Chapter Seven
The process of rousting Gryffyn from the storage vaults hadn’t been an easy one.
Keller had taken all three of his knights and thirty of his men to accomplish the task. Entering the keep with his big numbers, he sent ten of his soldiers up to guard Chrystobel’s door while taking the rest with him to the storage vaults on the lower ground level of the keep.
It was dark and crowded in the vaults below and Keller decided the best method would be to drive the fox to the house, as it were, so he sent the knights down to begin the hunt.
Gladly, William, George, and Aimery descended the ladders with their broadswords in hand as Keller stood at the top of the ladder with his soldiers.
The knights began to beat on, tip over, or shake everything they came across, creating a huge racket.
The game that Gryffyn was so intent on playing was now turning against him as the group of angry Englishmen intended to make sport of him. At least, that was the hope.
As dawn began to appear on the eastern horizon, turning the sky shades of purple and pink, Keller’s knights wrought havoc in the storage vaults of Nether.
There were bales of cream-colored wool bound with rope that they plunged their broadswords into and barrels of barley that were opened and stirred with sharp weapons.
There were a great deal of stores and the knights were methodical, starting at one corner of the room and moving forward in a wave so as to drive Gryffyn out of his hiding place and to the ladder where Keller was waiting for him.
This went on steadily for an hour until it became apparent that Gryffyn was not in the storage vault. When William was finished with the last barrel of apples, he finally appeared at the base of the ladder, gazing up at Keller at the top.
“He is not here,” he said, sighing with some exhaustion. “Are you sure this is where she said to look for him?”
Keller nodded. “Aye,” he said, a creeping sense of displeasure coming over him. “Are you sure there are no alcoves or hidden rooms he could be in?”
William looked around the darkened storage area as George and Aimery continued to poke around. “Nothing,” he said. “Mayhap he left before we got here.”
Keller lifted his dark eyebrows in resignation. “That is possible.”
“That is the only explanation unless she lied to you.”
Keller shook his head. “I do not think so,” he said. “I will, however, question her again while you go speak with the father. See what Trevyn knows about his son.”
William leaned on the ladder, looking up at him. “He knew nothing when we questioned him earlier,” he said. “I am not sure a few hours will make a difference in what he knows.”
“It might,” Keller said. “Mayhap the son has left Nether altogether. Ask the father if the man has any friends or allies around here that would take him in.”
William nodded wearily, calling off the Ashby-Kidd twins as Keller made his way up to his wife’s bower only to be told by his soldiers that the woman and her sister were sleeping soundly, exhausted from the excitement of the night.
After a moment’s indecision, he left her to sleep and instead joined William to hunt out Trevyn.
In the briskly cold dawn of a new day, they found Trevyn in the great hall, breaking his fast in a cold room before a darkened, sooty hearth that had been dead for hours.
The hall smelled heavily of smoke and animals as Keller and William entered. Hungry dogs were clustered around Trevyn as the man picked apart cold meat and stale bread for his meal. He glanced up when the English knights approached.
“There are no servants to prepare a meal,” he said. “You still have them held captive in the bailey.”
He sounded somewhat disgruntled but Keller didn’t react to what could have been interpreted as a rebuke.
“Where is your son?” he asked, his voice a cold as steel.
“And do not tell me that you have no knowledge of his whereabouts. I believed you once but I will not believe you again because he appeared to Lady de Poyer a few hours ago, so he is indeed somewhere within these grounds. Tell me what you know or you will not like my reaction.”
Trevyn looked at him, his dark eyes dulled with age and fatigue. “What can I tell you?” he asked, perturbed. “My son does what he pleases, wherever he pleases. If he is not in his tower room or here in the hall, then he could be a thousand other places. I simply do not know.”
“You do not know or you will not tell us?” William asked, propping a big boot up on the bench and leaning on his knee.
He was exhausted and growing increasingly agitated with the fact that no one seemed to know where Gryffyn was hiding.
“He is your son, old man, and presumably under your control. Why does everyone around here act as if that bastard is the lord of Nether? That title would have formerly been held by you, in case you were not aware. Now you are subject to Sir Keller de Poyer, Lord Carnedd, premier knight of William Marshal, and Lord Protector of the King’s interest in Powys.
Whatever fear you hold for your son, it would be wise for you to fear de Poyer more.
Now, tell us where Gryffyn is so we can release the servants and finish with these foolish games. ”
Trevyn looked between de Poyer and Wellesbourne, his dark eyes circled and his features taut. Angrily, he slammed his bread and meat to the table.
“I told you before that I did not know where Gryffyn was and I will tell you the same thing now,” he said, frustrated. “The man has a mind of his own. I do not pretend to know it.”
Keller was watching Trevyn carefully. Unlike Chrystobel, the old man was a bit more adept at lying. He could tell, and the realization infuriated him.
“If you knew where he was, would you tell me?” he asked steadily.
Trevyn faltered. “Mayhap,” he said, averting his gaze and looking to his bread once more. “Mayhap not. What do you intend to do to him?”
Keller was finished interrogating the old man.
He had to make a point and his patience, usually limited even in the best of circumstances, was gone.
He reached down and ripped the bread from Trevyn’s hand, tossing it to the dogs.
When the old man swiped for the meat, Keller swept it completely off the table.
As it landed on the floor, the dogs had a grand feast. When Trevyn looked up at Keller, astonished, fearful and enraged, Keller met the aged gaze with an expression of complete control.
“Your son is an uncivilized brute,” he growled at the old man. “I have no idea how long he has been beating you and your daughters, but I tell you now that those days are finished. I am here now and Gryffyn will obey me or he will pay the consequences.”
Trevyn visibly paled. “Who told you such things?” he nearly choked. “Did Chrystobel tell you that he beat us?”
Keller was fighting down a righteous sense of fury. “She has not told me directly,” he said, “but I would have to be a fool not to have figured it out. Moreover, Gryffyn threatened to kill all of you if she did not murder me to prove her loyalty. What manner of beast have you raised, d’Einen?”
Trevyn was struggling. He had a difficult time maintaining eye contact, knowing de Poyer’s words were true but unable to acknowledge it.
Like his daughter, he had been living with it for so long that it was simply the way of things.
Now, he was being questioned about something he had no answer for.
It was too uncomfortable to admit that he’d lost control of his son long ago.
Shaking his head, he simply looked away.
“I do not know what you mean,” he muttered. “My son is strong and intelligent.”
“Your son is an animal,” Keller countered.
“If you do not help me locate him, then I cannot protect you against him. If you will not do it for yourself, at least do it for your daughters. I cannot believe that you, as their father, stand by while your son abuses them. Are you truly such a weakling?”
Trevyn’s head snapped to Keller, his mouth working as if he had something to say. It was evident by his expression that there was much anger, and much fear, in his heart.
“I agreed to William Marshal’s terms,” he said, “the crux of which did not give you permission to demean and insult me and my family. You know not of what you speak!”
Keller cocked a dark eyebrow. He was deliberately trying to provoke the man into an emotional confession, hoping they could glean information about Gryffyn from it.
“I am not sure how the truth can be considered demeaning,” he said. “Do you fear your son so much that you would do anything to protect him? What about protecting your daughters? Don’t they deserve your protection also?”
Trevyn hissed at him and tried to stand up, but William slammed the old man back down into his chair. Trevyn took a swipe at William, who easily dodged the strike. He rammed his hands down onto Trevyn’s shoulders, holding him fast as Keller leaned into his face.
“You are a weak and pathetic excuse for a father,” he hissed.
“You have two beautiful daughters and all you can do is allow your son to abuse them. You are a coward of a man, unworthy of the lovely women you have fathered. You are supposed to protect them, you fool, or are you too afraid to do it? You should have woman parts between your legs because you surely do not deserve to be called a man.”
Trevyn’s face was a deep, dull red and sweat beaded on his forehead in spite of the cool temperature of the room. “You do not understand!” he barked.
Keller slammed his big fists on the table, causing Trevyn to jump at the violent movement.
“Then explain it to me,” he demanded. “Explain to me why your daughters live in fear of their brother. Explain to me why you allow the man to do as he pleases. Explain to me all of this because as surely as I stand here, I cannot fathom a father’s failure to do his duty. ”