Curtis had a grin on his face with what could be construed as slander toward his eldest sister, and Gruffydd shot him a long look. “You have a troubled sister, too?”
Curtis shook his head. “She’s no trouble, at least not these days,” he said. “But confidentially, she was a spy, too, years ago.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. She’s as fearsome as her husband, I think.”
Gruffydd shook his head, returning his attention to the land below. “You English are full of trouble,” he said. “Who else has come?”
Curtis pointed. “The red and white standards are of Caius d’Avignon of Hawkstone Castle,” he said. “Another former spy of William Marshal’s. They used to call the man the Britannia Viper in the Levant. And the group to his right with the crimson standard is none other than the Earl of Wrexham, Tristan deRoyans. Yet another agent of William Marshal, not to mention the bastard son of Henry the Second.”
Gruffydd frowned. “Sounds like a powerful man.”
“He is,” Curtis said. Then he squinted off to the southwest. “See that standard of red and black and white? Out there?”
Gruffydd had to lift his head to see it. “Aye,” he said. “I think so. Who is that?”
“That is the husband of Ajax de Velt’s eldest daughter,” Curtis replied. “De Velt has several border properties, castles he acquired through a good deal of blood and mayhem many years ago. Bretton de Llion married Jax’s eldest daughter, and he commands the properties for Cole de Velt, who inherited his father’s empire. I’ve not seen Bretton in many years, so I’m glad he has come. My father and Jax de Velt were close friends.”
“De Velt,” Gruffydd said with some distaste. “I remember the stories about him. My father used to speak of the terror that man brought with him wherever he went.”
“Very true.”
“And your father was his friend?”
“Indeed, he was.”
“Are your friends all made up of spies and killers?”
Curtis laughed. “It would seem like that,” he said. “But there are other warlords camped out there, lesser warlords, who don’t have such terrifying reputations. I will introduce you to those men as they enter the hall, but for now, you know the major lords. These are men who have shaped the history of England, my father included. They are great men, all of them.”
Gruffydd could hear the reverence in Curtis’ tone. “And you grew up with them.”
“I did,” Curtis said. “I grew up surrounded by giants. I can only hope that some of that greatness has rubbed off on me.”
Gruffydd turned away from the edge of the wall. “Your command of Brython will be exemplary,” he said. “You will makea name for yourself, I am certain. But when do you intend to invite Welsh warlords to feast?”
They headed for the tower with stairs that led down to the bailey. “That is an excellent question,” Curtis said. “The answer is soon. What I did not want is to invite many to this gathering with a host of English warlords. I think something like that, even in a social setting, would be a recipe for disaster. One spark and the entire thing would go up like kindling. I must ease the Welsh into the idea of an English knight being in charge of such a legendary castle. Already, I am certain they do not like that I have a castle that holds such significance for them.”
Gruffydd took the stairs first. “You mean the portal to the Otherworld?”
“Exactly.”
“Have you looked for it yet?”
“I have,” Curtis said. “Ellie says it is under a pond down in the vault.”
Gruffydd shook his head. “I do not think that is where it is.”
“Why not?”
“Because that means the Otherworld would be flooded,” he said. “No one can get to the entry if it is buried underwater.”
“Then where do you think it is?”
They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Gruffydd looked at him, smiling. “Beneath the stable.”
Curtis’ eyebrows lifted. “What?” he said, incredulous. “Why do you say that?”
