Chapter Twenty
Carmarthen Castle
“Papa, promise me that I can go with Asmara,” Fairynne begged. “You sent me home after Llandarog and it simply wasn’t fair. Why should I have to go home while Asmara is allowed to fight?”
It was the gathering of the great houses once again at Carmarthen Castle, with Howell calling forth those who had taken the castles of Idole, Gwendraith, and Llandarog because there was a new push coming, something he needed all of his men for.
It was the moment Morys had spoken of, and that had been planned for, and Cader was there, as was Fairynne, mostly because her father couldn’t keep her away.
She’d followed him – again – and now she stood next to him, as annoying as a gnat.
When she buzzed too much, he swatted her, which was what he did when she started begging him about being allowed to return to Gwendraith with her sister. Fairynne yelped and rubbed at her bum unhappily, but she shut her mouth. Swats from her father weren’t meant to be disobeyed.
As Fairynne stewed, Cader was keeping an eye out for his eldest daughter with the party from Gwendraith.
It was later in the afternoon, and most of the larger houses had already arrived, but Morys and the men from Gwendraith hadn’t yet appeared.
When the Brondeifi men from Lampeter arrived, men who had served directly with Rhys ap Maredudd, Cader decided to retreat into the great hall of Carmarthen where the men were starting to gather.
Howell was in the hall, as were his teulu, and at some point, the discussions would begin, if they hadn’t already.
Not wanting to miss anything, Cader headed for the gathering, but he was quite sure Morys would be very loud when he arrived and upset if the discussions started in earnest without him.
With Fairynne tagging after him, Cader entered the cold, dusty great hall and skirted the edges of it, making his way around the gathering groups and towards Howell, who was near the feasting table, in nearly the same place he’d been in the first big meeting they’d had those weeks ago.
The hall looked the same, only more run-down and dirty, and the broken feasting table was still broken. Even so, as Cader moved around the side of the hall, now holding Fairynne by the hand so she wouldn’t get separated from him, Howell climbed up onto the table and lifted his hands for silence.
“My friends, my allies, you honor me with your presence yet again,” he said. “We have much to discuss, so please quiet your conversations.”
The buzz in the hall died down as men began to turn in his direction.
Cader came to stand next to Hew, and the two men acknowledged each other silently before turning their attention to Howell, who seemed to be looking around the chamber as if counting heads.
In fact, that was exactly what he was doing, making sure everyone of importance was present, but he seemed rather confused.
When he noticed Cader standing below him, he spoke.
“Where is your brother?” he asked.
Cader shook his head. “I have been wondering the same thing,” he said. “I have not seen him in some time, but I am sure he will be here. He would not miss it.”
Howell knew that about Morys. If there was battle and glory to be had, he wanted to be in the middle of it. “Strange,” he said. “He should have been one of the first to arrive. He has known of this meeting for several days.”
“Gwendraith is not far from here,” Cader said. “Shall I send a rider?”
Howell looked to Hew. “Will you go?”
Hew didn’t want to leave the meeting, but as Howell’s teulu, he didn’t have much choice. If his lord needed him, then he would go.
“If you wish it, lord,” he said.
Howell nodded. “Be quick, then,” he said. “If you see Morys on the road, tell him to hurry. Everyone has gathered and he must not delay.”
Begrudgingly, Hew turned for the hall entry, very put out that he should have to go and hunt down Morys ap Macsen, a man he didn’t even like.
The man was arrogant and nasty. Several days ago, he’d come to Carmarthen to discuss this very meeting with Howell and he’d been quite pushy about it.
Hew was starting to think that Morys had a rebellion of his own in mind, something led by the man he claimed to be Llywelyn’s bastard, and they were thoughts he’d relayed to Howell, but the man didn’t seem too concerned about it.
Morys dreamt big but, in Howell’s opinion, much of it was just talk.
But he was still an important part of this rebellion and as Hew headed from the hall on the unhappy task of tracking Morys down, he ran headlong into two of Morys’ men as they entered the hall.
Aeddan and Pryce had arrived and Hew recognized them immediately. He went to the pair, curiosity in his expression.
“I am glad that Morys has arrived,” he said. “Howell has sent me to find him. Where is he?”
Aeddan looked at Hew, a man he had known for years but didn’t know particularly well. He stuck by Howell’s side and rarely ventured far from it.
“He is not here,” he said, his voice low. “I must speak with Howell immediately. It cannot wait.”
Hew sensed something urgent in his voice. He looked more closely at the man to see that he looked weary and strained.
“God,” he hissed. “What has happened?”
Aeddan simply shook his head, pushing through the crowd of men with his brother in tow, away from Hew, who began to follow. Aeddan pushed all the way to the broken feasting table and when Howell saw him, he recognized him.
“Ah,” he said. “Morys has arrived. Where is your lord?”
Aeddan saw Cader next to the table Howell was standing on.
The question had been asked and although Aeddan had hoped to tell Cader privately the fate of his brother, he knew that any delay would upset the entire meeting.
Men would be on edge, and rumors and speculation would run rampant if he were to take Cader aside.
Therefore, he knew he had to speak to all of them, as cruel or as harsh as it might seem, because he’d been planning for two days what he was going to say at this meeting.
It was the meeting Morys had spoken of, knowing this would be where they decided the details for the second wave of conquest. But now, Morys would no longer be part of those plans.
And Aeddan wasn’t sorry in the least.
He’d spent the past two days in turmoil, having his lord buried and hating the man with all his heart.
Everything he’d suspected about him had been true, about his lies and manipulation, and to realize that his faith in the man had been misplaced had been a bitter seed to swallow.
Aeddan’s father had served Morys, and he and Pryce owed the man a great deal, as they’d once told Asmara.
They’d often remained blind to Morys’ greed and conceit, but what happened two days ago at Gwendraith erased every bit of gratitude they’d ever felt for Morys.
In those brief few moments when Morys had challenged Blayth, they saw the man for what he truly was.
A devil.
Therefore, when Aeddan answered Howell’s question, he was looking at Cader.
“Lord,” he said steadily, “I regret to inform you that your brother, Morys, has been killed.”
A collective gasp went up, followed by dead silence. Cader’s expression didn’t seem to change much other than his eyes seemed to narrow in disbelief.
“What?” he finally hissed.
Howell came down from the table, putting a hand on Aeddan’s arm to force the man to look at him. “Is this true?” he gasped. “What happened?”
Now, the real story was about to unfold. Aeddan didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, no matter how much he despised the man, but he had to speak the truth. To a roomful of men who looked to Morys as a leader, they were about to receive a shock as to who Morys really was.
He braced himself.
“There is no way I can tell you what happened without telling you of everything surrounding his death,” he said. “I will tell you the truth from my own experience, and from what I was told by both Blayth and Asmara ap Cader.”
Cader’s features paled. “Asmara?” he repeated. “What does she have to do with my brother’s death?”
Aeddan could see that Cader was already quite upset and he tried to be careful in how he delivered the news. But no matter how careful he was, the end result would be the same.
Shock.
“I will tell you, great lord,” he said. “But first, you must know that what Morys told you of Blayth the Strong was a lie. He is not the bastard son of Llywelyn the Last. He is an English knight who was gravely wounded at Llandeilo. Morys saved his life, but only to use him. He fabricated his history, and his name, because Blayth did not remember who he was. He accepted what Morys told him because he did not know any differently, but Morys knew the truth. He was using Blayth to spur this rebellion so that he could seek the glory of it.”
Cader was ashen as he listened to what his brother had done. “My… God,” he whispered. “Is this true? Did he really do this?”
Where Aeddan was trying to be tactful, Pryce would not make that mistake. He hated Morys and he didn’t care who knew it.
“Of course he did,” he said loudly, angrily.
“He used Blayth and he lied to him, but that lie came to light when we took Gwendraith from the Saesneg because the garrison commander knew Blayth in his former life, when he was a Saesneg knight. He called Blayth by name, and Blayth asked Morys if it was true. Morys lied to him again. I do not know exactly what happened after that, but Morys finally told Blayth the truth of his origins and when Blayth tried to leave Gwendraith to seek answers of his past, Morys turned on him. He told the men that Blayth was really a Saesneg traitor and he tried to turn us all against him, but it did not work. Lady Asmara defended Blayth and Morys hated her for it.”