would serve no purpose. In my experience, the man gave his name because he wanted to be known. He wanted de Velt to know that one of his former victims was back to seek vengeance.”
It made perfect sense. Rod, however, was still reeling. He drank the last of the wine in his cup, struggling to come to terms with what he had been told. He looked up at Christopher as the man moved to pour himself some wine.
“Then why am I here?” Rod asked. “What would you have of me?”
Christopher poured rich, red wine into an earthenware cup.
“I wanted you to know the contents of Shropshire’s missive,” he said quietly, turning to face Rod with cup in hand.
“I truly have no idea what is happening near my borders but it bears watching. My greatest concern at this point is that de Velt will respond to the challenge and if that occurs, we may once again be facing a horrendous bloodbath along the Marches greater than anything we have ever seen. De Velt is not dead. The man lives in Northumberland and he has, over the years, been quite generous in making restitution to those he wronged. He has donated heavily to several priories, Alberbury being one of them, and he holds a portion of the Scots border for King John. The Scots are not foolish enough to cross the border that de Velt defends. Bear in mind that, as I say this, de Velt still has a big army and I am quite sure this abduction of his daughter will not go unanswered. That is my greatest fear because if de Velt moves into Shropshire’s lands, and consequently my lands, I will be forced to answer.
I do not want to be sucked into a war against de Velt. ”
Rod knew that. He sighed heavily. “Bronllys Castle, my grandfather’s castle, is only a few miles from Erwood Castle, which is a de Velt holding,” he said.
“It concerns me a great deal that this… this mercenary army would possibly try to reclaim all of de Velt’s holdings.
That would put us too close to the action and we’d suffer from the fall out. ”
It was evident that Rod couldn’t bring himself to say Bretton de Llion’s name, at least not now. It was still too new and shocking, all of it. Christopher could see how shaken the man was.
“That is why I wanted to tell you all of this personally,” he said.
“Not only because of the name of the commander of this army, but also because you must return to tell your grandfather what has transpired. It might be wise to vacate Bronllys and move south to Whitebrook until this matter has settled.”
Rod shook his head. “My grandfather will not leave his post,” he said what they all knew. “He is an old knight and has been there for over twenty years. He will never leave it.”
Christopher watched the man’s expression, seeing sadness and resignation there.
“Then I would ask that once you inform your grandfather of what is happening, you return to me,” he said.
“Losing Lawrence and Rhys last year has left me low on trained knights. True, I have de Wolfe and Max Cornwallis, and I even have Jeffrey Kessler, who was my wife’s family’s captain of the guard before I married her, and I also have a stable full of young and strong knights, but I could use a seasoned commander like you. ”
Rod knew it was not a request. It was a kind way of saying de Lohr was demanding his services. “I understand, my lord,” he said, “but my grandfather may have need of me, especially if I cannot convince him to leave Bronllys.”
Christopher grew more impassioned. “That is exactly why I need you with me,” he said.
“I have the largest army on the Marches and if de Velt moves, if this mercenary army moves, my army will be the first to engage them. Mayhap we can prevent them from getting to Bronllys. Do you see what we are facing, Rod? With de Velt provoked, this could be the resurgence of something more deadly and bloody than England has ever seen.”
Rod was coming to see that and the truth was that it scared him. Not much in this life scared him, but this did. Perhaps the only way to help his grandfather, or even his family, was to remain with de Lohr. After a moment, he nodded his head.
“Very well,” he said. “I will remain with you until this crisis is over. But let me return to Bronllys to tell my grandfather. He must be on his guard.”
Christopher couldn’t disagree. In fact, he was in full support of it. “When you tell your grandfather, will you speak of Bretton de Llion’s apparent return?” he asked. “I am not entirely sure how much good that will do your grandfather to know that. There is nothing he can do about it in any case.”
Rod shrugged, thinking of how his grandfather might react to such news.
“I am not sure what to tell him,” he said.
“Knowing my grandfather, he would ride to Cloryn Castle to see if the commander really is Bretton and more than likely get himself killed in the process. But, on the other hand, he lost a grandson last year and he has not recovered from it. Mayhap… mayhap it will do him some good to know that it is possible another grandson has returned from the dead.”
“A returned grandson who is tearing up the Marches and murdering nuns?”
Rod merely shrugged again. He didn’t have an answer.
Christopher drank his wine, mulling over the situation in general, as he turned for his seat near the hearth.
Somewhere outside of the solar door he could hear a baby crying, reminding him of his family safe within these old walls.
Walls that could face a beating if the Marches were consumed by the flames of warfare. He didn’t like the thought.
“Let us hope we all live through this,” he muttered, lowering his bulk into the chair. There was gentle fire in the hearth and he gazed at it a moment, deep in thought. “There was something else that de Llion told the old nun, something interesting.”
Rod looked at him. “What was that?”
Christopher was still staring at the flames. “He told her to tell de Velt that the Devil was coming for him.”
Edward grunted at the arrogance of the statement.
“There is a very old proverb that says it is better to be the right hand of the Devil than in his path,” he muttered, interjecting his opinion into the conversation.
“In this case, however, I have no desire to side with Satan. I do not even wish to side with de Velt.”
Christopher looked up. “There is another saying, from the Bible, and it is all I can think of at the moment,” he said. “Somehow, it seems very prophetic for this situation.”
Edward glanced at him over the top of his cup. “What is it?”
Christopher’s attention returned to the flame, seeing death and destruction within the flickering embers. He simply couldn’t help the feeling of doom in his heart. “Behold a pale horse,” he murmured, “and his name that sat on him was Death. And Hell followed with him.”
They sat in silence after that until the wine was gone and the fire died out. Even then, they continued to remain, each man lost to his own particular thoughts of disaster. No matter which side of the Marches one was sitting, the Devil seemed to be approaching from all sides.
And Hell would undoubtedly come with him.