Heart's War (Heart and Soul) (20 page)

August 1282

Brynmor realized one problem as a result of his lords growing more comfortable in his alliance with Longshanks. With their gates open and the roads reasonably safe, the lords felt more comfortable bringing cause before his court. This was one responsibility he disliked intensely. He knew many resented the son of a freeman farmer handing down judgments. Fortunately, Welsh law minimized the court system, but Brynmor knew he had to prepare his holdings for the advent of English law looming on the horizon.

Petran
informed him that he had received several petitions, and Brynmor knew he had little choice. Now with the refugee situation under control, at least he could once again hold court in his great hall. He told Petran to set a date and inform his lords.

The morning dawn
ed bright and promised to be warm. Brynmor and Rose, wearing the trappings of their stations, entered the hall. Brynmor’s nobles bowed as they passed and moved to their seats. The tables had once again been moved and only their chairs sat on the dais. Brynmor escorted Rose to hers, then took his place, his expression grim. He nodded to his steward.

Petran held a scroll and announced a surprising number of names
—all of the lords who governed Brynmor’s holdings directly. The lands were not theirs granted in fief, but they managed them in his stead.

The lords stepped forward in a group and bowed.

“The lords humbly petition your court,” Petran said, “for assistance in defending against unexpected raids.”

“Raids?” Brynmor asked, a frown creasing his brow.

“Aye,” Lord Knighton said. “Welsh raiders are targeting our crops and stores.”

Anger rose within him and he battled it back. “And what have you done to stop these raids?”

“Nothing, my lord.”

“Nothing?” he asked, arching an eyebrow
, but Rose’s fingers tightened on his hand. She recognized the tone of his voice even if these fools didn’t.

“My lord,” Knighton said as if stunned
, “these are Welshmen.”

“These are Welsh thieves,” Brynmor growled. “Petran, have our scouts reported any information?”

“Aye, my lord,” Petran replied. “They just returned with word that it is Owain again.”

A low growl rumbled through him and he leaned forward in his chair. “Each and every one of you
is paid well to govern holdings with good resources. My personal holdings. You have the troops, supplies, and money needed already. If you cannot stop these raids, if you cannot defend my crops and my stores, then I will find someone who can. You have a sennight. If the raids continue after that, I will replace you. Do you understand me?”

Knighton’s face paled
, as did the faces of the others standing with him. He opened his mouth as if to reply.

“You are dismissed,” Brynmor snapped. He glared at Knighton
, who finally nodded and bowed. The other lords also bowed and quickly moved away.

Brynmor motioned to Petran who leaned closer. “Have the scouts keep an eye on them. They will either stop these raids or steal from my coffers. If they attempt the latter, I want them
arrested.”

“Understood, my lord,” Petran said.

He straightened in his seat and felt Rose’s fingers tighten on his again. He glanced at her and saw her fighting back a smile. His foul mood eased considerably at the mirth sparkling in her blue eyes.

Petran called two more names
. Brynmor sighed heavily. Now it came time to listen to the petty squabbles of his lords, those who held lands in fief. This was a finer line to walk, as Welsh law did not recognize the fiefdom as English law did, and was one reason why the Welsh now rose against Longshanks. But Brynmor knew with his marriage and alliance it was time to gradually start moving Powys closer to English law.

As he waited for the two lords to take their places before him
, he lifted Rose’s hand to his lips and kissed it. She smiled at him, and he hoped her gentle influence would keep his temper in check this day.

Hours later, with a headache throbbing between his temples, Brynmor handed down a judgment and dismissed the last two who had petitioned his court. A servant refilled his cup of wine and he drank deeply, then stood, holding Rose’s hand as she moved with him. He rolled his shoulders, his body aching from sitting in the hard chair for so long. Petran made sure the writs were given to those who needed them
and that they left the great hall. At least Brynmor had managed to finish the court by afternoon. Powys castle was not yet recovered enough to feed them all.

“I am glad that’s over with,” Rose said.

“Aye,” he replied and removed the coronet from his brow.

She stepped closer to him and wrapped her arm firmly around his. “I almost laughed aloud at the look on your lord
s’ faces when you told them you would replace them if they couldn’t deal with the raids.”

He chuckled softly. “I was worried you may find me harsh.”

“Nay, Bryn. Remember, Mother told me why she did not wish to return to Powys. I know you must be stern at times and I also thought you were very fair. It is their duty to defend your holdings.”

A sentry’s cry resounded and Brynmor looked to a nearby loophole. “
Longshanks’s herald,” he said.

Rose sighed softly and held out her hand.

“What?” Brynmor asked in confusion.

“Your coronet. Give it to me, unless you want to go out there with it on.”

He laughed softly and handed it to her. “Nay, it will only make my headache worse. Thank you, little one,” he said and kissed her cheek before striding for the door.

Brynmor descended from the keep’s stairs and greeted the herald as he rode through the gates on the same horse Brynmor had sold to him. He laughed as the horse lifted his head and whinnied to the others in the stables. Answering neighs sounded back.

“How is he working for you?” Brynmor asked, patting the horse’s neck as the herald dismounted.

“Very well, my lord,” the herald said and also chuckled. “Although I am here so much I believe he still thinks this is his home.”

Brynmor gestured toward the keep. “Would you like to come in?”

“Aye, I have news for you that not all should hear.”

“Very well, my study
, then.” They entered his keep and Brynmor called for refreshment to be brought to his study and led the herald to it without breaking stride. He settled in a comfortable chair, and a few minutes later Rose entered with a tray.

“Lady Powys,” the herald said. “How very nice to see you again.”

“Herald,” she replied with a nod and sat the tray before them. “Will you need anything else?” she asked Brynmor.

“Nay, my sweet, thank you.”

She nodded and stepped out the door, closing it behind her.

The herald helped himself to some bread and cheese. “It is good to see Powys no
t so overwhelmed with refugees.”

“Aye, but we are still struggling to recover our supplies.”

The herald nodded. “I’m afraid my news will make things even more difficult. King Edward has instructed me to inform you he is moving his armies in concert. He has just taken Rhuddlan and the constable of Gascony, Luke de Tany, has succeeded in taking the island of Anglesey. De Tany now prepares troops to cross the straits.”

Brynmor blinked at him in surprise. “Then Llywelyn has lost his court in Aberffraw.”

“Aye, Llywelyn headed south out of Snowdonia. He attacked Ceredigion and nearly destroyed it. Pembroke rallies his troops to answer but has not been able to engage Llywelyn yet.”

Brynmor glanced at the map on the wall. With Longshanks advancing in the north
, Mortimer north and west of Powys, and Pembroke in the deeper south, Llywelyn was being pushed against the west coast. There was only one way out: the slight gap between Mortimer and Pembroke’s armies. South Powys and Brynmor’s lands.

The herald caught his gaze and also looked to the map. “Aye,
my lord,” he said. “’Tis why Longshanks sent me. He knows your holdings were overtaxed. He requests that you prepare for siege and hold strong. He is attempting to force Llywelyn to return north.”

Brynmor’s gut clenched and he took a long drink of wine. “Aye. Inform the king I will do all I can.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Will you be staying this eve?”

He nodded. “I hoped to leave first thing in the morning.”

“Come then, dinner should be served soon.”

After leaving his study, Brynmor looked around the hall but did not see Rose. He strode up the stairs to change out of his finery into something more practical. He opened the door to his solar and discovered Rose had donned a plain woolen dress and was brushing her hair.

He removed his belt and tunic, leaving only his plain white under
-tunic, and sat heavily in a chair.

Rose
faced him. “Troublesome news?”

“Aye,” he said and held out his hand. She took it and squeaked in surprise when he abruptly pulled her
into his lap. Brynmor chuckled and wrapped his arms around her. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply.

Rose remained still for a long moment. “Brynmor, what’s wrong?”

“I have discovered sometimes just holding you eases the burden on me.”

“Well then, I guess that means you can pull me into your lap whenever you wish.”

He chuckled again and lifted his head. She settled hers against his chest and he released a pent-up breath, feeling the turmoil within him settle. Slowly, he told her all the herald had said.

“We are struggling to recoup our stores as it is,” he said softly. “With Llywelyn’
s army moving in this direction it will be even more difficult. I cannot expect much in the way of rents or provisions owed to us.”

“We will have to send men to England to purchase supplies.”

“Aye, and fortunately we have the money to do that. But I know not where to send them. I remember your father saying your constable struggled to gather your father’s gift of the wedding feast.”

“Aye, but he managed.” She thought for a moment. “Send men to England, but have them stop at Montgomery first. They should inquire of Marcus. No doubt he can tell them which markets Longshanks has not stripped.”

“Aye,” Brynmor replied nodding. “And let us hope it will not be as far as London. Rose, will you work with Petran and determine what is needed for the stores?”

“Of course, Brynmor, but might I offer a suggestion?”

“Absolutely.”

“
Perhaps you should send word to those lords you ordered to stop the raids and tell them they are to defend their holdings at all costs and allow the raiders to gain nothing. Those crops and supplies are too valuable to lose.”

“Aye. Perhaps I should bring raiders against Owain again.”

She shook her head. “I think this whole thing is a ruse to pull you into a trap. It doesn’t make sense that as a group the lords didn’t lift a hand to defend themselves, but instead came running to you for protection. Demanding they stand on their own two feet and perform their duties was exactly what you should have done.”

He blinked down at her, startled. Rose made perfect sense. “Damnation,” he murmured. “I did not see that possibility. Are these lords in league with Owain?”

“I don’t think so. I have a strong feeling he bullied them into running to you. Fortunately, you just bullied them right back out the door.”

“So I will force them to either stop him or ally with him.”

“Did I not hear you ask Petran to have the scouts watch them?”

He laughed softly. “You have good ears.”

She giggled and snuggled closer. “Mother told me the princes of Powys have always been devious, but I do not think they are stupid. Allying against you while surrounded by Longshanks’s armies would be foolish indeed.”

He pressed his lips to the top of her forehead and closed his eyes. He agreed with her but prayed they would make it through
the war. With Llywelyn targeting Powys, Brynmor suddenly felt as if everything teetered like a house of sticks. He doubted it was personal—unlike Owain’s vendetta against him. But Brynmor’s alliance to Longshanks, as he had told Montgomery, made Powys a target. Looking at the map, Brynmor knew Llywelyn’s only choice was to move against him.

***
*

Rose sighed softly. The matters at hand vexed Brynmor greatly but she also saw a new man slowly emerging from behind his armor. It was a difficult prospect for him, she knew
; his station alone guaranteed there would be those all too willing to use deceit and treachery to defeat him, and it had nothing to do with his roots as a freeman farmer.

He finally lifted his head and drew a deep breath. “I should go below-stairs. The herald will be joining us for dinner tonight.”

She nodded and stood.

He quickly stripped off his tunic and put on a plain linen one, wrapping his belt around his waist. “Will you join me?”