He was referring to his brother Rhys, of course, but he was not prepared to divulge that information, too. It would have been too much for Berwyn to take. As it was, the old man was struggling.
“Nay,” Berwyn said again, more firmly. “It isnotBretton.”
Rod wasn’t surprised at the denial. In fact, he was oddly relieved by it. At least Berwyn wasn’t demanding his horse so he could ride to Cloryn and see for himself if his grandson hadindeed returned. Maybe he would, eventually, but for now, he was in utter denial. Not that Rod blamed him.
“Mayhap,” he said softly, still holding fast to Berwyn. “In any case, there is a mercenary army running amuck on the Marches and we must be vigilant. De Lohr suggested we move south to Whitebrook until the threat has passed. He is very concerned should this mercenary move on Bronllys.”
Berwyn was gripping his grandson as he stared at the ground. There were a million thoughts rolling through his mind but mostly, he was struggling against bone-numbing grief, the same grief he had experienced when his son had been killed. He was feeling it again, now for the grandson he had lost. Someone was playing a horrible trick on all of them. Along with that grief came rage.
“Nay,” he said yet again, lifting his head to look at Rod. “I do not know who this… thisbastardis who poses as my dead grandson, but I will find him and I will kill him, do you hear? He will pay for defiling the de Llion name. Are we now to be held in the same contempt as the name of de Velt because of the death and destruction he is committing along the Marches? I will not stand for it!”
Rod shook his head firmly. “You cannot do anything about it, at least not now,” he said. “To ride to confront the man will only see you killed and I am not prepared to lose my grandfather so soon after losing my brother. Would you really do that to me? You will calm yourself, Papa. Go up to your chamber and remain there until you have calmed. I will send the physic up with a draught for your nerves.”
Berwyn didn’t want any part of Rod’s mothering. “Nay, I willnot,” he said loudly. “I do not wish to rest. I wish to wrap my hands around the demon that falsely uses my name!”
Rod watched his grandfather pull away from him as he began to pace angrily. He had already said everything he could to calmthe man so perhaps the only other alternative was to distract him. He was willing to try.
“What do you remember of de Velt’s conquest on the Marches those years ago?” he asked, hoping Berwyn would follow his lead. “Whatever this mercenary commander is doing, it seems to emulate de Velt in every way. Did he come this far south?”
Berwyn was still raging about the imposter. “He took Comen Castle and Erwood Castle,” he said angrily. “You know where those castles are, Rod. They are each about a half day’s ride from here. He came very close to Bronllys but he did not try to take us. Let this imposter come now! I want to see his face!”
Berwyn went off on a rant about how he would tear the man limb from limb if he ever got ahold of him. Rod stood there and watched him, knowing the old man meant every word. Even at his advanced age, he was still formidable on the field of battle. Berwyn didn’t get worked up very often but when he did, it was often unstoppable. Therefore, he simply stood back for a few moments and let the man work through his fury. All the while, Rod kept thinking about the mercenary army and their mimicry of Jax de Velt. As his grandfather raged, he began to recount some of the factors that he and de Lohr had discussed. They were factors that would interest Berwyn.
“If this mercenary army is indeed emulating Jax de Velt, then there is less of a chance they will come to Bronllys,” he said. “However, they may very well move on Erwood and Comen. We will be able to smell the destruction from here.”
Berwyn was muttering to himself, still pacing about, but he stopped when Rod’s words sank in.
“That is true,” he agreed. “We will have to make sure the castle is locked up. We will have to bring the villeins into the fold. It would not be safe to leave the villagers without protection.”
Rod dared to move towards the old man who seemed to be calming somewhat. “Mayhap you should ride to the village and speak with them,” he said, hoping it would deter the man from his outrage and focus him on something constructive. “We must tell them to be on their guard should the mercenaries make it this far south.”
Berwyn nodded. “That would be wise.”
“Would you like for me to go with you?”
Berwyn was weary now that the explosion of rage had eased from a roaring fire to a simmer. He was sweating and pale, but at least he was sufficiently calming. The storm had passed, for the moment.
“Nay,” he shook his head. “You have traveled all day. You must rest. This is something I will do alone. I will go and speak with the priests so they can help spread the word.”
Rod didn’t push. He was glad that his grandfather was focused on something other than the imposter using the de Llion name. Now, the man was focused on the small village that was near the castle. There was a good working relationship between the two, something Berwyn had cultivated for many years.
“Very well,” Rod said, watching his grandfather head for the exit of the great hall. “Are you sure you will be well?”
Berwyn nodded unsteadily, like a man who had too much on his mind. “Well enough,” he said, pausing by the door to look at his grandson. “What you have told me… you have not told anyone else, have you?”
Rod shook his head. “Who else would I tell?”
“Orlaith.”
Rod cocked his head, pursing his lips reproachfully. “I would tell my mother before I told you?” he asked in a tone that suggested it was a ridiculous question. “Of course I have not told her. I have not even seen her. She is at Whitebrook and it would have taken me at least four days to get there. Until we canconfirm any of this, I see no reason to tell her that her nephew may be alive.”
Berwyn wagged his head back and forth. “There is no reason for her to know in any case,” he said. “Your mother was quite attached to her brother. His death saddened her greatly, as did the passing of his family. There is no need for her to know anything.”
With that, Berwyn quit the hall to go about his business, leaving Rod behind to ponder that very statement.There is no need for her to know anything. But what if it was true and Bretton had returned as a hated mercenary? If that was truly the case, then he had to agree with his grandfather–it would be better for his mother to not know at all.
Still… he had to wonder if they would ever know the truth. Maybe Brettonhadreturned. If that was what had happened, then he had to wonder why the man hadn’t contacted them. He had been asking himself that question since nearly the moment de Lohr revealed the name behind the mercenary army. Surely Bretton remembered his family. If he remembered Jax de Velt and the havoc the man wrought, then surely he would remember those who loved him from his childhood. Surely he remembered that he had family here on the Marches.
There was only one way to find out.
