Chapter Eighteen #3
“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 about 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.”