Penelope abruptly stood up, slamming the cup in her hand down onto the table. Wine splattered.
“Then that is what I shall wear,” she snarled. “I am a trained knight and I know combat more than I know anything else. I was bred for this moment, don’t you see? God knew that Bhrodi would need me in this capacity during this terrible time with Edward and that is why He sent me. Now I can fight for Bhrodi while the man is incapacitated. I will not allow men to know he has been wounded, do you hear? All will believe he is still as strong and capable as ever. The Serpent is immortal.”
Ianto hissed and looked away while Gwyllim took up the battle against the very formidable Lady de Shera.
“If it is the illusion you wish to continue, then let one of us wear his armor and pose as Lord de Shera,” he said. “You would not be convincing, my lady. You are far too small. Men would see you wearing his armor and know it was not him.”
“But if I wore it, they would not know such a thing,” Kevin said from the shadows. He came forward, struggling to resign himself to Penelope’s outlandish idea because he knew, whatever happened, that she would go through with it. They could not stop her. “Lord de Shera and I are very close in size and the illusion would be better preserved. Listen to what Lady de Shera has told you; if King Edward knows that Lord de Shera is gravely injured, it will feed his confidence and Wales will fall beneath his hand faster than it already is. Moreover, if the Welsh know that Lord de Shera is injured and unable to fight, it will kill their fighting spirit. Dafydd will be the only Welsh prince left and, as we all know, the man is running for his life. Do you truly wish to see your country die so quickly? I have served with Lady Penelope in battle when she fought for her father and she had the mind and soul of a true knight. You will trust me when I tell you she is fully capable of commanding a battle.”
Penelope was shocked that Kevin would actually come to her defense but she used it to her advantage. Like any good warrior, she acted on the teulu’s indecision. She went in for the kill.
“My husband is lying wounded because he believed in a free Wales,” she said to the resistant Welshmen “I cannot let that sacrifice be in vain. I must help him fight against those who would seek to take away his legacy because it is now my legacy, too, and the legacy of our children. Tell me, Ianto; if the Welsh know that Bhrodi is badly wounded and unable to continue the fight, what will they do?”
Ianto looked at her with a guarded expression. After a moment, he sighed heavily. “It would not be good for their morale.”
“Will they give up this fight?”
“It is possible.”
“And what happens if they see Bhrodi returned to battle, leading the charge?”
Ianto glanced at the other teulu; he was having a difficult time fighting against Lady de Shera because he knew she was correct.
“They will be inspired.”
Penelope pointed a finger at him. “Exactly,” she said firmly. “They will be inspired and King Edward, who would celebrate my husband’s death with great gladness, will understand that Wales is still standing. Bhrodi is still standing. Don’t you see? We must keep up that charade if there is any hope of winning this fight.”
The teulu began to look at each other, digesting her words, struggling to see things her way. She was correct, of course. But there was also something else.
“You are a Saesneg,” Ianto finally said. “You would fight against your own king? Your own father?”
Penelope was knocked back a bit; although she knew, in theory, that she would be fighting her own father, the reality of it hit her hard when she heard the words spoken. It made her feel ill to think on it. After a moment, she simply nodded.
“I understand all of that,” she said, “and to that regard, I will say only this – when we go into battle, we will leave my father’s men alone if at all possible. When I go into battle, I am aiming for Edward.”
“But he is your king.”
“Not anymore.” She looked around at the doubtful faces and it angered her. “I am Lady de Shera, wife of Bhrodi de Shera, hereditary King of Anglesey and Earl of Coventry. I will ride into battle by myself if I have to but I would prefer to do it with you behind me. Will you fight with me? For Bhrodi’s sake, will you do it?”
It was a very hard sell. The teulu looked at each other, mulling over her words. They were men set in their ways and the thought of a woman riding into battle unsettled them. But times were changing; their liege had taken this woman as his wife and she was the daughter of The Wolfe. She was their own She Wolfe. If she was willing to fight for de Shera, then they should not resist her. They should support her. Ianto finally stood up and looked her in the eye.
“Lord de Shera thinks a great deal of you,” he said, manner bordering between reluctance and sincerity. “Because I love and trust my lord, I will think a great deal of you, also, and I will trust you. If you want to ride into battle to create the illusion that Lord de Shera still leads the fight against the Saesneg king, then I will ride with you.”
Penelope almost collapsed with relief; she was so sure they were going to deny her. She thought that, perhaps, she was going to have to do this all by herself. The realization that she had some support brought tears to her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said softly, sitting heavily on the bench in relief. “Thank you very much.”
“And I,” Ivor said, looking at Gwyllim, who was nodding. “’Tis a brave woman who would ride into battle for her husband, I say. I will stand with you also.”
As Penelope smiled at Ivor, Gwyllim spoke. “If Lord de Shera could speak, he would not let you go,” he said, his dark eyes glimmering. “Mayhap we should not tell him.”
Penelope grinned, noticing that Yestin, the arrogant one, had not said anything. He was staring at his cup of wine as if in deep thought. He must have felt the stares of everyone because he eventually looked up into the host of faces surrounding him. After a moment, he shook his head and stood up.
“Ni allaf,” he said as he walked away from the table. “Rhaid i mi feddwl.”
Penelope watched him go, looking to Ianto. “What did he say?”
Ianto’s gaze lingered on Yestin as the man disappeared from the hall. “He says he must think about it,” he told her. “Give him time. Yestin believes women are best seen and not heard. He will come to terms with this, eventually.”
Penelope nodded with some regret, thankful that she at least had most of the teulu on her side. Kevin came out of the shadows now that his anger at her suggestion had calmed and he sat down beside her.
“Where is the Earl of Coventry’s armor?” he asked. “I did not see it in the armory when I was doing an inventory of weapons.”
Ianto replied. “It is kept in a safe place,” he said. “We do not keep marchog armor in a Welsh armory. It might invite those who hate the Saesneg to destroy it.”
“Marchog?”
“English knights. Their armor does not get along well with our weapons. They cannot be in the same room together.”
He said it with some humor and Kevin wriggled his eyebrows in agreement. He was prevented from saying anything further, however, because the old wardrobe in the shadows began to shake and rattle. The tiny old man who lived in the wardrobe was coming alive again, this time in the midst of a serious discussion. When the door to the wardrobe lurched open, however, the old man did not jump forth; instead, a broadsword came shooting out of the wardrobe and landed heavily on the floor.
Startled, Kevin was the first one to make his way over to it since he was the closest. He picked the broadsword up and as he curiously inspected it, Ianto spoke.
“That is Gareth de Shera’s sword,” he said.
Kevin looked up at him curiously. “Who is that?”
Ianto grinned. “Lord de Shera’s father,” he said, pointing to the wardrobe. “You wanted to know where his armor was? Now you know. We keep it in there with the old man to watch over it. No one would dare disturb his mad and troubled sleep.”
Kevin grinned because Ianto was. “So that’s where it is.”
“Aye.”
Kevin turned to look at the wardrobe, which was cracked open. “He is listening to us,” he commented. “Mayhap he is not as mad as you think he is. He knew enough that we were speaking of Coventry’s armor.”
“I have often thought that myself,” Ianto replied.
Penelope wasn’t particularly concerned with the mad uncle and the fact that he was listening in on their conversation. She was more concerned with Kevin’s intentions. She was looking at the man quite seriously.
“Why would you volunteer to wear his armor?” she asked. “You do not agree with any of what I am doing.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Mayhap I do not, but you are going to do it regardless of what I think. I cannot let you do it alone.”
She eyed him doubtfully. “It will make you a target; you know that.”
Kevin nodded. “Of course it will,” he said. “But anyone who wears it will be a target. Who would you have more exposed? Me or one of the teulu?”
She frowned. “Not you,” she said. “Kevin, this is not your fight. If you do this and you are caught….”
She couldn’t finish because they all knew what the penalty was for a Welsh commander to be captured by the English, a penalty made worse if an English knight was caught fighting for the Welsh. Kevin met her gaze steadily.
“I will not be caught,” he told her quietly. “As I said before, I will not let you go into battle alone. Neither will Edward or Thomas, I am guessing. If you go to fight, so do we.”
Penelope shook her head. “But why?” she demanded. “You did not marry Bhrodi de Shera; I did. This is my fight.”
“I do this because we are family,” he said. “If you fight, I fight. It has always been that way.”
Penelope didn’t want to get into a squabble with him, not now. There was so much more to worry about. She looked at Ianto and Ivor and Gwyllim; they seemed to be gazing at her with some trust and perhaps some hope. She would settle for that, at least for now. She knew that full trust would have to be earned and she intended to do just that. For Bhrodi’s sake, she would do her very best.
“When Bhrodi left for Dolbadarn Castle, he left with many of his vassals,” she said. “He said it was around three thousand men. Where are they now?”
Ianto shrugged. “Those who were not killed in the battle at Dolbadarn fled into the hills with Dafydd,” he said. “We were fighting for him, after all. Bhrodi sent most of his men into the mountains with Dafydd, including Bron Llwyd, Bhrodi’s last important vassal.”
Penelope listened carefully. “How many did he come home with? I am sorry that I did not notice. My attention was on my husband.”
As Ianto thought on the numbers returning to Rhydilian, Kevin spoke. “It could not have been more than a couple of hundred,” he said to her. “Edward is seeing to them, as you requested.”
Penelope turned to look at him. “Is my brother still outside with them?”
“He is.”
Penelope sighed faintly as she returned her attention to the teulu. It was clear she was pondering a great many things, including their lack of manpower. After a moment, she shook her head in resignation.
“We cannot fight Edward with only two hundred men,” she said. “He would massacre us. However, if we were to surprise the man or ambush him, we might be more successful.”
Kevin leaned on the table to look her in the eye. “Ambush the king? You could never get close enough to do it.”
Penelope began to chew her lip in thought. She was working on a tactic, a Scots tactic that she had heard her father discuss at times. Move with stealth so that the enemy will not detect you until it is too late. It was an often-used tactic when an army was outnumbered or outmanned. Covert movements worked better than a head-on assault. Aye, she was half-Scots. She could think like one. She had to try.
“Edward’s army is all around Aber, is it not?” she asked Ianto.
The man nodded. “It is,” he replied. “He has a massive encampment about three miles south of the village. He has reinforcements from Rhuddlan and Caernarfon.”
“How many men does Edward have with him?”
“Thousands.”
Penelope continued to think on that information, her mind working. “Kevin,” she said, “when is an army the most vulnerable?”
Kevin considered her question. “When they are eating,” he said. “Or sleeping.”
She turned to look at him. “Exactly,” she said firmly. “When they are sleeping. What… what if we infiltrate their camp before dawn and try to create as much chaos as we can, burning tents and destroying their corrals so their horses will bolt? If we do this, do you think it will give the Welsh enough time to secure their position against the English? Do you think it would give Dafydd more opportunity to escape Edward?”
Kevin looked at her, his brow furrowed in doubt. “Why would you do something like that?” he asked. “Why not simply find where the Welsh prince is hiding and join his men?”
She grew serious. “Because if we do, they will soon find out that Bhrodi is not among us,” she said. “We must take opportunities to strike in Bhrodi’s name, and mayhap leave some evidence of him, so that the Welsh and English will think he is still actively fighting for Dafydd. That is the whole point of this, isn’t it? To give the illusion that The Serpent is still deadly?”
He was coming to see what she was suggesting, and why. He looked at the teulu commanders. “Will what she is suggesting work?” he asked. “Will it give your prince time to secure his position against Edward?”
Ianto looked to the others. It was clear they were mulling it over. “It is possible,” Ianto finally said. “Dafydd is in the mountains. If nothing else, creating a diversion with the English would give him time to rest and prepare for the next round of battle.”
“Would it be possible to coordinate our ambush on Edward’s camp with an attack from Dafydd?” Kevin wanted to know. “We can attack Edward from two sides.”
Ianto shook his head. “We do not know exactly where Dafydd is,” he said. “It could take days or even weeks to contact him, and Edward will continue to hound him during that time. He may even capture Dafydd. If we infiltrate and burn Edward’s camp as Lady de Shera suggests, it will disrupt the English and their momentum. Our only hope would be to do enough damage so it would delay them significantly or, even better, cause them to pull away from Aber.”
“Then you are in favor of ambushing Edward’s encampment with what men we have left?”
“Aye,” Ianto said, sounding hopeful. “The sooner we do it, the better. Edward grows stronger by the hour. We must weaken him as much as we can.”
Kevin looked at Penelope, who gazed back at him with a rather confident expression. “Then we must gather the men and prepare for our attack,” she said, returning her attention to the teulu commanders. “Do we have enough horses for this purpose?”
Ianto was thoughtful. “We took most of them with us, but we can gather more horses from the villagers,” he said. “It is possible we can collect what we need.”
Penelope was seized with their future plans and what needed to be done. Already, she was thinking ahead and mentally preparing for the onslaught. She was preparing to take on the very man who had sent her to Wales in the first place, a man whom her father served. Edward had once been her king, but no longer. The moment he broke the treaty with the intention of killing Bhrodi was the moment he ceased to be her monarch. Now, she was Welsh. She was The Serpent’s mate.
It was going to be a very long and very busy night.
“I want you and your commanders to send out men to collect more horses,” she said to Ianto. “Then you will call a meeting of Bhrodi’s remaining men for later on tonight. We will tell them of our plans and we must be prepared to ride out of here just after midnight. It is my intention to attack Edward’s encampment at dawn and disrupt the man as much as I can. For Bhrodi, we must
do this, and we must make sure that everyone knows this is Bhrodi’s deed. Everyone must know that this is The Serpent’s strike. On behalf of Wales and on behalf of the cause my husband has fought so hard for, we will make it so.”
There wasn’t much more to be said at that point. The teulu had their orders and they knew what needed to be done. As the men excused themselves from the table, Penelope waited until they had vacated the hall before turning to Kevin.
He was sitting in pensive silence, perhaps pondering what his future would bring. More than Penelope, he found himself in a peculiar situation. What he did, he did for her and no one else. As he was pondering his future as a Welsh rebel, Penelope interrupted his thoughts.
“I want you to leave,” she told him, her voice low.
Kevin’s eyebrows lifted. “What do you mean?”
Penelope crossed her arms stubbornly. “Exactly what I said,” she told him. “You are no longer injured. There is no longer any reason for you to remain here. I want you to take Thomas and Edward, and I want you to all leave. Get out of here before I have you thrown out under guard.”
Kevin wasn’t offended by the command; in fact, he understood it well. He knew why she was doing it.
“You need not worry about us against Edward, Penny,” he said, his voice soft. “We are fully aware of what will happen if we are caught.”
Frightened for her loyal friend and family, Penelope lashed out. “I want you to go,” she said angrily. “Get out, Hage. I do not want you here. I do not want any of you here. I will do this myself and without the three of you hanging over me, questioning my every move.”
“We are not going anywhere.”
“This is not your fight!”
“It is not, but I am fighting it anyway,” he said, standing up from the table. “If you do not like it, then you can try to throw me out yourself but I promise I will not make it easy for you.”
Kevin quit the hall before she could fight with him further, leaving Penelope frightened and fuming. She thought of the burden of command she had assumed, these men who were so loyal to her putting themselves at risk simply to help her. It was a terrible thing to be responsible for so many men’s lives, but it was a burden she would be forced to carry. She felt very strongly that she needed to do this for Bhrodi and for herself, to maintain his legacy, to help his cause, to fight for his country because he would have done the same for her. What was his was now hers, and the two blended seamlessly. Therefore, she would continue his fight. She was going to attack the King of England with her small band of Welsh rebels and she prayed they would all live through it. God help us all, she thought grimly.
The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe Page 307