Chapter Eighteen #2
“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 Lohr 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.