The Original de Wolfe Pack Complete Set: Including Sons of de Wolfe
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She went upstairs to bid her unconscious husband a tender farewell. He wouldn’t know that she was leaving, and that was the way she wanted it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“I heard rumor that Bhrodi de Shera was injured in battle,” Edward said, studying the cup of wine in his hand. “Would you know anything about that, de Wolfe?”
It was the just before dawn in Edward’s red and yellow tent outside the village of Aber. Three days after Bhrodi’s injury in the church near the edge of town, William was surprised it had taken Edward this long to ask him about it. It was just him, Paris, Kieran, and Edward in the tent. All of the rest of the king’s advisors had gone to bed for the night, trying to catch some much-needed sleep before the onslaught on the morrow. Since he had been anticipating the question, he was ready with an answer.
“I have heard that also,” he said neutrally.
Edward sipped at his wine. “And I was also told that you sent an English knight home two days ago,” he said, turning to look at William. “You would not let anyone see who it was, however. Who was it?”
William met his gaze evenly. “My son.”
“Which son?”
William stared at him a moment before breaking into a humorless smile. “So you are questioning me now, are you? You, who demanded I betroth one of my daughters to a Welsh warlord so you could undermine him? And now you are suspicious of my actions? I find this line of questioning astonishing.”
“Maybe so, but you have not answered my question.”
“And I am not going to if you have no more faith in me than that,” William was growing increasingly agitated. “The only reason I am here is to give you more of a presence in Wales. You want me and my reputation fighting besides you, if for no other reason than to frighten the Welsh knowing that The Wolfe is in their midst. I can just as easily return home and let you fight the Welsh with the host of lesser border commanders you seem intent to surround yourself with. Not one of them is worthy of my attention much less my sword.”
Extremely bold words spoken to the monarch. From anyone else, Edward would not have tolerated it, but coming from The Wolfe, he was apt to take what was dealt to him. Edward had very little respect for most men but he had a good deal of respect for William, like his father had, so he was more than willing to allow such insubordination. After a moment, he grinned and waved the man off as if to ease his anger.
“My apologies, then,” he said, pouring wine into a cup and pushing it in William’s direction. “I simply wanted to know if you’d heard of de Shera’s injury.”
“I told you I had.”
“And I accept that,” he said. “But the man is nowhere to be found and it is presumed he has escaped for home.”
“If I was wounded, that is where I would go.”
Edward nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “As would I,” he agreed. “But if there is truth in the fact that de Shera is wounded, that gives me an idea. This could be the opportunity we have been looking for.”
William didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”
Edward took a long, deep drink of wine before speaking. “Dafydd is on the run,” he said. “It is only a matter of time before we capture him. Already, my scouts are on his scent and soon we will capture him. With that confidence, I am able to focus my energies elsewhere.”
William and Paris looked at each other. “Where?” William finally asked.
Edward looked at him. “De Shera, of course,” he said. “With de Shera wounded, he will hardly be in a position to defend himself. Tomorrow, you will take a contingent of men to Rhydilian Castle and demand their surrender. Surely your daughter will obey you. If she does not, then you will lay siege to the castle and destroy it.”
William stared at him a moment. Then, his eyebrows drew together in disbelief. “You can honestly give me that command in good conscience?” he asked, incredulous. “Do you really think I will do it?”
“You will do it if you value your life and your property,” Edward said evenly. “I can quite easily strip you of everything.”
“And I can quite easily kill you where you sit and say it was an accident,” William fired back in a soft but deadly tone. “Your ten year old son, Alphonso, can assume the throne with all of your vicious advisors by his side and we can all watch as the country tears itself apart because of their greed. Is that truly what you wish?”
Edward stood up, eyeing William and Paris and Kieran; old men they may be but they were quite capable of carrying out the threat. After a moment, Edward simply shook his head.
“Then we are at quite an impasse,” he said to William. “I want you to go to Wales and force Rhydilian to surrender, but you will not do it because your daughter is in residence there. You won’t do anything I tell you to do. Therefore, since you have refused me, I will simply order another battle commander to ride to Rhydilian and force its surrender. I thought I was doing you a favor by having you accomplish this task, de Wolfe, but I can see that I was mistaken. If that is the case and you will not do what I tell you to do, then you can just take your men and go home. You are more of a hindrance than a help to me here. I do not need you.”
William didn’t have much more to say to that; he knew, one way or the other, that Edward was heading for Rhydilian and all he could think of was riding ahead of the man and warning them. He thought he might even stay and help them fight Edward off, but if he did, he knew that Castle Questing, and Jordan, would be in a great deal of danger. Edward was fully capable of laying siege to his castle and starving out his family. No, he didn’t want that at all. He wasn’t sure what more he could do but one thing was for certain; he didn’t want another commander marching on Rhydilian. He forced down his pride and his anger, trying to present the picture of someone who was not verging on insubordination.
“You do not need to send another battle commander to Rhydilian,” he said after a moment. “If anyone is going to lay siege to the castle, let it be me. My daughter might very well turn it over to me but I doubt she would to anyone else. You must let me try.”
Edward eyed William as if he didn’t believe him but, after a moment, he too relaxed. With a grin, he picked up the cup of wine he had poured for William and handed it to him.
“Of course I will let you try,” he said. “I would like to have the castle intact and you are my best hope for that. Take de Shera alive if you can help it. I have plans for the man.”
William sipped at the wine. “What plans?”
“The same plans I have for Dafydd when I capture him,” Edward replied. “I have a special schedule for him.”
William still wasn’t following him. “What schedule is that?”
Edward went to collect his own cup of wine again. “Dafydd will be tried for high treason against the king,” he said. “He will be hung, disemboweled, and drawn and quartered. There are too many rebels, William. I can no longer simply throw them in the Tower of London and hope others will not rebel as well. Nay; I must set an example with Dafydd. The man will be made an example of as a promise of what will happen to anyone who betrays me.”
William tried not to look too horrified. “And you intend the same thing with de Shera?”
Edward nodded. “When I capture him, I do indeed,” he said. He took a big gulp of wine. “When the time comes, keep your daughter away from London. You do not wish for her to see what we will do to her husband. It is a nasty business. Mayhap I will send a fine husband her way to make up for my lack of judgment in marrying her to a Welsh rebel. That will make things right with her, I am sure.”
William just looked at him; then he glanced over at Paris and Kieran. Both men had varied degrees of disgust in their expressions. Aye, they were all thinking the same thing – that Edward often lived in a world without reality. He found it very easy to play with other people’s lives. Now he was playing with William’s. After a moment, William returned his focus to Edward.
“When do you want me to ride for Rhydilian?” he asked.
William simply nodded; he didn’t have anything else to say. He was feeling ill and angry, his mind already racing ahead to Rhydilian and thinking of what he was going to do when he got there. One thing was for certain; he would not turn Bhrodi over to Edward. Therefore, he had some planning to do. He never thought he’d see the day when he would be the rebel in the bunch.
As William set down his wine and prepared to bid his king a good eve, a knight dressed in Edward’s tunic of gold and yellow stuck his head in through the tent opening.
“Your Grace,” he said breathlessly. “We have invaders in camp.”
Edward set down his wine. “Where?” he demanded. “Who?”
The knight shook his head. “Sentries sounded the alarm on the western perimeter,” he said. “I heard someone say de Shera is here.”
Edward was seized with fury. “De Shera?” he shouted. “Send my squires in here! Send me my knights! I am going to catch that bastard, do you hear? Send them all in!”
The knight fled, and William, Paris, and Kieran ran from the tent before Edward could further monopolize them or, worse, put them into action. As they ran for William’s encampment at the southeastern portion of Edward’s spread, William suddenly came to a halt and grabbed Paris.
“It’s impossible,” he hissed. “Bhrodi could not possibly be launching a raid against the encampment. The man was on death’s door!”
Paris was pale. “Mayhap he could not, but we both knew who could,” he said grimly. “God help us all, if she sees this as her duty to avenge her wounded husband….”
William’s good eye opened wide with horror. “She wouldn’t….”
Paris grabbed him and, between him and Kieran, began shoving William in the direction of his camp.
“Get your weapons and your horse,” Paris shouted. “We must find her before Edward does!”
*
Penelope, Kevin, Edward, Thomas, and one hundred and eighty-one of Bhrodi’s men had ridden from Rhydilian sometime after midnight on the morning after Bhrodi’s return home. They rode hard for the straits of Menai where they took a ferry across the fast-moving water. It had taken six ferry crossings to get everyone over and by that time, they had lost a great deal of time, so they had made haste towards Aber under the nearly-full moon. The horses were being pushed to the limit because they knew their attack would only be effective if they were to accomplish it before sunrise when Edward’s camp would be unsuspecting. Time was ticking.
Ianto had taken them along the old Roman road that ran across north Wales. It was also the road that the party from Questing had traveled on to reach Rhydilian. The land was hilly and rocky, and they could smell the salt upon the sea breeze that blew steadily inland from the north.
It was a band of rebels filled with a purpose. Since Penelope’s mother had denied her most of her armor and mail, and she was without her broadsword also, she wore a mail coat that was too big for her frame, borrowed from the Welsh armory. Her dark hair was braided and wound tightly around her head, covered by a woolen cap. But the sword she bore was Bhrodi’s, having made it back with the man when they had returned him home. It had been in the wagon bed with him.
A massive thing with one serrated side and a hilt in the shape of a snake, it was a wicked-looking weapon that foretold Bhrodi’s reputation. Any man would know simply to gaze upon it that it was The Serpent’s blade. It was very heavy and unlike her own broadsword, but she carried it with pride and confidence. Even if Bhrodi could not continue the fight against the English, his sword would.
Kevin was at the head of the pack as they charged on in the darkness; he wore Coventry’s armor, a breastplate that was too small for him and shoulder plate that barely covered his enormous shoulders. Bhrodi, too, had issue with the size of the armor his father had left him since he was quite a large man and his father had been big but not enormous. Still, Bhrodi had worn it on occasion just as Kevin was wearing it now, old and well-made armor that bore the crest of de Shera. He also wore the helm, which had oddly been modeled after Anglo-Saxony head protection. It was very distinctive.
The teulu commanders had acknowledged that Kevin looked very much as Bhrodi did when wearing the armor, an opinion that had been confirmed when the rest of Bhrodi’s men saw Kevin emerge from the keep. Knowing they had brought a badly wounded Bhrodi back to Rhydilian, the sight of the man rising from his deathbed to ride back into battle had both their superstition and their awe fed. Even now, as they thundered towards the southern end of Aber where Edward’s camp was located, they kept looking at Kevin as if the man was a phantom. The Serpent in all of his glory was indeed immortal and, as Penelope and Kevin and the teulu commanders had speculated, it was a boon for morale. With Bhrodi leading the rebels, they were riding high on patriotism and excitement.
For Penelope, it was an odd experience riding with the Welsh, but in the same breath, she was filled with determination to aid the cause her husband had fought so valiantly for. She couldn’t think of the fact that they could very well engage her father shortly; she had to keep her focus on Edward and in the burning of his camp. This was all about Edward, after all. She found herself fervently hoping that her father had decided to go home although she knew that would not be the case. The Wolfe would stay, in any battle, until the bitter end.
Thomas and Edward, as she had known, were determined to come with her as she led the raid. At first, they’d shown the same reluctance that Kevin and the teulu commanders had, but they, too, realized she would go with or without them. With resignation, they began to help her plan out the details of the attack and they further assisted in helping the Welsh produce torches that would be used to create havoc. Working side by side with the Welsh in preparation for battle was, much like their sister had discovered, a very odd experience but they, too, had come to see one thing; the Welsh were very hard workers and very devoted to their cause.
Sometimes with the English, there wasn’t passion behind their actions because they were often the ones doing the conquering. It wasn’t as if they were defending their countries or the very lives of their families. But with the Welsh, that was exactly what they were doing – they were trying to preserve their very lives, and there was a fire in that determination that the English found admirable. When the Welsh party departed Rhydilian for Edward’s camp, Thomas and Edward found they were quite proud to go along. There was a sense of accomplishment that they had never experienced before, misplaced as it was.
An hour and a half after crossing the Menai strait, they began to see the glow of campfires on the horizon as they neared Pen-y-Bren, a small town that had been built around the ancient road. Edward’s camp was off to the northeast, near a cluster of hills, and they could see the spread plainly. If the sentries were vigilant, which Penelope suspected they were, their group may have already been sighted.
Quickly, she lifted her hand to Kevin, who in turn lifted his big arm and called the entire party to a halt. The men were watching Kevin more than they were watching her, so commands were funneled through him. Like wraiths, the group disappeared into a dark cluster of woods to prepare for the attack.
“Light the torches,” Penelope ordered quietly.
Men began to rummage in their saddlebags for flint and stone while still others pulled forth pieces of wood and rags soaked in fat that they had brought with them from Rhydilian. They worked quickly, quietly, and efficiently. Soon enough, torches began to flare and the dark copse of trees began to fill with light.
It was light that could been seen from a distance and they were all well aware of that fact; therefore, the key was not to linger. The more they lingered, the better the chance of Edward’s encampment being prepared for them or, worse, riding out to meet them. If that was the case, the
n they would surely fail, so as soon as the torches began to burn steadily, Penelope ordered everyone mounted. As men vaulted onto their horses and steadied their torches, she began to pace among the ranks.
“As we discussed earlier this evening, our purpose is to slow Edward’s momentum against Dafydd,” she said loudly, listening as Ianto, Ivor and Gwyllim translated her words into Welsh for those men who did not understand English. “We will burn all that we can and escape the camp. You will head back to Rhydilian without waiting to regroup, and you will not engage anyone in fighting if you can help it. We are outmanned by the English so our purpose is to create havoc and do as much damage as we can before retreating. Do you understand?”
As the words were translated, men began to yell in the affirmative. If the men seemed curious as to why de Shera hadn’t said anything yet and why it was his wife relaying battle commands, they did not say so. For the past several hours, they had been riding high on their plans to attack the Saesneg encampment and the fact that de Shera rode with them was enough to bolster their courage. In fact, when Kevin spurred his charger out of the trees and thundered north towards Edward’s camp, the men filtered out after him in firm support. Penelope scrambled to mount her charger and, collecting a torch handed to her by Edward, she and her brothers brought up the rear of the group.
Edward’s camp before dawn had been surprisingly busy as the Welsh raiding party closed in on them. Near dawn, the sentries hadn’t been as vigilant as they should have been because Kevin was nearly upon them when the cries of alarm finally went up. The first thing Kevin did was kick one of the sentries in the head as he rode past, throwing the man to the ground as Welsh spears, thrown by some of Bhrodi’s men, took down three more sentries. Coming to the first tent, Kevin threw the torch onto the top of it and the oiled fabric began to burn.