Christopher nodded, a grin on his lips, but he soon sobered. There was no more time for pleasantries as far as he was concerned. “I heard Powis and Montgomery mentioned as I came in the door,” he said, shifting the focus to the subject of Rod’s visit. “I would assume that Edward has told you about the missive from de Boulers?”
Rod sobered as well, reclaiming his seat as Christopher confiscated a chair near the hearth. “He has,” Rod said. “I have not heard of most of this, except we did hear about Cloryn Castle.”
Christopher eyed Edward. “Did you tell him everything?”
Edward shook his head. “Only of the pattern of destruction,” he said. “We did not discuss anything beyond that.”
Christopher grunted, collecting his thoughts for a moment. When he spoke, it was with the intrinsic seriousness of a man who had seen much death and destruction in life.
“Since Edward has told you the gist of what has gone on, I will come to the crux of it,” he said. “There is a mercenary army raiding through the mid-Marches following the pattern that Ajax de Velt set out twenty-five years ago when he blew through the Marches and confiscated six castles and burned countless others. I was not at Lioncross Abbey during that time and my wife, who grew up here, does not remember the fear of that time because she was too young, but I have spoken with local lords who well recall that terror. De Velt, as you know, was like nothing England or Wales had ever seen. The man was from the depths of Hell itself in both tactics and ferocity.”
Rod’s expression was very serious. “I know,” he said. “I remember it, too, simply because my mother’s brother was the garrison commander of Four Crosses Castle at the time. That isup north, towards Powis Castle, if you recall. I remember my grandfather, my mother’s father, speaking of de Velt impaling his son on a spike for all to see and leaving the man’s body at the entrance to the castle for about six months before they finally took him down and buried him. My uncle had a family as well, a wife and two children, but they were lost in the destruction. The entire family was killed and my grandfather still harbors the hatred and fear of that time. I have heard him speak of it.”
Christopher’s gaze lingered on the man, thoughts rolling through his sky-blue eyes as he looked steadily at Rod. He chose his next words carefully.
“There is now another army doing the same thing de Velt did,” he muttered. “Only this army has done something de Velt did not do– burn Alberbury Priory. But they did not burn it at random. They went there with a goal in mind.”
Rod was puzzled. “What goal?”
Christopher sighed heavily. “De Velt’s oldest daughter was there, a novice nun,” he said, his tone filled with dread. “This army took the girl and burned the priory, killing everyone inside. But they left one old nun alive to deliver a message, which was picked up by de Bouler’s men.”
Rod was completely shocked at the news. “God’s Beard,” he hissed. “What message could that be?”
Christopher glanced at Edward before continuing, as if the two of them held a great secret that was about to be unfurled.
“The army that took de Velt’s daughter is essentially inviting de Velt to come and get her,” he said. “It is a challenge, a summons, if you will. The army that took her has retreated to Cloryn Castle from what we are told and there they wait. Cloryn, as you recall, is an impenetrable fortress but they somehow managed to reclaim it and kill de Velt’s garrison commander in the process.”
Rod thought on that event, sighing heavily and scratching his dark head in thought. “De Velt’s commander had to be a very old man,” he said. “In fact, de Velt still controls five remaining castles along the northern Marches. All of de Velt’s commanders, at least the ones that originally confiscated the castles, must be quite old by now.”
Christopher nodded faintly. “Old indeed,” he agreed softly. “De Boulers and I have discussed such things in the past. He believes the original commanders are no longer in control and that second generation de Velt men hold the castles.”
“No one knows for sure?”
Christopher shook his head. “No one has approached those castles since they were originally taken,” he said. “It is well understood to give them a wide berth. Even the Welsh will not go near them, fearful of bringing down de Velt’s wrath.”
Rod pondered that information. “But someonehasapproached them now, or at least has approached Cloryn,” he said. “Whoever has done this obviously does not fear de Velt if he has taken the man’s daughter and now uses her for bait.”
Christopher had been mulling over just that fact for the past several days. He stroked his blond beard in thought. “This army… these men… are not from this land,” he said. “Rumor says they are from Ireland, but de Boulers says they are mercenaries of the worst degree, men who feed on money and blood. Their commander, however, does not have an Irish name. He gave his name to the old nun as Bretton de Llion.”
Rod stared at the man as his words sank deep. There was a very long and tense pause. But once realization dawned, Rod’s eyes widened and his mouth flew open. Before he realized it, he was on his feet.
“Brettonde Llion?” he repeated, shocked.
“Aye.”
“Are yousure?”
“Aye.”
“But that… that is not possible!”
Christopher remained calm. “Why not?”
Rod was seized with disbelief. “Because Bretton de Llion is the name of the lad who perished when Jax de Velt destroyed Four Crosses Castle and killed my mother’s brother,” he nearly shouted. “He was my mother’s brother’s son– my cousin!”
Christopher watched Rod, who had a naturally passionate nature, work himself up into a lather. “I thought he might be related to you,” he said evenly. “That is why I called you here– to see if you knew the name. I see that you do.”
“Of course I do!” Rod exclaimed. “It is the name of my dead cousin!”
