Gart eventually put the sheep back with its flock as the party continued to travel onward towards Machynlleth. The land was very mountainous and the scenery dramatic, and birds of prey flew high overhead, searching for their morning meal. Chrystobel was enjoying the journey immensely, enjoying the landscape and enjoying watching her husband up at the head of the party. The last time she had seen him dressed in full battle regalia, he had been entering Nether’s bailey as the new lord of the castle. At the time, the sight had frightened her. Now, it thrilled her. He looked so proud and strong and handsome riding on ahead. As she admired him from afar, Izlyn grabbed her hand and pointed frantically to the roadside again.
A family of cotton-tailed rabbits was foraging in the morning sun and there were several babies. Izlyn was beside herself with glee and Gart, riding just behind the wagon, saw what she was pointing at. He rode up beside her.
“Lady Izlyn,” he said. “If rabbits excite you, I can only imagine you want to eat one.”
Izlyn looked at him in horror, shaking her head. Gart teased her. “I’m sure you have had many rabbits to eat,” he said. “They are quite delicious. Mayhap I shall capture all of them, make a rabbit stew, and then use their hides to make a cape for you. I will put their little white tails on the front of the cape as an ornament.”
He was indicating his neck and Izlyn frowned terribly at him, scowling to the point where Gart had to look away or risk laughing in her face. He was looking at the rabbits again, who were coming up on their right as the party passed down the road.
“Ah,” he delighted, seeing Izlyn making faces at him out of the corner of his eye. “I love roast baby rabbit. I think I shall go and catch one for myself.”
He pretended to spur his horse forward and Izlyn threw out her arms to prevent him. But the most surprising thing of all was the sound that came out of her mouth. It was something between a grunt and a yell, bursting forth, and everyone turned to look at her with great surprise. Especially Chrystobel. She stared at her sister with shock.
“Izzie!” she gasped. “You… you made a sound!”
Izlyn was torn between embarrassment and surprise herself. She had indeed startled herself with the outburst but it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Her voice, bottled up for ten long years, had made an astonishing return. She looked at Gart, who was smiling at her. The man had the expression of encouragement on this face and his smile broadened when he made eye contact with the girl.
“Do you want me to catch the rabbit and eat it?” he asked softly. “I will not do it if you do not want me to.”
Izlyn’s heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she could hardly breathe. She was excited, thrilled, and joyful. Life was joyful to her now, a life with English soldiers who were so very kind to her. Especially Gart. She had indeed decided to marry him but he would never know it unless she told him. Fear had kept her silent for ten horrible years. There was no longer any reason to be fearful. There was no longer any reason to remain silent.
Izlyn shook her head to Gart’s question. He was smiling openly at her and she knew he was teasing her. The attention had her happy and content. She pursed her lips, struggling to form words that she hadn’t formed since she had been a toddler, and it wasn’t easy. She was afraid that she had forgotten how. Her lips twitched and her tongue moved. She was trying so very hard to say something to Gart, struggling to bring forth words that had been bottled up inside of her for so long.
Gart could see that she was laboring to speak. His manner turned surprisingly gentle for the man who, most believed, utterly lacked that quality. Perhaps he did, but not where it pertained to a terrorized twelve-year-old girl.
“Tell me, Izlyn,” Gart said softly, encouragingly. “Do you want me to eat the rabbit?”
Izlyn slapped her hand on the wagon bench as if forcing herself to speak, pushing the words out and feeling as if she was vomiting as she did it. She wasn’t used to things coming out of her mouth, but out it did come. She slapped the bench again as if compelling herself to project, fighting with every fiber of her being to bring forth a sound. It was on the tip of her tongue… she could feel it on her lips!
“N-nay,” she finally spit.
Chrystobel burst into tears, throwing her arms around her sister and hugging the girl tightly. Gart, grinning like a fool, came alongside the wagon and reached out, taking Izlyn’s little hand and kissing it sweetly. The men-at-arms surrounding the wagon had no idea why the child’s word was such a great feat, but Rhys, on the other side of the wagon, understood. He had been told the child was mute, too, so he began to clap, applauding the great effort, as Chrystobel hugged her sister and wept. Up at the head of the party, Keller and William heard the commotion and reined their chargers back to the wagon.
The first thing Keller saw was Chrystobel holding her sister and sniffling. He threw up his visor and looked at her with great concern.
“What is wrong?” he demanded gently. “Why are you weeping?”
Chrystobel looked at her husband, wiping the tears on her face. “Izzie spoke!” she exclaimed. “Gart asked her if she wanted him to eat the rabbits and she told him ‘nay’!”
Keller looked at Izlyn, surprised. “She did?” he asked, awe in his voice. “Izzie, is this true?”
Izlyn looked at Keller, her young face rosy and full of delight. She was thrilled with the attention and the praise. She nodded but she didn’t verbally answer him, so he looked over at Gart.
“I do not suppose she wants me to eat those rabbits, does she?” he asked the man.
As Gart grinned, Izlyn looked straight at Keller and shook a finger at him. “N-nay!” she barked.
The knights roared with laughter, as did Chrystobel. She hugged and kissed her sister, giggling as the girl soaked up the praise. They were so happy, thrilled with life, thrilled with what the future would hold. It was a day of blessings and of sorrows with Trevyn’s funeral looming, but at the moment, they were mostly counting their blessings. It was a momentous day, indeed.
The rest of the journey into Machynlleth was pleasant and uneventful after that. Izlyn didn’t say another word, but it didn’t matter. She’d already made a great achievement, at least in her world. In truth, it couldn’t have been a better day in spite of the fact that they were heading for a funeral mass. There was joy among the sorrow.
Surprisingly, the air seemed to be warming a bit in the bright sunshine and everyone seemed to soak up the warmth and sunlight as they traveled the road that was growing less muddy by the minute. The ground was drying up as the sun soaked up the moisture, and as they began to reach the outskirts of the town, they began to see farmers in their fields or shepherds with their flocks. There were a few orchards about, mostly apples, pears, and plums, and being that it was fall, the fruit was being harvested before the colder weather could ruin it.
A young boy herding several goats ran alongside the party of soldiers, directing his goats with a stick by slapping them on the rump or on the shoulder, depending on what he wanted them to do. Izlyn was very interested in the boy, since he was around her age, and she watched him intently. When she lifted a hand to timidly wave at him, he waved wildly, stuck his tongue out at her, and then tore off into another field with the goats running after him. Chrystobel had seen the lad stick his tongue out and she watched Izlyn’s face shift from interest to outrage and then back to interest again. She thought she even saw a hint of a smile.
Hiding a grin at her sister’s reaction to the cheeky youth, she turned her attention to the town up ahead as the party drew close to the eastern end of Machynlleth. They entered the town proper and ran head long into a busy avenue filled with people going about their morning business. As the mud from the rains dried up, the smells came out, and the heavy scent of animal dung and human waste was prevalent on the moist air.
Chrystobel and Izlyn, having lived rather isolated lives, were quite interested in all that was going on around them. People darted around them, carrying baskets lad
en with vegetables, or other goods, and they even saw a woman carrying piglets in a basket. Izlyn was quite interested in the piglets until she spied a man leading four goats, each one tied to the next in a string of goats. The knights had fanned out and took position at both the rear and the front of the column as they headed towards the church, watching for any threat. Villages in particular were hazardous because there were so many places to hide, and since they’d been attacked yesterday on this very road, they were well on their guard.
At the head of group, Keller had his visor up, his dusky eyes taking in every detail; every word, every breath, every movement was noted. He was especially edgy because they were approaching the part of town where the merchants were and where they had been ambushed. He almost thought to put Chrystobel and Izlyn in the bed of the wagon to better protect them, but he veered away from that stance. They were safe enough on the bench next to the wagon driver should something happen, and he knew that he could get to his wife very quickly if he needed to. Therefore, he allowed the ladies to remain in full view as they passed through the heart of the busy burg.
Nearing the vendor stall where he had purchased all of the beautiful finery, he noticed the old merchant coming out to greet him. The old man waved a hand at him, almost frantically, and Keller raised a fist, indicating for the column to stop. Behind him, men and animals ground to a halt.
“Fy arglwydd!” My lord!
Keller leaned forward on the saddle to address the man. “Greetings,” he said in Welsh. “Have you more jewelry to sell me?”
He meant it as a jest but the old merchant appeared nervous and grim. He waved a dismissive hand at him. “I could see you coming from the crest of the road to the east,” he said, pointing to the rising sun. “I went to the alley behind the shop where the view is better. I must warn you, my lord, that I saw many men back in the fields, men with weapons and crossbows. They have gone into hiding now.”
Keller’s mood turned serious. “Are you sure?” he asked. “How many did you see?”
The merchant shook his head. “Too many,” he said. “They were moving through the fields and trees. Mayhap these are the same men who attacked you yesterday.”
Keller’s gaze moved around the avenue without moving his head. He kept it pointed towards the merchant. If they were being watched, he didn’t want to give away the fact that they were being warned by looking around as if hunting for someone or something. He wanted to appear as casual as possible, at least for the moment. But inside, his heart began to race. We have women with us… my wife is with us!
“Mayhap,” he said nonchalantly. Then, he motioned to William, who was nearest to him, to come closer. William brought his steed alongside and Keller leaned in the man’s direction, his voice quiet. “The merchant says he has seen men with weapons around the town. He says they went into hiding when we approached. Spread the word and make sure my wife and her sister are well protected down in the wagon. Use the coffin as a barrier if you have to. I am sure Trevyn would not mind.”
As William nodded and moved off, Keller returned his attention to the merchant. “We are going to the church to bury my wife’s father and then we are returning home,” he said. “I will be at the church should you need to send a message to me.”
The merchant nodded nervously and darted back into his stall. Keller gave the signal to move and the column lurched forward. As William moved back among the men, spreading the ominous word, Rhys moved forward to ride point with Keller. He reined his big black and white charger close enough so that he wouldn’t have to shout.
“What are your thoughts, Keller?” he asked, his gaze studying the town, the people, just as Keller was. “Do you think they are the same rebels who attacked you yesterday?”
Keller didn’t look at Rhys. “It is possible,” he said. “If it is not, then that is very concerning.”
“What do you mean?”
Keller glanced at him. “I mean that if these are not the same men, meaning that they are somehow indigenous to this village, then it would stand to reason that we are either being followed unaware, or that someone told local rebels that we were returning today so that the rebels would be here to greet us.” He shook his head. “The only people who knew we were returning were the priests.”
“I doubt the priests would have been party to setting up an ambush.”
Keller wriggled his eyebrows. “I would hope not,” he said. “Which leads me to the second possibility, we’re being followed. If so, by whom? I’ve not seen any sign of being followed and I am fairly astute at that kind of thing.”
Rhys wasn’t sure how to answer that. “There is a myriad of possibilities,” he said. “For one, we look, act, and smell like Saesneg. Of course the locals would know that we are not Welsh. It would not take long for word to get around.”
Keller turned to look at him. “You are half-Welsh, are you not?”
Rhys nodded. “My mother is Welsh,” he said. “But only by name and by blood. Our heart and our family culture is more English than most.”
“Then what do you think of the situation, as a man with Welsh blood in him?”
Rhys exhaled calmly, looking around the town at the peasants dressed in heavy wools and durable, if not well-used, clothing. “I think that the Welsh have conveniently shown up both times in a town you happen to be visiting,” he said. “To me, that reeks of a traitor.”
Keller cast him a long glance. “Someone is informing the resistance of my movements?”
“It is possible.”
Keller turned around to look at the women in the wagon, now being moved to the bed of the wagon by William. He watched Chrystobel as she carefully followed her sister into the back of the wagon. After a moment, he faced forward, wracked with thought.
“Not my wife,” he said. “I do not think she would be capable of that kind of deception.”
Rhys was careful with his words. “But you have only known the woman three days,” he said quietly. “She is Welsh, Keller. Is it possible she has been deceiving you?”
The mere thought made Keller sick. He shook his head firmly. “Nay,” he said. “She would not do such a thing. There are other possibilities more viable than that.”
Rhys didn’t pursue the wife. He moved on to the next possibility. “What about the sister?” he asked. “Gart tells me she can write. Is it possible she has been sending messages?”
Keller shook his head, more firmly this time. “You are chasing phantoms,” he scolded softly. “With what went on at Nether before we arrived, do you truly think either of those women would want to chase us off so it would be as it was before? That’s madness.”
Rhys shrugged. “I am simply listing possibilities,” he said. “Eliminate the improbable and, no matter how impossible, whatever remains must be the truth.”
“Find another truth.”
“Very well,” Rhys was undaunted. “What about the brother? You said that he escaped and you have mentioned your fear that he is lurking about, watching the activities at Nether. Mayhap he is behind the Welsh rebels that appear in this town every time you do.”
Keller sighed heavily. “That is as good an explanation as any,” he said. They were drawing near the church so he shifted his focus to what lay ahead. There would be time for speculation later. “We are nearly to the church. Assign six men to remove the coffin from the wagon. I want to get inside the church as quickly as possible.”
Rhys nodded and reined his horse around, heading back into the column of men. Keller could hear him making assignments, calling out men and rearranging the defensive line around the wagon. The church of St. Peter loomed large off to the right, the gray, squat building that Keller became acquainted with yesterday. Before they entered the structure, he would send some men in to make sure no Welsh were lying in wait for them. At this point, he didn’t trust anyone or anything. Bad tidings were on the wind and he would not be caught unaware, especially with Chrystobel and Izlyn with him. He would never forgive himself if anythin
g happened to either one of them, and he was positive he would never recover if harm befell Chrystobel.
As the column pulled up to the church, he made sure that the men-at-arms created a defensive circle so that the coffin and ladies could be moved into the church with ample protection, and he had William send a few soldiers into the church to clear it. Even as Keller dismounted his charger and headed for the wagon, he felt distinctly uneasy. He didn’t like that they were being watched but he was very thankful that the merchant had the courage to warn him. At least now they would not be caught off guard. Or, at least, that was the hope. Still, he could feel the tension rising. Everyone was uneasy.
When he reached the wagon, he smiled at Chrystobel as he lifted her out of the wagon bed and set her on her feet. Izlyn followed shortly and he took both women politely by the elbow, steering them clear of the coffin that was just being removed from the wagon. As they stood by and watched, the men-at-arms heaved the coffin off the wagon bed and turned for the church. The pace was slow because the coffin was heavy, and as they approached the entry, the soldiers that had been sent in to clear the sanctuary emerged to signal that no danger wait beyond.
That was good enough for Keller. Taking the women by the arms, he moved in front of the coffin, heading for the protective innards of the church. It was cool and dark in the sanctuary beyond, and he could smell the pungent scent of incense. Just as he reached the doorway, he heard several high-pitched noises, sing-song, and he knew immediately what they were. He’d heard them many times before, in battle or in conflict of some kind. Keller knew the sound of an arrow when he heard it.
He shoved Chrystobel and Izlyn into the church as several arrows rained down upon them. As everyone began to run for cover, two of the soldiers holding the coffin were hit and they went down in the street. The coffin, now unbalanced, fell heavily and tipped onto its side, knocking open the lid and spilling Trevyn d’Einen’s body out into the mud.
Dark Deceptions Page 57