Devil's Dominion (5 page)

Rod’s eyebrows lifted. “
Irish
mercenaries on the Welsh Marches?” he spoke in disbelief. “Are we certain of this?”

“Nay, not entirely certain. It is only rumor.”

It was startling information. Rod grunted. His astonishment was evident. “We have heard of the siege of Cloryn Castle,” he said. “It is north of Bronllys Castle, about a two days’ ride, and we heard from a passing merchant that the castle had been taken but he did not know by whom. This is the first I have heard of a mercenary raiding party moving along the Marches and it is definitely the first I have heard of a priory being burned.”

Edward was shaking his head. “This is no ordinary raiding party,” he said softly. “There is a pattern to this madness, evidently. De Boulers has been watching it closely because most of the activity has been along his borders, but Cloryn is not that far from where we sit. Therefore, Chris is watching the activity closely as well. This not only affects Shropshire but it affects Hereford as well. Think about it, Rod; Cloryn Castle taken? Clun and Knighton raided? Sweeping onward towards Montgomery and Powis? Think on your history, man. We have seen this before. What does this say to you?”

Rod thought very hard on the question but before he could answer, the solar door opened and a massive man stepped into the room.

Christopher de Lohr, Lord Warden of the Marches, Earl of Hereford and Worcester, looked directly at Rod as he entered. A massive man with a crown of thick blond hair and a neatly trimmed blond beard, he indeed resembled a lion. His nickname during the time of Richard had been the Lion’s Claw because he had been Richard’s champion. Much of the politics of England during Richard’s reign had been directly attributed to de Lohr and his ability to hold the throne for a king who had spent very little time in England. Even now, as the man stood in the room, it was as if he had sucked all of the air out of it. One was left to gasp in awe. Men such as de Lohr were living legends.

“Rod,” Christopher said, greeting the man with an outstretched hand, which Rod rose to take in friendship. “The last time I saw you, it was in battle in the snow. You are looking considerably warmer.”

Rod shook his hand firmly before releasing it. “Thank you, my lord,” he said, eyeing Edward. “Mayhap I am warmer, but de Wolfe thinks I have only grown uglier. I will grant you that I am not as handsome as my brother was, but I suffer not when it comes to feminine attention.”

Christopher grinned, revealing straight, white teeth. “Edward has always been jealous of your beauty, so pay him no attention,” he teased. “The sons of Orlaith de Llion are beauteous lads, indeed.”

Rod laughed softly. “My mother is a beautiful woman, so that would stand to reason,” he said. “Although I believe my father might claim some credit, at least for me and my younger brother. We are de Titouan, after all. De Llion is only on my mother’s side and they tend to be a motley bunch.”

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 is up 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 youngest 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 someone
has
approached 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.

“Bretton
de Llion
?” he repeated, shocked.

“Aye.”

“Are you
sure?
”

“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!”

“Was his body ever found?”

Rod’s mind was wild with the possibilities. “Nay,” he said, dazed. “The castle was burned, the bodies burned. We only knew of my uncle because my grandfather never gave up hope that the man had survived and only found out well after the fact that he had not, nor had his family.”

Christopher glanced at Edward, who took up the cause. “It is possible that the lad escaped, Rod,” Edward said, taking the man’s attention off Christopher. “If there was no body, then there is no confirmed death. It is quite possible he has survived and has now returned for revenge against de Velt.”

Rod could hardly believe what he was hearing. He looked at Edward in utter and complete shock. “Are you suggesting that my cousin, whom we believed to have been murdered as a child by Ajax de Velt, has somehow come back to life?” Rod couldn’t decide if he was more startled or outraged by that thought. “It is pure madness, de Wolfe!”

“Stranger things have happened,” Christopher said softly. “You cannot discount anything. Certainly, the leader of this mercenary army could have assumed Bretton’s name, but why? To what purpose? And what man other than someone who has spent his entire life stewing over the death of his family at the hands of de Velt would have the drive and hatred to go on a rampage like this and seek revenge against the very man who destroyed his loved ones? It makes perfect sense.”

Rod was looking at Christopher with his mouth hanging open. Now that the initial shock and outrage had passed, he was clearly overwhelmed. In fact, he was weak with it. He plopped back into his chair and took his cup of wine, draining the entire thing.

“Oh, God,” he breathed, pouring himself another measure. “This is madness, all of it. To say that Bretton has returned and is seeking vengeance against de Velt… dear God, is it even possible?”

Christopher sat forward, his razor-sharp gaze drilling into Rod. “Sometimes the dead aren’t truly dead,” he said softly. “They
can
return.”

Rod returned the man’s stare, realizing in that moment that Christopher was speaking of his brother, Rhys. Rod didn’t know just how he knew that, but he did. He sensed it. Everyone believed Rhys to be dead even though he wasn’t. Somehow, someway, Christopher knew the truth. It was in his tone, his expression, and his words. Perhaps David had told him. It was the only explanation and Rod knew the man was in on their secret as surely as he was living and breathing.
De Lohr knows!

But this wasn’t about Rhys. It was about Bretton, and with that awareness, Christopher’s words came to make a great deal of sense.
Sometimes the dead aren’t truly dead
. Aye, anything was possible. The more Rod thought about it, the more he realized that de Lohr was correct. Anything
was
possible.

Oddly, that mindset seemed to calm him. The wave of hysteria had rolled over him, leaving still waters in its wake. Not completely calm, but still nonetheless. Rod looked at Christopher, choosing his words cautiously.

“Possibly,” he finally murmured. “But this is fantastic to say the least.”

Christopher held Rod’s gaze a moment longer before averting it as he rose from his chair. “Incredulous and amazing,” he agreed. “But it is not impossible. There would be no other reason for the leader of the mercenary army to give the name of Bretton de Llion if he was, in fact, not Bretton. Why would he? It would serve no purpose. In my experience, the man gave his name because he wanted to be known. He wanted de Velt to know that one of his former victims was back to seek vengeance.”

It made perfect sense. Rod, however, was still reeling. He drank the last of the wine in his cup, struggling to come to terms with what he had been told. He looked up at Christopher as the man moved to pour himself some wine.

“Then why am I here?” Rod asked. “What would you have of me?”

Christopher poured rich, red wine into an earthenware cup. “I wanted you to know the contents of Shropshire’s missive,” he said quietly, turning to face Rod with cup in hand. “I truly have no idea what is happening near my borders but it bears watching. My greatest concern at this point is that de Velt will respond to the challenge and if that occurs, we may once again be facing a horrendous bloodbath along the Marches greater than anything we have ever seen. De Velt is not dead. The man lives in Northumberland and he has, over the years, been quite generous in making restitution to those he wronged. He has donated heavily to several priories, Alberbury being one of them, and he holds a portion of the Scots border for King John. The Scots are not foolish enough to cross the border that de Velt defends. Bear in mind that, as I say this, de Velt still has a big army and I am quite sure this abduction of his daughter will not go unanswered. That is my greatest fear because if de Velt moves into Shropshire’s lands, and consequently my lands, I will be forced to answer. I do not want to be sucked into a war against de Velt.”