Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Christopher knew that. But he also knew that Peter and Alexander were important garrison commanders, and to pull them away from their own commands was beneath them.
“They have their own mighty commands,” he said. “I cannot do that. What about leaving Jeffrey here?”
Myles shook his head. “You know I love Jeffrey, but he is far too old,” he said. “He would be fine commanding, but he wouldn’t be much in a fight. I need men with strong swords.”
Christopher’s gaze moved to the wall where Jeffrey was. He could see him near the gatehouse. “This situation has him broken,” he said. “He feels responsible that he let Amaro slip away from Lioncross.”
“It is not his fault,” Myles said. “He should not take any blame.”
Christopher sighed heavily. “I know,” he said. “I told him so. What if I send Staff to you? I will if you think he would be of help.”
Myles knew Stafford de Poyer, a keen and intelligent knight who had served his father for a couple of years.
Stafford’s father, Keller, had been a knight sworn to William Marshal, so Myles had known the family for several years.
Stafford had only recently come to Lioncross, beefing up the border castle’s stable of capable knights.
“If you will do that, I will be grateful,” he said. “I would feel much better with Staff here. He can help me manage this beast of a castle, but I would like another knight if you can spare him.”
“Who?”
“Rhys d’Mearc.”
Christopher grunted unhappily. “I hate to part with him.”
“I know, but he is needed much more here than at Lioncross.”
“Why would you say that?”
Myles frowned. “Because you have a dozen junior knights at home,” he said. “Plus, you have Jeffrey and Staff’s brother, Cal. Those two could take on an entire army by themselves and win.”
Christopher smiled, looking up to the wall where he could see Jeffrey, who was now completely gray, with a big white beard. “Jeffrey would scare them into submission, to be sure,” he said. “And Cal is hideously frightening when he wants to be. Who do you think keeps our junior ranks in line?”
It was Myles’s turn to grin. “He takes after his father,” he said. “Keller may be incredibly old, but he is still vital. Like you.”
Christopher’s eyebrows rose. “Are you saying I am incredibly old?”
Myles started to laugh. “Never,” he said. “You’re ageless, Papa. You’ll outlive us all.”
Christopher’s smile faded. “I hope not,” he said. “I do not want to outlive my children. But I would say, on the whole, that—”
He was cut off when the sentries lifted a cry, announcing an incoming visitor.
Christopher and Myles headed for the gatehouse, strong and long since repaired, to see what the fuss was about.
The gatehouse of Brython faced east, toward England, but the road leading to the entry curved around from the south.
As they peered through the portcullis, they could see a group of people coming up the road, heading for the gatehouse.
Curiously, Christopher and Myles watched them come closer.
It wasn’t a military group, but rather a collection of peasants.
No one seemed to be armed. There were a few on horseback, but most were walking.
Some were carrying things. Christopher ordered the portcullis lifted, and when it was high enough, he and Myles went out to greet the throng.
The sight of two armed knights coming out of the castle slowed down the procession.
There was a man in the front with a walking staff, and he held up a hand for the group to come to a halt.
When Christopher and Myles came to a stop several feet away, the man with the staff took a few steps in their direction.
“Cyfarchion, fy arglwydd,” he said. Greetings, my lord. “Rydym wedi clywed am helynt y ferch.”
They were speaking Welsh. We have heard of the daughter’s trouble. Myles looked at his father in confusion, but Christopher suspected whom they were speaking of. He answered in fluent Welsh.
“Do you speak of Lady Leominster?” he asked.
The man nodded. “Aye,” he said. “I am Cadell. My wife and I are bakers. Sometimes, the lady comes to our shop and buys our bread. We have heard of her troubles and have come to pay our respects.”
Christopher nodded. “It is kind of you to come,” he said. “All I can tell you at the moment is that the lady is very ill. She is not receiving visitors.”
Cadell’s fair face tightened with sorrow. “That is terrible news, indeed,” he said. “We were told that she was in a bad way.”
“Who told you?”
“Pliny,” Cadell said. “The apothecary. Before he left the village with the men who had summoned him, he told others that the lady was ill.”
Christopher’s gaze moved over the group behind him. “She is,” he said. “But I will tell her husband that you have come to give your best wishes for her recovery. That will mean a great deal to him.”
Cadell gestured to the group behind him.
“When someone is ill in our village, it is a tradition that we bring them gifts to help them recover,” he said.
“The lady is part of our heritage, my lord. Her father was a great ruler, but she has not known a great life. We all know that. Pliny told us that marriage to the Saesneg has made her very happy. We’ve come to show our gratitude for the happiness he has given her. ”
Christopher was rather touched by that. “It is very kind of you to do that,” he said.
“I have been told that Brython is a special place to the Welsh, and to have an English commander is probably not what you would like. But know that the lady and her husband are ensuring that this place of legend is protected.”
Cadell gestured to the castle. “Brython is thriving,” he said with a smile.
“We can see that for ourselves. When the lady comes to town, she buys food from all the bakers. She spends money at the apothecary and the merchant. She has prospered, and she comes to town to ensure that we prosper, too. It was never like that before the English came. She was never like that before the English came.”
Christopher smiled faintly, looking to Myles. “Cadell, this is my son, Myles,” he said. “He is the brother of Lady Leominster’s husband.”
Cadell dipped his head to Myles, but his attention returned to Christopher. “And you, my lord?” he said. “Who are you?”
“Christopher de Lohr.”
That brought a buzz of excitement from the group. Even Cadell seemed surprised by the answer.
“Hereford,” he said in realization. “You are Hereford.”
Christopher nodded. “I am.”
“You were the one who took Brython from Gruffydd.”
Christopher didn’t want to get into the fact that he’d conquered a Welsh castle in the presence of Welshmen. “Gruffydd is an ally,” he said. “Since the lady has been ill, we have sent him word. He knows.”
“Who knows?”
The voice came from the gatehouse, and they all turned with surprise to see Curtis coming through. He was unshaven, unwashed, and looking like a wild man with a growth of beard on his face. But he was coming toward his father and brother, his gaze fixed on Cadell.
His eyes flickered in recognition.
“I know you,” he said. “You are the baker.”
Cadell nodded. “I am,” he said, replying in the language Curtis had spoken. “I was telling your great father that we have come to see how the lady is faring. We heard she was ill.”
Curtis had spent too many sleepless nights to adequately keep his composure at the sight of so many people coming to see how Elle was doing.
Any conversation about her had him verging on tears these days, which wasn’t usual for a man who was normally in control of himself.
But he nodded shortly to Cadell’s statement.
“She is,” he said. “She is very ill. I am moved that you would take the time to come all the way to Brython to see to her health.”
Cadell quickly turned around, motioning frantically to someone, and the crowd parted to reveal a couple of men pulling a handcart. As the men came forward, Cadell turned to Curtis.
“You and the lady have been good to our village,” he said.
“Because Brython prospers, you have helped us to prosper, too. As I told your great father, the lady spends money in the village with as many merchants as she can. She spends it until she has no more. She leaves money at the church so they can give alms to the poor. I do not know if you have realized that. Her prosperity has been our prosperity, and her happiness is reflected in her actions. It is because of you, my lord. Marrying her has changed our lives, too.”
By the time he was finished, Curtis was choked with emotion. He could only nod his head, blinking back tears, as the men with the handcart came to a halt and Cadell reached into the cart to display the contents.
“I have brought the lady many loaves of honey bread,” he said, holding up a loaf. “We have brought her baked eggs and currant buns and pies with honey and apples. We have brought baskets of food for her.”
Curtis was stunned. He went over to the handcart to look at all of the treats, and a woman approached him with folded blue material in her hands.
“For your wife, my lord,” she said, extending it to Curtis. “It will keep her warm.”
Curtis took it from her because he didn’t know what else to do.
She was kindly offering it to Elle, so he took it.
Before he could thank her, other people came forward, handing him things, mostly articles of clothing or blankets, telling him that they were meant for Elle and wishing her a swift recovery.
A man, evidently a blacksmith, handed him a metal bracelet that he had made.
It was simple and strong. Curtis took all of these things, completely in awe that so many people thought so well of his wife.
And it touched him more deeply than he could express.
“I will make sure she knows who brought these things to her,” he said sincerely. “Please tell me your names. I will not forget them. But she will want to know who to thank.”