Chapter Twelve #2
As Bhrodi reached his table, the first thing he noticed were the two missives, reminding him of the pressing matters weighing upon him.
He was aware that he had to tell Penelope what he knew, but he honestly wasn’t sure where to begin.
Reaching down, he picked up the missive from Howell.
Perhaps it was best to start with that one before leading into de Lohr’s.
“In truth, I am glad you are here,” he said. “There is something I must discuss with you.”
Penelope looked up from her cheese. “Oh? What is it?”
He held up Howell’s yellowed vellum. “Do you remember the missive I received from Howell last month?”
Penelope nodded. “I do,” she said. “He asked for your support in some rebellion. You are planning on taking your army into the south because of it.”
Bhrodi looked at the vellum as he set it back to the table. “I should have already left,” he said. “He asked for my support weeks ago.”
“Then why have you not gone?”
He sighed faintly and sat down. “I am not entirely sure,” he said.
“Howell mentioned the rising rebellion, and Rhys ap Maredudd’s plan to starve out Pembroke.
But he also mentioned some man I have never heard of who is claiming to be the bastard son of Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, the last prince of Wales. Do you recall?”
Again, Penelope nodded. “I think so,” she said. “What about him?”
That was the question he had been looking for, a way to tell her everything in a normal conversation rather than dump the information on her in a dramatic burst. This news was so shocking that it wasn’t something he could just come out with.
In truth, he was genuinely fearful for her reaction.
With that on his mind, he rose from his chair.
“Interesting that you should ask that question,” he said.
“You know that there is always some fool claiming to be a Welsh prince and trying to drive rebellion, so mayhap that is why I have not been so quick to move on this. I cannot support every man that claims he is Welsh royalty, so I have been waiting to see how this new rebellion takes root. Will it grow? Or will it die? I have been waiting to see, I suppose, because the name Blayth the Strong means nothing to me. But then, yesterday, I received a missive from Chris de Lohr. His son, Rees, brought it. Did you see him sleeping in the hall?”
The light of recognition went on in Penelope’s eyes. “Is that who that is?” she asked. “He is crammed into a corner near the hearth, with dogs all around him. I did not recognize him.”
Bhrodi grinned. “Aye, that is Rees,” he said. “His father has some interesting things to say about the rebellion rising in the south.”
Penelope was interested. “Oh?” she said. “Has he been attacked?”
“Not yet.”
“Then what does he say?”
Here it comes, Bhrodi thought. He was trying desperately to be tactful.
“Do you know a knight by the name of Corbett Payton-Forrester?” he asked.
Penelope immediately nodded. “I do,” she said. “His family is close to our family.”
“How well do you know him?”
She shrugged. “Well enough,” she said. “He is older, so he and my older brothers were great friends. He and his brothers would come to our home frequently.”
“Then he would know all of your brothers well?” Bhrodi ventured. “Scott? Troy? Patrick? James?”
Penelope nodded her head. “Aye, of course,” she said. “Why do you ask? What is this all about?”
Bhrodi paused a moment, considering how to continue.
“Payton-Forrester was a garrison commander at one of the castles that the Welsh overran,” he said.
“He was kept prisoner for a while before being released. He returned to de Lohr with a message from the rebellion, but he also returned with some… news.”
“What news?”
With a sigh, Bhrodi reached out and took his wife’s hand, caressing it. “Payton-Forrester came into contact with this man calling himself Blayth the Strong, the same man mentioned in Howell’s missive,” he said. “He swore to de Lohr that Blayth the Strong is, in fact, your brother, James.”
Penelope stared at him. For a moment, she didn’t react. But the seconds ticked away and as his words sank in, her eyes suddenly widened.
“What?” she hissed. “That is not possible!”
Bhrodi let go of her hand and reached over his table, picking up the missive and handing to her.
He didn’t say a word as she snatched it from him and started reading it, greedily, and when she came to the part about her brother, she gasped.
Bhrodi couldn’t tell whether it was a gasp of horror or one of delight, but he suspected the former.
Her hands began to shake as she read the missive again before finally handing it back to her husband.
Bhrodi took the missive from her, watching her face, noting that she looked rather pale and sick.
“Caria?” he asked softly. “Speak to me. What are you thinking?”
Penelope didn’t know what she was thinking, only that she was swimming in the vast and unsteady sea of disbelief.
“I… I do not know,” she finally said. “God, Bhrodi, I do not know. It cannot be true!
He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Would Payton-Forrester have made such a mistake?”
Penelope was struggling to keep her composure. “I would hope not,” she said. “But I cannot say for certain. With something as serious as this, I would sincerely hope not.”
Bhrodi stroked her shoulder. “As would I,” he said. “If he knows your family well, then he knows your brother was killed at Llandeilo. Was he, in fact, at Llandeilo when James was lost?”
She lifted her slender shoulders. “I do not think so,” she said, “but you were.”
Bhrodi nodded, resisting the urge to hang his head.
He had, indeed, been present at Llandeilo when James had been killed.
It was something he’d had to reconcile with William and the rest of the House of de Wolfe, and no one had ever suggested he was accountable for James’ death.
It was simply a battle, like any other, and it had been well before Bhrodi and Penelope had married, before they had all become family.
In fact, it wasn’t even something that was even discussed any longer so he knew that Penelope bringing it up wasn’t a malicious attempt. It was simply fact.
He had been there.
“I was,” he said quietly, “but you know I was tied up with Gloucester’s army. I never once saw the de Wolfe army until the end, when they were retreating. I had my own problems at that time, so I never saw the de Wolfe dead or wounded.”
Penelope knew that. “I suppose the point I was making was that my father and brothers were forced to retreat,” she said, pain in her eyes.
“Papa held James as long as he could before my brothers forced him away. He said that Uncle Kieran tried to pick James up and carry him, but that he, too, was forced to drop him. I’ve always said that Papa never got over James’ death, but the truth was that it wasn’t just his death.
It was the fact that he had to leave him behind.
He did not have a body to bring to my mother or to Rose, James’ wife. And with no body…”
Bhrodi was aware of the point she was making. No body, no confirmed death, so it was entirely possible that James had survived.
“I cannot say that I would ever get over having to leave my son behind on the battlefield,” he said.
“I do not know who fought against de Wolfe at Llandeilo and I do not know what would have become of your brother’s body.
You have never asked me to find out, but it seems now as if there is some question as to whether or not the man was even killed.
You said that Payton-Forrester knew James well.
If so, then surely he would know the man on sight.
He would know if Blayth the Strong was, in fact, your brother. ”
Penelope was so overwhelmed with the thought that she could hardly think straight.
“Oh… Bhrodi,” she finally breathed. There was anguish in her voice as her carefully held composure began to crack.
“I suppose it is possible that he did not die, since we never had his body to bury. My God… what if James did not die? What if Papa left him behind and he lived? Do you know how that will tear my father apart?”
She was starting to cry now. Bhrodi took a knee beside her chair and put his arm around her shoulders to comfort her.
“Chris has asked that I come to Lioncross Abbey,” he said softly.
“He feels that it is important enough to discuss it face to face, and I agree. We must discover the truth about Blayth the Strong, one way or the other, because the man is feeding a rising rebellion against the English.”
Penelope looked at him, tears spilling down her cheeks. “But what if it really is James?”
He kissed her on the forehead. “I swear to you that I will find out,” he said. “But until I do, you must not tell your father. There is no sense in worrying the man if there is nothing to worry over. At least, not yet.”
Penelope wasn’t really listening to him because she was lost in a maelstrom of her own fear and speculation.
“If it is my brother, why has he not come home?” she wept.
“Why did he stay in Wales? Does he think we do not love him? Bhrodi – what if he thinks we do not love him because Papa left him behind?”
It was such a tragic thought, one that upset her deeply, and Bhrodi put his arms around her. He felt so very badly for her sorrow.
“There is no use in fretting until we can confirm the truth,” he said again. “Once we know if it is your brother or not, then you can ask your questions.”
She wiped at her wet face. She knew he was right, but she was so very upset by the entire circumstance. “When are you leaving?”
“Right away.”
“I am going with you.”
Bhrodi knew she might say something like that. “Nay, caria,” he said firmly. “You must stay with the boys.”