Medieval Master Warlords (62 page)

It made sense to the commanders and they were very pleased to see that Bretton’s sense of vengeance was still intact. They had feared, over the weeks, that Lady Allaston had somehow taken the edge off of it with her pleading. They were comforted to see that it was very much alive, that hatred that fed every move Bretton made.

It was mostly small talk after that, speaking on Erwood Castle and, the ultimate prize, Four Crosses Castle. Bretton sat with his men well into the night, telling stories and drinking, until Grayton and Teague finally fell asleep and he was only left with Dallan. The big Irish knight wandered over to the destroyed gatehouse, drunk, and Bretton didn’t see him after that.

So he left the fire, wandering among several other fires where his men were either still drinking or had fallen asleep after a most strenuous day. He made his way around Comen’s big keep to the kitchen yard in the back, near the stables, and he noticed as he moved into the yard that there were six soldiers stationed at the destroyed postern gate. That awareness made him shift course and he headed to the postern gate instead.

He sent all six soldiers away from the gate under orders to search the keep and see if they could find any bedding that the men in the bailey could use. He also told them they could keep anything of value they came across since the keep hadn’t been fully looted yet, which thrilled the guards and they readily did his bidding. They were also under instructions to return to him once they’d raided the keep, which they agreed to. When the six disappeared into the keep, Bretton made a break for the kitchen structure.

He found the old knight, the father, and the mother awake, each one of them holding a sleeping child. Indicating for them to remain silent, Bretton freed them from the kitchen and led them out into the dark night and to the postern gate, where he told them to flee and never return. He also told them that if they informed anyone of Bretton’s merciful gesture, that he would hunt them down and kill them, so it was best for them to keep their mouths shut on how they truly escaped Comen.

The mother and father were the first ones through the postern gate, down the narrow path that led to a wooded area below, but the old knight, holding his youngest granddaughter, was the last to go. He held Bretton’s gaze a moment, wondering why this conqueror, this killer, had spared his life, especially given that the old man had been with Jax de Velt during his campaign of terror. Old Ares was going to ask for the reasons behind the show of mercy but decided better of it. He simply thanked Bretton and fled after his son and daughter-in-law, down the shadowed path and into the darkness that signaled freedom. They didn’t have any weapons, money, food, or clothing, but they were alive and free, and that was all that mattered. Bretton stood there and watched them go, wondering if he had done the right thing. There was an odd lightness in his heart that told him he had.

I would ask you to show mercy.
In his own way, he had.

An hour later, when the six soldiers returned from raiding the keep, Bretton ordered them all into the kitchen structure, which he then closed and locked from the outside with an iron fire prong wedged against the door latch, preventing it from being opened. He then proceeded to burn the kitchen down with the six inside so that, in the morning, well after the hot cinders had reduced bone and flesh to mostly ash, all anyone was able to find of those who had been in the kitchen were small pieces of bone and teeth, and portions of six charred skulls.

It was enough to convince the commanders, and anyone else, that Bretton had burned the commander of Comen alive along with his aged father, one of de Velt’s original knights, the commander’s wife, and their three daughters. No one was the wiser to the truth, and no one would ever know the mercy Bretton showed that night.

Except for Allaston. Bretton meant that she should know.

℘

It was early morning at Comen Castle and the stench of smoke and burning bodies hung heavy in the moist morning air. It was just before sunrise when the sky was turning shades of dark blue and pink, and Bretton’s men were up and moving, preparing to return to Cloryn. Bretton himself hadn’t slept all night and was back in the kitchen yard, watching the kitchen smolder in ruins, leaving his commanders in the bailey to organize the men. Word had gotten around that he had burned one of de Velt’s knights in the kitchen blaze, so everyone assumed he was reconciling the death against his sense of vengeance. He was rightly lingering over a personal victory.

Grayton had already agreed to remain behind at Comen to oversee the rebuild, leaving Teague and Dallan to return with Bretton back to Cloryn. The four commanders would then be down to two, and those two would be taking charge of future castles on Bretton’s list of conquest. Still, all three had suffered through the strained relationship with Bretton as of late and Olivier, having been at Rhayder Castle since it had been taken over by Bretton, had not been aware of the fact that there was increasing distance between Bretton and his commanders. Therefore, the two that were remaining were the ones to deal with Bretton’s distraction with Lady Allaston.

She was the reason for the separation, the reason why the men weren’t entirely close with Bretton any longer. They had tried to reason with him about her, but it was clear the man was obsessed. Whether it was because she was de Velt’s daughter, or because he was simply infatuated with her, no one seemed to know. All they knew was that she seemed to have more power over him than they did, and no one liked that. Least of all Grayton.

As Bretton pondered over the smoldering kitchen, Grayton gathered Teague and Dallan. It was time for the three of them to discuss the future as they saw it, the future that Bretton had promised them. Even though they had conquered Comen Castle, as Bretton had promised, the future was uncertain. Mostly, to Grayton, it was not as he had envisioned.

In the burnt hall of Comen, the three commanders gathered. Amid the smoldering ruins and rubble, they remained out of sight as the men outside prepared to depart. Grayton backed Teague and Dallan into a corner, away from prying eyes and ears.

“You two are heading back to Cloryn Castle today,” Grayton said, his voice low. “I must remain here to see to the rebuild, which means I will not be able to keep an eye on Bretton. That is something you both must do. I fear… I fear that Bretton has lost his direction in all of this. I fear that we are on the verge of a change that none of us will appreciate.”

Dallan’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” he wanted to know. “Bretton has not lost his focus. He has done everything he said he would and we have the riches to prove it. You have been sour since the day de Velt’s daughter smacked Bretton over the skull, Grayton. Now you are being a doomsayer to things that do not exist.”

Grayton’s lips tightened into a flat, angry line. “I am closer to Bretton than anyone and I am telling you that the man is verging on a change,” he insisted. “I can see it in his manner, especially when he gets around that de Velt woman. She changes him. We have all seen it. She even convinced him to take down the impaled bodies at Cloryn and burn them. He told us that he intended to leave those bodies up for six months, yet she asked him to take them down and he did!”

That was an undeniable fact that had the commanders perplexed since it had happened, but Dallan eventually shook his head.

“It means nothing,” he insisted. “The stench was so bad that it was affecting everyone’s appetite. He took them down for that reason.”

“He took them down because she begged him to!” Grayton fired back. “But it will not end there, nay. I fear that she will convince him to go back on everything he has promised us. Do you not understand? That woman has bewitched him!”

Dallan sighed heavily, looking at Teague, who was the most level-headed out of the three. Teague didn’t cushion his opinion.

“You speak treason,” he said to Grayson. “I think Bretton is obsessed with the woman for the sheer fact that she is de Velt’s daughter. You seem to think she has hypnotized him so that he will only do her bidding. I do not see that happening.”

Grayson was flustered that the commanders were not on his side, not seeing what he was seeing. He jabbed a finger at them.

“Mark my words,” he said. “He will not kill de Velt because she will beg him not to. If that happens, I can guarantee that everything we have been promised will be for naught. He will go back on his word to us because of her.”

Teague shrugged his big shoulders. “If it comes to that, then we will deal with the situation accordingly,” he said. “I, for one, do not intend to allow de Llion to break his promise to me. I am well on my way to being a very rich man and I plan to be richer before this campaign is through. If Bretton does not provide me what he promised, then I will act accordingly, but not until, or if, that moment comes.”

Dallan was already heading out of the hall, moving for the door. When Grayton called to him, he waved the man off irritably. He didn’t want to hear his nonsense. As Teague turned to leave, Grayton grasped him by the arm.

“Listen to me, Teague,” he said. “I have seen what a woman can do to a man. A woman’s will can topple the mightiest of men, Bretton included. Watch and be wary… if she convinces him not to kill de Velt, the only thing that has kept him driven and has kept us rich, then everything shall crumble. Remember that.”

Teague just looked at him, eyeing the fingers on his arm until Grayton reluctantly removed them. Even as he left the ruins of the hall, Grayton’s words echoed in his mind as much as he didn’t want them to.

Watch to see if she convinces him not to kill de Velt….

Try as he might, Teague couldn’t seem to shake Grayton’s sense of foreboding.

℘

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Lioncross Abbey Castle

Nine days later, mid-August

“Comen has fallen,” Edward was standing in the doorway of Christopher’s solar. “There are some refugees streaming into the village, people who used to live at the base of Comen Castle. They said a massive army moved in almost six days ago, laid siege, and infiltrated Comen in two days. They further say that the conquering army has posted all of Comen’s inhabitants on poles, impaling them, leaving them exposed for all to see.”

Christopher had been sitting at his desk, as was usual with him these days, working on some documentation that would see him purchase a great deal of land in Devon, but with Edward’s news, he set the quill down and stared at the man with some shock.

“De Llion,” he muttered.

Edward nodded grimly. “It certainly sounds like him.”

Christopher sighed weakly, pondering the news. “Does de Velt know?”

Edward shook his head. “I do not believe so,” he said. “The man is back at his encampment. I will send someone to retrieve him.”

Christopher nodded. “Go yourself,” he said. “Bring him back here. We must discuss this.”

Edward nodded and was gone, rushing out to the bailey of Lioncross in order to collect his horse and ride for Jax’s encampment. As Edward went along his way, Christopher pondered the event of Comen’s siege. He’d sent the missive to Cloryn regarding terms for Lady Allaston de Velt’s release but the missive he’d received in response had been terse and to the point – produce Jax de Velt or his daughter would suffer.

That had been over a week ago and he’d sent another missive back to Cloryn, telling de Llion that he wanted to see if there was anything else to be done before they went to all-out war. Surely there was a way that would satisfy them all. Christopher had made it plain that he would provide support to de Velt in a military conflict, hoping that would give the mercenary cause to reflect on his demands, but so far, he’d received no reply and now he knew why. The mercenary had been laying Comen Castle to waste. The man was making a statement to de Lohr and to anyone else who would think to oppose him.

The lack of written response to de Lohr’s second missive was making Jax very nervous, too. Christopher had come to know the man a bit over the past few weeks. He was rather quiet, stoic, but brilliantly sharp and very humorous at times. Christopher and Jax had spent one night sitting before the fire, trying to out tell each other’s battle stories. Christopher’s knights, as well as Jax’s sons, had sat in on the fun and it had turned into an eye-opening experience for both sides. Christopher came to understand why Jax had done what he had done twenty-five years ago, how his father had set a grim example of greed and conquest, why he had set out to conquer a section of England and the Welsh Marches for himself, and why he had subsequently given it all up. He had given it up for love.

Edward, aware of the historical significance of such a conversation, had even written most of it down. When Christopher asked him why, Edward said that someday, someone would find it important. Christopher wasn’t entirely sure who, in the future, would care about battle stories, but Edward seemed to think it might mean something to someone, someday.

But the conversation with de Velt that night had indeed been enlightening for all concerned. Christopher also came to understand just how frantic de Velt was about regaining his daughter, which was why today’s news about Comen’s fall was not welcome news in the least. He knew it wouldn’t sit well with de Velt and it was very possible they were going to have to mount up and march into Wales to meet the mercenary head-on. In the end, it was very possible that de Velt was going to go to the mercenary, as de Llion had wanted. Perhaps favor was going to lean in the mercenary’s direction, after all.

Christopher was lost in thought as he approached the steps of the keep, only to glance up and see Rod and Berwyn standing there. The pair had arrived from Bronllys four days before and Christopher had done his best to avoid the old man, who was seriously wondering why he had been summoned to Lioncross and away from Bronllys during this time. More than that, Comen Castle was very close to Bronllys, and that was likely to make Berwyn very edgy when he found out Comen had been taken. When Christopher saw the two men, he spoke first as to not give old Berwyn the chance to speak and demand to know why he had been summoned.

“Good knights,” Christopher said as he approached them. “It seems we have some news. Let us go into the hall and speak of this over a pitcher of fine wine.”

Rod knew that Christopher had been avoiding his grandfather for days, too. They were trying to keep the man in the dark until John Morgan from Northumberland arrived, but every day that passed saw Berwyn growing increasingly impatient. In private, Christopher and Rod had spoken of John Morgan’s imminent arrival, which Christopher estimated would come at any day. At least, that was the hope.

It had been almost a month since he’d sent the missive to Northumberland, probably longer, so a man on a swift horse could make it from the Northumberland to the Marches in eleven or twelve days, depending on the road conditions. It was summer, and the summer had been relatively mild, so he was hoping good road conditions had provided for swift travel. Their entire plan was predicated on the arrival of John Morgan. It was an agonizing wait.

“I am eager for news, my lord,” Berwyn said as Christopher clapped a big hand on the old man’s shoulder, directing him into the keep. “I am eager to know why I have been summoned. I do not like to be gone from Bronllys overlong, you see. It is my home and I am an old man. I am most comfortable there.”

Christopher feigned hurt feelings. “Do you mean to tell me that you do not like Lioncross?”

Berwyn grinned. “I did not mean that at all,” he said. “Your wife is gracious and your children are well-behaved. Well, all except for your boys, but they are very young. They have not yet learned obedience.”

Christopher gave him a wry expression. “If they take after my wife as I suspect they do, then they will never learn it,” he said, watching the old man laugh. He eyed Rod over Berwyn’s head. “Rod, take your grandfather inside. I will join you in a moment. I must find Max and speak with him.”

Rod nodded and escorted his grandfather a few feet into the keep, but then he directed the old man to continue on into the hall as he ran back out to catch Christopher before the man could get away. He caught him at the bottom of the steps, just as the man was heading off into the dusty bailey.

“My lord,” Rod called quietly.

Christopher came to a halt, turning as Rod caught up to him. “Where is Berwyn?” Christopher wanted to know.

Rod threw a thumb in the direction of the keep. “I told him to go inside,” he said. “I wanted him out of earshot. What is this news you speak of? Is it something we need to be concerned with?”

Christopher’s sky-blue eyes were grim. “Comen Castle has fallen to de Llion,” he said quietly. “We have refugees flooding in from the countryside, telling tales of blood and terror.”

Rod sighed heavily. “Christ,” he muttered. “How many does that make now?”

Christopher lifted his eyebrows in thought. “Cloryn, Rhayder, and now Comen,” he said. “We think he also has Ithon because de Velt was sent the head of Ithon’s commander several weeks ago, prior to the abduction of his daughter. De Velt’s two remaining properties on the Marches are Erwood and Four Crosses.”

Rod winced. “Did de Velt tell you about the head?”

Christopher nodded. “He did,” he said. “He fears that more heads might be sent to Pelinom that he doesn’t know about. His commander at Pelinom has promised to send word if any arrived but, so far, we’ve received no confirmations.”

Rod shook his head in disgust. “Praise God for that,” he said. “Then I shall go into the keep and sit with my grandfather and await you. He will be very worried to hear of Comen Castle. It is only a day’s ride from Bronllys.”

Christopher knew that. “And it is less than a day’s ride from Lioncross,” he said quietly. “It is closer to me than it is to Bronllys and for that reason, I will have Max bring in de Velt’s army so we can house them in the bailey and seal up the castle. I am uncomfortable leaving everything wide open with a madman close by.”

Rod couldn’t disagree. He went inside to sit with his grandfather as Christopher continued out into the bailey, locating Max near the stables, and instructing the man to make preparations for housing de Velt’s army in Lioncross’ massive bailey. There was plenty of room for them and it was imperative he bring the men into the protective embrace of the castle. With no reply from de Llion to Christopher’s last missive, he couldn’t be sure what the man was thinking and he didn’t want to give him any opportunity to compromise Lioncross.

Orders given and men on the move, Christopher was heading back across the bailey towards the keep when he heard his sentries take up the call. He paused, cocking his head, listening to what was being said. Someone shouted down to him that an army was sighted to the northeast and, in a fit of great concern, Christopher mounted the battlements to where Jeffrey and several soldiers were watching the northeast horizon.

A black tide in the distance signifying men on the approach met with Christopher’s apprehensive scrutiny. Given the uncertainty of the Marches at this point, he had to assume the worst was approaching.

“Seal up the castle,” he told Jeffrey calmly. “Edward is to the north with de Velt and his army, but they are going to have to fend for themselves. I must make Lioncross secure.”

Jeffrey nodded swiftly and was on the move, bellowing to the soldiers to begin sealing up the keep. The massive gates of Lioncross and the equally large portcullis began to shift, preparing to move, as men ran about with great intensity. The fear in the air was palpable, given what happened to Comen, and Jeffrey made it down to the gates, rushing in any peasants that were running to the castle for protection. On the walls overhead, Christopher had two men who sounded big bronze
lurs
, like trumpets, in times of trouble, and the peal of the lurs could be heard for miles.

As the haunting notes blasted overhead, Christopher and several sentries were still trying to figure out who the approaching army was. Christopher assumed it was de Llion but he hoped he was wrong. As the army drew closer, banners could be seen waving in the breeze, although no one could make out the colors quite yet. The men standing around Christopher were straining to see, straining to make out anything they could about the approaching army. Christopher’s eyes weren’t what they used to be so he let the younger men make the call. When someone spouted out that the banners were black and green, a bolt of realization shot through Christopher. Running to the parapet, he yelled to Jeffrey down below.

“Kessler!” he boomed. “Send out a rider to the approaching army! They are bearing the black and green banners of de Poyer!”

De Poyer!
Word started to spread like wildfire as Jeffrey sent a young, skinny soldier out on a swift horse to make the confirmation. Christopher watched the soldier race off, thundering down the road that led off to the northwest to intercept the approaching army, and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d sent word to de Poyer what seemed like years ago but, in truth, it had only been weeks. Now, de Poyer had come and it looked as if he was bearing several hundred soldiers. His relief was palpable.

The halls of Lioncross would be filled with men of legend tonight.

℘

Lioncross had seen its share of important people within her walls, kings and great counselors included, but tonight was different. The men within the walls of Lioncross tonight were men of power, men who had shaped the course of a nation. They were soldiers at heart, born and bred for war.

Keller de Poyer was one of the premier knights of William Marshal, a man who could only be described as the consummate knight. He was a big, muscular man with massive hands, dark hair flecked with gray, and an awkward social manner when he wasn’t with people he knew and respected. He was also one of the most highly intelligent men ever to walk the earth, a razor-sharp mind that the Marshal had greatly depended on. Eight years ago, Keller had been awarded Nether Castle in Powys, Wales, for his dedicated service to the crown. He had married the Nether heiress and, at last count, had five children. For Keller, life had been very good and Christopher was happy for his friend.