“Who is that?” she whispered to her brother.
Bhrodi kept his eyes on the avenue straight ahead. “No one,” he replied. “Ignore her.”
Tacey was frightened by the woman’s yelling but she forced herself to face forward just as Penelope and Bhrodi were. Ceridwen, however, would not be discarded so easily; she began to throw great clumps of mud at them, digging them up from the avenue.
“Murderer!” she screamed, throwing mud that hit Ianto in the neck. “You murdered my husband because he came to speak to you of your wedding and of your betrayal to all things Welsh. You have brought English blood into our lands, de Shera! The Devil now walks among us!”
Bhrodi had Penelope in one hand and Tacey in the other. He pretended as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “There is a cobbler down here who does excellent work,” he told Penelope. “In fact, he has made me several pairs of boots. Sometimes he comes to Rhydilian to work if we have enough tasks for him. He had his own stall at the castle.”
Penelope turned to respond to him when a flying wad of mud hit her on the side of the face. As she gasped and wiped it away, Bhrodi turned around and plowed back through his men, emerging from the group to where ap Gwyfn’s wife was digging up more dirt out of the avenue. Her ladies screamed as he rushed at her and the woman looked up in time to see de Shera bearing down on her. Startled, she lost her balance and ended up on her bum in the mud. Bhrodi loomed over her, his eyes blazing. Serpent eyes.
“You are a foolish and reckless wench if I’ve ever seen one,” he growled. “You know nothing of what you speak. Your husband came to my wedding; indeed, he did. He also led an attack against the English at the feast, who were there under my protection. He betrayed me and my trust, and this I cannot abide. If you do not want to end up as he did, then I suggest you shut your mouth and return home. If I ever see you again, I will make sure you join your husband. Is this in any way unclear?”
By this time, the woman was cowering. Her arm was up over her head as if to prevent him from striking her.
“Where is he?” she cried, her voice considerably weaker. “What did you do to him?”
Bhrodi just looked at her. “You have lived in my realm long enough,” he said. “You know what happens to traitors.”
The woman’s face crumpled and she began to weep. “You killed him!”
Bhrodi shook his head. “I did not kill him,” he said. It was technically the truth. “He brought the serpent down upon himself. I had nothing to do with it.”
All of the women began to weep and hiss at that point, all of them collapsing beside their stricken mistress. It was a writhing, dirty mass that laid down on the street and wept.
“The beast!” ap Gwyfn’s widow cried. “He was fodder for the beast!”
Bhrodi didn’t say another word. He turned around and headed back to his group in time to see Penelope wiping the remnants of the mud off her face. She was looking at him, however; she had heard the woman crying about the serpent. She also noticed that everyone around them seemed to be watching what was going on, listening to what should have been a private conversation. She was beginning to feel uneasy.
“Shall we go?” Bhrodi said casually as he walked up. “I fear our business is concluded for the day.”
Tacey was anxious to get away from the frightening women and scooted up with Ianto and Yestin to hold their hands as Bhrodi clutched Penelope by the elbow. Bhrodi, knowing what Penelope did, that others had heard the edgy conversation, turned everyone towards an alley that led back in the direction of their horses.
“We will go this way,” he said as the group shifted. “It is shorter.”
The alley was narrow, smelling heavily of urine, and Penelope picked up her skirts so they wouldn’t drag through the rancid mud. They could hear the crying of the women fading but she couldn’t help but notice that Bhrodi was moving rather swiftly. All the while, she was reflecting upon what had been said. She was particularly interested in one thing in particular.
“What did she mean that her husband was fodder for the beast?” she asked quietly, turning to look at Bhrodi. “What did you do to those men? I thought you imprisoned them.”
He wouldn’t meet her eye; they were emerging from the alley and the horses were straight ahead, being tended by several of Bhrodi’s men. Bhrodi snapped his fingers at Ianto, pointing at Tacey as he did so and indicating for the man to take charge of his sister. Bhrodi took charge of Penelope and led her straight to the pure white palfrey she had ridden into town.
“I never said I imprisoned them,” he said as he grasped her around the waist and lifted her up onto the horse. “You said I did.”
Penelope was genuinely puzzled. “Then what did you do?”
Bhrodi handed her the reins. “We will speak of it later,” he said. “For now, we turn for home.”
It was a rather swift party that made its way back to Rhydilian Castle. In fact, Penelope had to shift the way she was riding because of the quick pace; unused to riding side-saddled, as a lady would, she threw her right leg over the saddle and ended riding astride. She was afraid she would fall off if she didn’t. Lavender gown trailing out behind the horse, she followed her husband and his men as they made haste back to the dark-stoned castle on the hill.
As they cantered down the road, Penelope couldn’t help but reflect on the words of the distraught woman; he was fodder for the beast. Was it possible that she was correct? Was it possible that there was more to that beast than simply a nuisance? She remembered the night she had fought with the beast and how it seemed very determined to kill the men around it. It snapped and hissed, lunging for men with its gnashing jaws as if… as if it wanted to bite them. Or eat them. Aye, there was something more to the beast’s actions than simply anger. There was a hunger there that she couldn’t begin to describe.
A feeling of fear and trepidation gripped her that only grew in intensity once they reached the castle.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bron had a devil of a time escaping from ap Gwyfn’s prison at Meurig Castle, as he had been blocked off in the buttery with a great bar across the door. It had been very cold and very dark, but after two days he’d managed to work free a slat of wood, which turned into a bigger hole, and eventually he was able to slither out. Now, he was heading for Rhydilian.
Tudur’s small castle was on the west side of the village of Pendraeth and it hadn’t been difficult to escape from the grounds once he stole a horse from the stables. It was an old horse used for agriculture, but Bron rode the old beast down the road, through the town, and on to Rhydilian Castle. He wanted to make it before nightfall but the horse was exhausted, and he watched the setting sun with some apprehension as he spurred the beast up the hill that led to the castle. Night was falling, as was the mist that usually settled heavily in these parts, and he reached the castle just as they were sealing up the gates for the night. Bron slipped through and they shut the gates behind him.
The first thing he noticed was that the great hall of Rhydilian, the big structure that was such a fixture in the bailey, had been burned to the ground. Nothing remained but the charred bones of the structure. Concerned, he dismounted his frothing horse and headed to the keep.
An old serving woman greeted him at the door and admitted him. Bron walked into the smaller feasting hall of the keep, with one big, rounded wall, and realized he must have walked into a festive gathering. Bhrodi, his teulu, and two women were sitting around the table that was strewn with big pitchers of some kind of drink and one of Bhrodi’s commanders, Yestin, was seated near the hearth playing his citole. When Bhrodi looked up and saw Bron, he immediately jumped to his feet.
“Come no further,” he boomed, holding out a hand to him. “State your business.”
Bron had never received such a hostile greeting from Bhrodi and threw up his hands. “I mean you no harm, fy arglwydd,” he assured him. “I come in with peaceful intentions, I swear it.”
Penelope was up, collecting a fire po
ker from the hearth and wielding it threateningly. “Who are you?” she demanded.
Bhrodi could see she was about to take Bron’s head off so he held up a stilling hand to her. “I know him,” he told her, but his focus returned to Bron. “But what I want to know is if his intentions are the same as the others who called me their friend yet betrayed my trust.”
Bron knew what he was talking about; after Tudor and Lon’s meeting, he now knew why the great hall of Rhydilian was burned down. It seemed that they had carried out their threat against de Shera and he truthfully wasn’t surprised.
“Bhrodi,” he said, soft and pleadingly. “The hall; did Tudur and Lon do that? Did they attack you?”
Bhrodi eyed the man he considered a very good friend but, at the moment, he wasn’t sure if he trusted him. Considering what had happened the night before, he didn’t trust anyone.
“You knew they would?” he asked, his manner hardening. “Where were you? Why do you come now?”
Bron sighed heavily. “Because Tudur locked me up in his buttery when I did not agree with his plans,” he said. “I have only now broken free. I came as soon as I could. What has happened?”
Bhrodi let his guard down a bit; Bron had always been extremely loyal to him and he could feel his resistance slipping. He very much wanted to believe him. He wanted to have at least one loyal vassal in this chaos that surrounded his marriage.
“Lon and Tudur launched an offensive against the English during the wedding feast,” he said. “Fortunately, no English were killed but my wife’s cousin and brother were wounded.”
Bron appeared ill by the news. “Those fools,” he hissed. “I knew they were going to do something stupid.”
Bhrodi’s gaze lingered on the man, studying his expression to see if he could determine just how sincere the man was. “And you?” he asked. “How do you play into this? How did all of this come about?”
Bron caught movement out of the corner of his eye, watching Penelope as she slowly lowered the poker. She was an exquisitely beautiful woman and he could only assume she was Bhrodi’s new wife for he’d never before seen her. His gaze moved over her briefly, studying this woman that Bhrodi risked much for, but his focus quickly returned to Bhrodi.
“When you sent messengers with the invitation for your wedding, one of your messengers told Lon that you were marrying a Saesneg,” he replied quietly. “Lon called a meeting of the local chieftains and the subject was discussed. They felt that you should have consulted them before agreeing to a Saesneg marriage, Bhrodi. There are many still in these parts who hate the Saesneg and see you as a traitor for marrying one.”
Bhrodi understood a good deal in that softly uttered statement. “So they thought to attack my new kin at the wedding to prove a point,” he said.
Bron nodded. “A point to you and a point to your English kin,” he said. “Where are Lon and Tudor?”
Bhrodi looked at him, his eyes flashing with rage. Like the flicker of lightning, the burst was strong but quickly gone. It was the serpent strike of legend, quickly flaring, quickly gone, leaving only devastation in its path. Bron had seen it many times before and knew what it meant.
“They are dead,” Bhrodi said, “as I would kill anyone who would betray me.”
Bron knew that. “The beast, then?”
“That is the penalty.”
Bron sighed faintly, raking a dirty hand through his equally dirty hair. “They were not alone, Bhrodi,” he said. “There are other chieftains who did not attend the wedding in protest. Those men are angry as well and you will find yourself in a serious situation if you do not soothe them.”
Bhrodi was well aware of that. He felt quite disillusioned by the presumed loyalty of those who were his vassals. He was disgusted by it even though he understood it all too well. With a sigh, he turned back for the feasting table and motioned for Bron to join him.
“They are fickle children, all of them,” he said as he plopped down into his seat. “They do not seem to realize that I am their liege. I do not need their permission or consultation for any decision I make.”
“But they are your supporters when you go to war,” Bron reminded him as he sat beside him. “When you call for men, they heed your call. Fickle children or not, you need them as they need you.”
“So what are you saying?” Bhrodi looked at him. “That I should have asked their permission before taking an English wife?”
Bron shrugged as he poured himself some much-needed wine. “If not permission, then you should have at least discussed your intentions,” he said. “You have professed your hatred for the Saesneg time and time again, and now you marry one of their women? It looks as if you are not a man of your word. You have confused them.”
“Pah,” Bhrodi grunted, bordering on anger. “In this world, their sole purpose is to serve me and I do not have to ask their permission to take a wife. If I took a Saesneg as my wife, then I had very good reason for it.”
“Then mayhap you should tell them your reasons.”
Bhrodi’s brow was furrowed; he didn’t like to be answerable to anyone, and especially not his vassals. “Tell them what?” he demanded.
Bron took a long, fortifying drink. “Tell them why you have married a Saesneg,” he said, smacking his lips. “If you do not, this will continue to fester and the next time you put out a call for men, your chieftains may not answer. If they band against you, you will have serious trouble, Bhrodi.”
He was right although Bhrodi didn’t want to admit it. The more he thought on the matter, the angrier he became.
“Damn them,” he rumbled. “So I must explain my every move to them?”
Bron reached for the trencher of bread. “Nay,” he replied, “but you must tell them why you have married the enemy.”
Bhrodi’s gaze found Penelope, seated across the table from him. She was listening very carefully to the conversation and Bhrodi almost felt embarrassed by it. She was hearing that his vassals were not as loyal to him as he would have hoped, but she had already figured that out when they had attacked her parents during the wedding feast. He didn’t like that his weaknesses were being exposed in front of her. To her, he wanted to be strong and invincible.
“I married a Saesneg to hopefully secure some peace in my lifetime,” he said. “Edward wants Wales. Mayhap if I marry a bride of his choosing, he will leave Anglesey alone.”
Bron nodded. “Then tell your chieftains your reason,” he encouraged him. “If they hear it from you, it should ease them. They all want peace for their families, Bhrodi; deep down, they all want to live in peace. Tell them you are trying to make it so for them and they will believe you.”
Bhrodi was chewing on his lip, a nervous habit he had when particularly pensive or angry. He glanced across the table again to see how Penelope was handling all of this and noted that she was nodding her head. He spoke to her.
“What do you think?” he asked quietly. “Surely your father has dealt with situations like this before, unruly vassals. What do you think about all of this?”
Penelope was rather surprised he was asking her opinion; usually, the man conveyed the impression that he knew best about everything. The conceit she had seen in him from the first moment they met hadn’t faded; it was still there, like a mask. It masked the vulnerable man beneath, the man he really didn’t want her to see. Although she hadn’t known him that long, even she was coming to see that. Therefore, she took the question seriously.
“I believe what he says is correct,” she said, glancing at Bron. “You did not inform your vassals that you were marrying to create a peace alliance. For all they know, you could have been bribed, or worse. They have no idea why you married me. Mayhap… mayhap you should call a meeting and discuss it. Tell everyone why we have wed. That way, there will be no question. What we did, we did for peace, for everyone.”
It was well-said. Bhrodi’s eyes glimmered with approval. “Wisely spoken, wife,” he said, looking at Bron. “You have not yet met my wife, t
he Lady Penelope de Wolfe de Shera. Penny, this is a very old friend of mine, Bron Llwyd. His family is very, very old in Anglesey. We grew up together.”
Penelope nodded her head politely. “My lord,” she greeted, but she returned her attention to Bhrodi. “I would call a meeting but I would not have it inside the castle in case your chieftains decide to riot. They will remain outside of the walls while you speak to them from the battlements. I will speak with them also, with your approval. When they see me, and hear me speak, I will cease to become the hated enemy and they will hopefully see me as a woman who wants peace as much as you do.”
Bron was watching the woman, seeing that she was very intelligent and well-spoken. She was, in fact, a most impressive match for de Shera. He turned to Bhrodi.
“She speaks wisely,” he concurred. “Let them hear you and let them see her. Mayhap that will ease them.”
Bhrodi pondered the advice. In truth, he hadn’t much choice; he knew these chieftains and they were a petty lot. After what happened at his wedding, they were also not to be trusted. Eventually, he nodded.
“Very well,” he said. “I will send out messengers tomorrow and invite them to a cyfarfod. They will hear what I have to say about my marriage and they will agree with it.”
It was a decisive statement. Penelope cocked her head curiously. “What is a cyfarfod?” she asked.
Bhrodi turned to look at her. “It is a gathering of chieftains,” he said, turning his attention back to Bron. “You will say here with me tonight. There is more I wish to discuss with you after my wife retires.”
He meant a meeting she was not invited to. Penelope took the hint and, trying to behave like a good wife, stood up and reached out to take Tacey’s hand. The young girl had sat through the exchange between the men, not saying a word because she was eating little bread rolls with cheese baked into them that one of the serving wenches had brought to the table. She was more interested in food than talk of rebelling chieftains. Even as Penelope pulled her to stand, she grabbed a couple of the little rolls and chewed on them as Penelope led her out of the hall.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 298