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“Glyn and Dyfan, go with Marshal Gwilym,” Rhys said. “Other guards will rush to the gate as soon as the alarm is given. It must remain closed. No warning is to reach the soldiers outside until we have control of the castle. Elis, we will need a chamber to hold the English soldiers. See if you can find one with a lock and key.” He turned to face the other fighters. “Divide into twos and search the castle from top to bottom. All prisoners are to be gathered in the inner ward until the carpenters have found us a holding room.”

The men scattered, and a shout sounded from atop the north tower. It was echoed on the battlements, and suddenly, the sound of running feet and clanging metal reverberated throughout the castle. The door to the garrison burst open, and four guards raced out.

“To your right, Berwyn,” Rhys yelled as an English soldier came at them, his sword raised. Berwyn swung around in time to parry the attack, and Rhys turned to face a second opponent. The English soldier was young. He lunged recklessly, and Rhys brought his blade up to block his thrust, using the momentum to knock the soldier off balance. He staggered sideways, and Rhys took a pass forward, the tip of his blade piercing the young man’s surcoat at his chest.

“Your life or confinement in the tower?” Rhys said, his gaze boring into the terrified soldier’s eyes.

The Englishman dropped his sword onto the cobblestones with a clatter.

“A wise choice,” Rhys said. He pointed to the center of the inner ward where Elis and his friends were at work binding the wrists of the Englishmen who had already surrendered. “Take your place.”

The skirmish was intense but mercifully brief as the soldiers in the guard tower and the garrison quickly capitulated. Those on duty on the battlements who had expected an attack from without were captured from within, and most were marched into the inner ward at the tip of a Welshman’s blade before they realized the castle was under attack.

Within the half hour, fifteen bewildered English soldiers sat in the center of the inner ward, their arms trussed. Two others lay dead; three were injured. Amongst the Welsh, there were no casualties, but four men had incurred significant wounds and were being cared for by the carpenters, who, by nature of their profession, had ample experience in tending to severe cuts.

The few servants who had not been allowed to attend mass had appeared from the kitchen and the stables and were standing in small clusters around the periphery of the inner ward.

“Be advised.” Rhys spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “Conwy Castle is now under Welsh control.” There was a small cheer, and Rhys fought back a smile. “King Henry and Owain, Prince of Wales, will be advised of this development shortly, and until we receive further direction, I would ask that you go back to your work.”

As though marking the change of leadership at the castle, the chapel bells in town began to peal. The ringing hovered in the air over the courtyard, drowning out the soft moans of the injured and the hushed voices of the wide-eyed servants. Knowing that the clarion sound also meant the end of the church service, Rhys handed a large key to Gwilym.

“Elis discovered a storage room at the base of the east tower with ample space for fifteen soldiers. Relocate the English there. Have the carpenters tend to the wounded English soldiers when they have finished with our men.” He paused. “And see if the servants know of somewhere we can place the dead.”

Gwilym took the key, and calling for the assistance of some of the Welshmen standing guard around the soldiers, he set off for the tower.

Rhys then approached Glyn. “I must be to the gate before the constable and his men arrive,” he said. “Have Berwyn go with you to the handcart. In the corner, you will find a flag. Take it to the top of the north turret and replace Henry’s colors with those of the Prince of Wales. Once the Welsh flag is visible for all to see, you may take down any other English banners still flying above this castle.”

Glyn grinned. “Yes, sir, Marshal Rhys.”

The church bells fell silent, and Rhys knew he must hurry. “Dyfan, to the gate, if you please. And bring with you four other men.”

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Rhys and his men had been gone for the best part of two hours, and Catrin had virtually worn a path in the damp grass from her pacing. From her position at the edge of the woodland outside town, she’d clearly heard the church bells ringing for the beginning of mass, and not long ago, their distant melody had floated on the air to mark the end of the service. And yet, there was still no sign from the castle.

She moved closer to Seren, leaning her head against his strong neck. “If something has happened to him, I don’t know that I shall be able to bear it, Seren.” Catrin’s chest hurt at the very thought of losing Rhys. They had both known that entering Conwy with a price on his head was a risk and that attempting to take over the castle placed him in even greater jeopardy, but if he wished to live life as a free man, there was no choice but to trap Henry at his own game.

She closed her eyes, desperately seeking additional courage and strength but not sure where it might be found.

“Catrin! I see it!” At Maredudd’s voice, she raised her head. His eyes were sparkling with excitement, and the strain that had been etched on his face only moments ago was miraculously gone. “Look at the north turret.”

She shaded her eyes against the light and strained to see the far tower. “The flag yet flies,” she said.

“Do you see its colors?”

Catrin’s heart began thumping uncomfortably fast. “There is no blue.” She swung around to face Maredudd. “I see no blue. Only gold and red.”

“Aye.” Maredudd was smiling widely. “Henry’s colors came down a moment ago. Owain’s gold and red lions replaced it.”

Catrin’s gasp was eclipsed by Emyr’s whoop of delight. “They did it!”

“I . . . I can hardly grasp it.” Tears were running down Catrin’s cheeks. “After this long wait . . .”

“Cymru am byth!” Emyr cried.

Maredudd laughed. “Well, it appears that my madcap brothers have accomplished what they set out to do, so mayhap we should attempt the same.”

“Yes.” Catrin wiped the moisture off her face, smiling at Emyr’s enthusiasm. “Now ’tis our turn.”