Chapter Two #2
Curtis nodded. “Where are my knights?” he asked. “Amaro and Hugo?”
Several soldiers were pointing to the north end of the wall. “Organizing the prisoners,” the same man answered. “Shall I summon them?”
Curtis waved them off. The wall was being handled by two men sworn to him, Amaro de Laraga and Hugo de Bernay.
They were seasoned men from good families who served him at Lioncross Abbey, giving him his own command within his father’s command.
He even had five hundred soldiers that were sworn only to him.
They were good men, all of them, and they were the more elite soldiers out of his father’s army.
Even now, they were on the wall with Amaro and Hugo, and Curtis knew they would secure the wall. He wasn’t needed.
He followed his father’s soldier back to the man’s tent.
Sunset was approaching, and the campfires, which had burned all day, were now being stoked by squires.
The cooking fires, manned by sergeants, cooks, and servants, were being stoked to epic proportions at the rear of the encampment.
Food was already on the spits, being turned by young servant boys who followed the army as workers.
The smell of smoke was in the air, blending in with the dampness of the coming night.
To Curtis, it was the smell of victory.
But he suspected why his father had summoned him.
Probably something to do with the wench he’d dumped on him earlier.
Perhaps his father had discovered something.
Or perhaps he wanted to verbally swat Curtis for leaving off the banshee in the first place.
As Curtis approached the tent, he removed his helm, revealing close-cropped hair soaked with sweat.
He was about to enter the tent when his father emerged and caught sight of him.
Christopher came out to meet him about ten feet from the tent.
“Well?” Christopher said. “What is the report?”
Curtis handed his helm off to the nearest soldier and proceeded to remove his gloves. “Brython is ours,” he said, handing the gloves over to the man who held his helm. “The Welsh are subdued and currently being gathered. Congratulations on the victory, Papa.”
Christopher smiled faintly. “Victory is yours, Curt,” he said. “You commanded the battle. I was simply an observer.”
Curtis grinned modestly. “I did nothing without your direction and approval,” he said. “I would say that makes the victory yours.”
Christopher put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Then well done, us,” he said, jesting softly as he patted Curtis affectionately. “As usual, we performed flawlessly, but my report to the king will be that you commanded the victory. He will be pleased.”
“Good,” Curtis said. “Is that what you wanted to see me about?”
Christopher shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “I have something else, something serious that I did not wish to discuss with you whilst we were in the midst of battle. But now that it is over, a more important situation must be addressed.”
“What is that?”
Christopher cleared his throat softly, wanting to approach this conversation carefully. Curtis wasn’t a fool, but he was stubborn and obstinate when the mood struck him, and that could happen quickly. Christopher needed the man’s compliance.
“Primarily this,” he said. “The king has told me to garrison Brython, and I shall. The castle is yours, Curt. The tributes, the lands, and the taxes all belong to you. Anything Brython possesses has now become yours. Congratulations, lad.”
Curtis had known that was coming, but he was pleased to hear the confirmation.
“Thank you, Papa,” he said, turning to look at the hulking structure behind him.
“I wish you’d told me that before this all started.
Mayhap I wouldn’t have been so brutal with the siege engines, because there is a good deal of repair work to do now. ”
Christopher chuckled. “You can make her stronger than before,” he said. But he quickly sobered. “However, there is a stipulation along with assuming Brython’s command.”
“What stipulation?”
This was where Christopher had to break the terrible news, the news that would change Curtis’ life, so he tried to be gentle about it.
“We have seen Brython go back and forth between the English and the Welsh for too long,” he said.
“Even as I give you the command, you know what you will be facing with this place. The Welsh will want it back. We must do all we can to discourage that because I do not want to see Brython become a never-ending battle on the marches. I want it to know peace and prosperity, as I am sure you do, as well.”
Curtis was listening intently. “Of course I do,” he said. “But what is the stipulation?”
Christopher gestured to the gray-stoned castle. “As it turns out, Llewelyn did not have command of the castle,” he said. “It was still in the hands of Gwenwynwyn’s children.”
“Oh?” Curtis said, very interested. “Who told you that?”
Christopher tipped his head in the direction of the tent. “The woman you brought me,” he said. “She is Gwenwynwyn’s daughter. Her brother, she says, is in the vault of Brython, so make sure you free the man. He is sympathetic to the English.”
Curtis looked at him in surprise. “She’s Gwenwynwyn’s daughter?” he repeated. “I did not know the man had a daughter, only two sons, including one that no one has really seen.”
Christopher shook his head. “There is no second son,” he said. “According to the lady, she is the one that we’ve heard rumors of. She is the one known as the Wraith.”
Curtis was genuinely astounded. “God’s Bones,” he muttered. “And you’re sure of this?”
Christopher shrugged. “That is why I want you to find the brother she says is down in the vault,” he said. “I want to hear his confirmation that she is who she says she is, because if she is truly Gwenwynwyn’s daughter, then she will be the stipulation for you taking command of Brython.”
Curtis wasn’t following him. “Why?” he asked, frowning. “What does she have to do with it?”
Christopher fixed on him. “Because we need Brython to be stable and secure for generations to come,” he said. “Henry wants a marriage, Curt.”
Curtis was still frowning. “Whose marriage?”
“Yours.”
Curtis stared at him for a moment, an expression on his face suggesting he hadn’t heard correctly. “Mine?” he repeated. “But I am not getting married.”
Christopher sighed faintly. He could see that Curtis wasn’t understanding what he was saying, more than likely due to exhaustion rather than resistance, so he needed to be plain.
“I received a missive from Henry,” he said evenly.
“He wanted the battle at Brython to end because he wants this castle to be part of the line of English castles on the marches. You know how important Brython is. He told me that I was to offer the Welsh commander of Brython a marriage between you and the commander’s daughter, whoever that may be, to secure peace.
But the garrison commander seems to have been a woman, a daughter of Gwenwynwyn, and you will marry her to strengthen the alliance with Gwenwynwyn and his descendants and secure peace along the border. Is that clear enough now?”
By the time he was finished, Curtis was gaping at him. “You mean…” he said, stammering. Then he pointed in the general direction of the castle. “You mean that… that wildcat who crashed into me on the wall?”
“The same young woman I have been speaking to, aye.”
Curtis closed his mouth as he realized his father was quite serious. “Papa,” he said, eyeing the man with horror. “You must be jesting.”
“Do I look like I am jesting?”
“Then you have gone mad!”
Christopher was weary—too weary to argue with Curtis in any fashion, and that made his patience thin. He wasn’t going to manipulate and cajole Curtis as he’d done with Elle.
He was going to get straight to the point.
“Listen to me and listen well,” he said, lowering his voice.
“A man’s life is full of sacrifices so that he and his family may have a better and more peaceful life.
Do not forget that I married your mother, quite against my will, simply to gain a castle and wealth.
I did what I had to do, and so will you.
If you argue with me or refuse to comply, know that it will not go well for you.
I am, therefore, going to tell you this one time—you will do your duty as you are instructed to, Curtis. You will marry Gwenwynwyn’s daughter.”
The words were harsh, and the look in Christopher’s eye was nothing short of intimidating.
Curtis wasn’t usually the arguing type—he was blindly obedient when it came to his father—so the tension between them at the moment wasn’t usual.
But Curtis could see that his father was deadly serious, and, truth be told, he knew better than to question the man because he was quite certain his father took no joy in the directive.
He could see that in his expression. It was true that they hadn’t spoken much of marriage over the years, mostly because Curtis had always declared he would choose his own bride, so this wasn’t a subject either of them had much experience with.
And Christopher wasn’t going to take anything less than complete surrender.
What Henry wanted, Henry got. Even Curtis knew that.
His heart sank.
“My God,” he breathed, staring at his father. “Papa, I cannot—”
Christopher cut him off. “You can and you will.”
“But—”
“It was my fate to marry a woman to gain a castle,” Christopher interrupted him. “It shall be yours also. There is no more honorable reason to marry, Curtis. For peace. For safety. You understand this, so you will not disobey me.”
Curtis was feeling increasingly desperate. He didn’t want to argue with his father, but he sincerely didn’t want any part of this. He started to huff and puff. “Do I not have any recourse in this?” he asked, incredulous. “Nothing at all?”
“Nay,” Christopher said. “If you refuse, then I will command Roi to do it. How do you think your brother will look upon you, knowing you shirked your duty and he was forced to assume it? Do you think any of your brothers will respect you ever again if they know you refused to do your duty? Think carefully before you answer me. They will see you as weak and cowardly. Is that the legacy you wish to have with men who would die for you?”
It was a brutal, horrific slap in the face of the facts of the situation, but Curtis knew that nothing his father said was untrue.
Absolutely nothing. If he were to refuse to marry Gwenwynwyn’s daughter, the ramifications were endless.
He would lose the respect of his brothers, for certain.
He would lose the respect of anyone else who knew the truth.
No one would follow him into battle ever again.
Days like this, victorious days where he had commanded a great victory, would be at an end.
He would lose everything.
With sickening realization, he knew he had no choice.
After a moment, he hung his head, a gesture of defeat. There was nothing more he could say or do about it, so like any seasoned warrior, he simply had to accept his fate. And that was what this was—his fate.
His destiny.
God help him.
“Does she know?” he finally asked, hoarsely.
Christopher could see that Curtis had accepted the situation, at least on the surface, and he was sorry. So very sorry he’d been rough with him, but in his opinion, he’d had little choice. There was no room for negotiation, and Curtis had to know that from the start.
And here they were.
Resigned.
“She does not know it is you,” he said after a moment. “But I told her—at least, I strongly suggested—that she must marry for peace. It is what Henry wants. If you wish to go into the tent and speak with her, that might be a good start. She is frightened and upset and weary.”
Curtis snorted. “So am I.”
Christopher’s lips tugged with a smile. “So am I,” he said.
With a sigh, he softened, putting his hand on Curtis’ arm.
“Curtis… I love you more than life. You are my heir, my shining star. If I did not think this was an important move for you, I would have fought Henry on it. But I believe it is important, lad. I have made my mark on the marches. Now, it is time for you to make yours.”
Curtis was still looking at his feet, still mulling the whole thing over. But after a moment, he nodded reluctantly. He knew his father was right.
He was struggling not to be angry with him for it.
Without another word, he entered the tent.