Chapter Six #2
Augustus couldn’t disagree. The idea of trouble in the Marches again was not a pleasant thought.
“Very well,” he said. “I will prepare a rider if you wish to scribe the message. If the weather remains good and the rider is able to cover several miles a day, he should be able to deliver it in four or five days.”
“On your way, then. There is no time to waste.”
Augustus was about to go about his business when the solar door rattled.
Then, there was a loud and obnoxious knock.
Augustus had bolted the panel for privacy because the de Lohr sons seemed to have no respect for their father’s personal space, so he cast a long look at Chris and watched the man roll his eyes.
“Open it,” he said, flicking his wrist.
Fighting off a smile, Augustus went to the door and unbolted it, pulling the panel open only to find Morgen, Rees, and Dru de Lohr standing outside.
The three older brothers were fair and blond, a distinct de Lohr trait, and wasted no time pushing into the room.
They frowned at Augustus before turning their displeasure on their father.
“Are you whispering behind locked doors now, Father?” Morgen demanded. “What goes on in here?”
Chris lifted an eyebrow at his nosy son. “That is for me to know,” he said. “If I wanted you to be part of it, I would have invited you.”
Morgen pointed to Augustus. “So he gets to stay?”
Chris rolled his eyes again. “You act as if the man is not your best friend in the world.”
Morgan frowned at Augustus even though his father’s statement was true. “Not when he gets to have a private council with you and I do not.”
“Stop complaining, Morgen. You and your brothers will sit down and shut your mouths. I will tell you everything, but I do not appreciate your tone.”
Morgen was usually the calmer one and he was rather embarrassed to realized he’d come across rather whiny about the whole thing.
His brother, Rees, had seen Augustus usher in the two spies and had immediately run to his brothers to tell them what he’d seen.
The fact that his father had not invited him to what was evidently a secretive meeting had offended Morgen deeply, and the three brothers had been watching the solar door for the better part of an hour.
However, they knew better than to interrupt their father.
They weren’t so offended that they were ridiculously bold in what was clearly a private matter.
But they watched the two men leave their father’s solar and head for the kitchens, and then waited an appropriate amount of time to enter their father’s solar, only to discover that the door was locked.
Still, he wasn’t so disrespectful to his father that he didn’t realize that everything the man said was true – had he wanted him present, he would have sent for him. With an exasperated sigh, Morgen plopped down in one of his father’s fine leather chairs.
“Well?” he asked. “Why the secrecy? What is happening?”
“We were discussing a wife for you,” Augustus said, taunting the man on a sore subject. Like most young knights, Morgen did not feel he was ready for a wife, something his father poked him about mercilessly. “Were we not discussing such a thing, my lord? That woman from the tavern in the village.”
Chris was on to Augustus’ game. “Aye. That one. The one with the bulbous breasts and missing teeth.”
“Aye, that one.”
“Wait!” Morgan practically shouted. “That is not funny!”
Augustus was trying very hard not to grin. “Good Christ, Morg,” he said. “She owns the place. Think of the money!”
Chris nodded his head seriously. “Forget the money, lad. Think of the whores.”
Morgan looked at his father with his mouth hanging open. “I am going to tell Mother you said that.”
Chris broke down into gasps of laughter, as did Augustus.
“No need,” Chris said. “We were not really speaking of a wife for you, although it is something that is increasingly on my mind even if it is not on yours. We were speaking on information we have just received, news on a rising rebellion in Wales. It is possible we may have trouble in the future.”
Morgen calmed dramatically. All thoughts of a missing-tooth wife faded at the expression of concern on his father’s face. “Is it that bad?”
Chris shrugged. “It could be,” he said. “We are sending a missive to your cousin, Bhrodi, to see what the man knows.”
“May I take it to him, Father?” Rees asked. “I have a new horse that is very fast. I should like to give him his head and see just how fast and far he can go.”
Chris looked to his second eldest. “If you would like to,” he said. “If you are confident that your mount will not be exhausted after a day or two.”
Rees nodded eagerly. “He will not be,” he said, quickly moving for the door. “I shall go and prepare him now.”
As Rees rushed out, Chris opened the painted wooden box that contained vellum. His quill and ink were nearby and he pulled them closer as he thought on what he would say to Bhrodi.
“What of this rebellion, Father?” Morgen asked. “What have you been told?”
Chris paused, quill in hand, and looked at his son. “There are rumors that a bastard of Llywelyn the Last is rallying the Welsh to his side,” he said. “A man named Blayth the Strong. Three castles have already fallen to this rebellion and it is possible there will be more.”
Morgen’s brow furrowed with concern. “Blayth the Strong,” he repeated. “I’ve not heard of him.”
“Nor have I.”
“Doesn’t the word blayth mean wolf in the Welsh tongue?”
“It does, indeed.”
“Then there is a new Welsh prince rising?”
Chris’ expression darkened as he pondered the rise of a new Welsh prince. “Nay, lad,” he muttered. “There is a storm rising and we must be prepared.”
Rees departed Lioncross Abbey on his long-legged stallion within the hour, heading for northern Wales.