The Agents of William Marshal Volume II: A Medieval Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “It is foolish, I tell you!”

  “We do not need an English army in our midst!”

  When they realized they were shouting, they glanced over their shoulders to make sure their men hadn’t heard them. Some had, but they were pretending they hadn’t. The whole lot of them was moving down the slope from Wybren and into the village that crowded up around the base of the hill where the castle was built. Villagers were looking at the Welsh warlords with some fear, all of them fearful at the turn of tides at the great Castle of the Sky.

  Fear that times were changing with an English overlord and they were unable to stop it.

  Perhaps they were fearful, and perhaps Glynn was even more fearful, but Aeron wasn’t. He was already thinking ahead to the man he would send south to his cousin’s domain, asking him for help in eliminating the English lord from Wybren. Phylip hated the English as much as anyone but he had tentative peace with de Lohr purely out of necessity.

  De Lohr was ten times his strength and size.

  Still, Aeron wasn’t going to give up.

  He wanted de Lara out.

  Dead or alive – it was all the same to him, so long as the man was gone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two months later

  “If you wish to use this road, then you must pay the toll.”

  The words came from a severe-looking English soldier, though he wasn’t speaking unkindly or cruelly. Simply matter-of-fact. Beneath skies of blue, with a swift and brisk wind blowing through the small valley that was crisp and clear and green, a well-dressed Welsh merchant and his manservant faced the six English soldiers guarding the road.

  The merchant appeared rather stunned.

  “But… I do not understand,” he said in his thickly accented English. “I have traveled this road my entire life. No one owns the road. Who has placed a toll booth here?”

  The soldier shifted on his big legs, his mail coat creaking. “The Lord of the Trilaterals, Kevin de Lara,” he said. “This road is the property of Wybren Castle that Lord de Lara has recently taken possession of. Did you not know that?”

  The old man nodded in resignation. “I heard,” he said. “I knew the family who held it before. An old family, who held the castle when the Normans came. Arglwyddi Breidden.”

  The English soldier understood Welsh. “It no longer belongs to the Lords of Breidden,” he said. “Old Lord Breidden passed away a few months ago without an heir. But before he died, he made a bargain with the House of de Lara. He didn’t want to leave the castle to the Welsh, who would only fight over it. He thought it better to give it to the English, who can manage it better.”

  The merchant frowned. “Mayhap they can, but it will only bring them strife,” he said. “The warlords of these lands will not stand for such a thing. They’ll fight to remove the English. De Lara has many castles in England. Why does he need Wybren? It has always belonged to the Welsh.”

  The soldier shrugged. “I do not know the man’s reasons,” he said. “But it does belong to de Lara now and this road is part of the Wybren holdings. If you want to travel upon it to the village of Pool, then you must pay the toll of two pence.”

  The merchant was becoming increasingly unhappy. “For a road I have traveled upon my entire life?”

  The soldier sighed heavily. “Change has come and you must accept it,” he said. “What is your name?”

  “Gethin ap Garreg,” he said. “My home is to the north, called The Neath. Everyone knows me in these parts. I sell goods.”

  “What kind of goods?”

  Gethin shrugged. “Fabrics, beads, perfumes,” he said. “My father before me was a merchant. He made his fortune selling goods. I have men sworn to protect my merchandise.”

  The soldier eyed him. “An army?”

  “A tiny one.”

  “Yet you travel alone, with merely a servant?”

  Gethin looked at the skinny, young servant standing next to him. “It is a short journey,” he said, realizing he sounded foolish even as he said it. Wealthy men never traveled without armed escort. “We were only going to Pool.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my men have brought a shipment of goods all the way from Paris,” he said. “They are guarding the goods and I am going to meet them.”

  The soldiers looked at each other. “Then you are going to meet your army?” the one in the lead clarified. “That is why you travel alone?”

  “Aye.”

  The soldier scratched his head. “Very well,” he said. “But you must still pay the toll. I will not, however, force you to pay the toll on your return trip.”

  The merchant didn’t seem to think that was a good deal in the least. “But I have traveled this road my entire life,” he said. “My father did and his father before him. Now I am expected to pay to use a road I have always used? I will not do it, I say.”

  “Then you will not pass.”

  Gethin was beginning to become indignant. “This is the only road directly to Pool,” he said. “If I take any other road, I must go miles out of my way. It is not fair for the Saesneg to suddenly put a toll booth here, demanding money from the Welsh to use their own road.”

  “Mayhap not, but there is a toll nonetheless,” the soldier said. “And surely you have heard that Lord de Lara is not keeping the money all for himself. Half of it is being given back to the churches in the area as alms for the poor. It is to help tend the needy.”

  Gethin hadn’t heard that but, then again, he wasn’t a pious man. He was ashamed to admit it, though.

  “Give it back or keep it is all the same to me,” he said. “He is still demanding tolls that he has no business demanding.”

  “Pay it or go back.”

  “I will not pay it.”

  “Then go back the way you came.”

  Infuriated, Gethin and his servant turned away, following the path they’d taken from home. The soldiers watched them go before retreating into the newly built stone toll booth, the one with a hearth for warmth and food, tables and chairs, and even a couple of beds for the night watch. There was a livery out back for their horses. It was rather large for a toll booth and sturdily built because of the money it was meant to protect.

  One man remained on the road, however, keeping watch while the others gathered inside. In fact, he was still watching Gethin and his servant as they nearly faded from view before suddenly darting across the meadow that paralleled the road. As the soldier watched, he could see the men picking their way through the sodden meadow.

  Their intent was clear. They intended to bypass the toll booth. That realization brought four soldiers from the toll booth astride their heavy warhorses, capturing Gethin before he could accomplish his deed.

  The manservant, however, was wily. He managed to escape the soldiers, who gave up chase when the young man darted into a heavy copse of trees. Since there were disgruntled Welsh in the area, no one wanted to make an easy target for an ambush, so they retreated with their prize of the merchant.

  Gethin ap Garreg was to have a first-hand look at Wybren Castle and her legendary, and terrifying, vaults. But unfortunately, he didn’t live to see them. In his struggle against a knight who was trying to mount him on a horse that would take him back to Wybren, he lost his balance and fell over backwards, landing on the back of his neck.

  As Gethin died a quick and wasteful death as the result of a toll he refused to pay, his clever servant made it home.

  Gethin’s daughter was heading to Wybren at first light the next morning.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A few days later

  Wybren Castle

  “It belongs to the House of de Lara now. Can you smell that Saesneg stench?”

  The whisper came from a small, crooked servant woman. She’d been born that way, with a crooked spine and a twisted leg that caused her to walk with a limp. She’d tagged along on this day of days but, now, her mistress was beginning to wonder why she’d allowed her to come at all.

  The ma
id, Megsy, hated the English.

  She was in the thick of them now.

  But so were all of the Welsh in this area, from Four Crosses all the way down to Montgomery, and everything in between. The massive structure known as Castell Wybyrn, or Castle of the Sky, was the center of that universe and had seen a change in hands over the past several months.

  The English had taken control of a historically Welsh castle.

  More changes had come with the new English overlords that affected their everyday lives. One of them was the tolls – her father had been caught up in refusing to pay for a toll on a road he’d traveled upon his entire life.

  And now, here she was to free him.

  Megsy had insisted on coming with her. She would not let her young, beautiful, and stubborn mistress confront the English alone. Now that they had arrived, they stood at the bottom of the hill that led up to the castle, getting a feel for what lay at the top. The hill was covered with a thick canopy of trees, obscuring the castle walls above and shielding that mighty fortress in the sky.

  Juliandra ferch Gethin stood at the bottom of the road that went up to the first of two big gatehouses, fighting down her natural fear of the English. She had not been here since she had been a small child and her father had come to pay tribute to the Welsh lords that used to live here. She had fairly forgotten just how imposing it was. It was also busy at this time of day, with people moving up and down the road.

  “Where did all of these people come from?” she asked Megsy, though it was a rhetorical question. Castles like this were always busy. “Do you suppose they all have family in the vaults for refusing to pay the toll?”

  Megsy clung to her mistress, holding fast to her as she looked around. “They look like people who would do business here,” she said. “I see farmers mostly. Look, the gatehouse is open and there are soldiers guarding it. What will you tell them?”

  Juliandra looked ahead at the first gatehouse. A permanent wooden bridge spanned a gulch that was deep and overgrown, a trench that encircled the entire castle and was a moat in some places. Reeds and green growth sprouted out of the muck. She hoped they wouldn’t toss her into it when she told them why she had come.

  Give me back my father!

  “I do not know,” she said after a moment. “The truth, mayhap. Surely they would not think to punish me for seeking my father’s freedom. I have brought money for the toll, after all. I will simply ask them to release my father.”

  Megsy didn’t think it was such a good idea. In fact, she looked at her mistress in horror.

  “Are you mad?” she hissed. “They will likely put you in the vault beside him if you demand his release.”

  “I did not say demand.”

  “You must lead with the money you’ve brought and then ask politely!”

  Juliandra looked at her, annoyed. “Of course I will ask politely,” she said. “You sound as if I am going to lay siege.”

  The old maid eyed her. “Knowing you as I do, you very well could,” she muttered. “Will you at least be pleasant and sweet about it?”

  “To the English?” Juliandra said, aghast. “I will not. I will simply tell them why I have come and offer to pay his toll. I will not be rude, but I will not be sweet, either.”

  Megsy made a face suggesting that this situation might not go very well. She had rather hoped her mistress might try to charm her father’s way to freedom because Juliandra could be very charming when she wanted to be. But she could also be bold and demanding.

  She didn’t think the English would take that too well.

  “Let’s get on with it, then,” she said.

  They began to move.

  The bridge across the rocky gulch loomed before them. At this time of day, people were mostly leaving the castle after having conducted their business, so Juliandra and Megsy were walking against the crowd. There were at least six soldiers at the gatehouse, possibly more that they couldn’t see. They could, however, see sentries on the wall, pacing the length of it, watching both those coming and going as well as the land beyond.

  English bearing a dark blue dragon on their tunics surrounded by a sea of yellow and white were unfamiliar colors at this castle, visitors who had taken up residence. Somewhere, Juliandra remembered her father speaking on the House of de Lara and how their origins went back to the conquest of England, and further back still. The dragon on their tunics spoke of the family’s position along the Welsh Marches. It was accepted that Wales was the land of dragons, and the de Laras were close to that mystical and magical land.

  Hence, the sapphire dragon.

  Juliandra found herself contemplating the sapphire dragon, so much so that she was startled when one of the soldiers spoke to her.

  “What’s your business, lady?” he asked.

  Juliandra came to an abrupt halt and Megsy plowed into the back of her. After steadying her maid, she looked to the group of soldiers. Now, all of them were looking at her curiously, if not a little lasciviously. It was the lascivious looks that began to rile her.

  “I…” she stammered, took a deep breath, and started again. “I wish to see Lord de Lara. I have business with him.”

  The soldier waved her off. “Lord de Lara hears supplicants on Tuesdays,” he said. “If you want to speak with the man, you’ll have to come back on Tuesday.”

  Juliandra didn’t want to come back on Tuesday. She wanted to speak with him now. “But I do not wish to petition him,” she said. “I have important business with him.”

  Now that the soldier knew why she had come, he was increasingly disinterested in her. “I told you that de Lara only conducts business on Tuesdays,” he said. “That is when he hears grievances or anything else requiring his attention. You Welsh needed law and order, and he has brought it. If you want to talk to him, then come back on Tuesday.”

  “But…!”

  He cut her off. “He’ll be fair with you, I assure you. Fairer than any Welsh lord would be.” The soldier eyed her a moment longer before turning away. “Come back Tuesday, lass.”

  Juliandra didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t coming back on Tuesday, that much was certain. She was here and she wasn’t leaving until she saw Lord de Lara. Perhaps she had been too polite with them; perhaps she’d not been firm enough. As she prepared to take a harsher and more demanding stance, Megsy suddenly piped up.

  “She sings, m’lords,” she said. “She’s come to see Lord de Lara about entertainment. She sings!”

  As Juliandra’s eyes widened in shock, interest returned to the soldiers. They looked between the maid and Juliandra.

  “Sings?” the soldier in command said. “Is that the business?”

  Megsy nodded eagerly. “Aye, m’lord,” she said. “She’ll sing for the hall tonight in exchange for food and a bed, and keep any money that is thrown her way. What better entertainment than to have an angel sing while you eat?”

  Now, the soldiers at the gatehouse were mostly looking at Juliandra as the thought occurred to them. The lure of a beautiful woman singing for her supper was attractive, indeed.

  “So you can sing, can you?” the soldier looked her over, more closely this time. “Sing something for me. Let me hear you.”

  Had she thought she could get away with it, Juliandra would have throttled Megsy at that moment. Her hands were fairly aching to wrap around the old woman’s throat, but she restrained herself.

  Barely.

  The old woman had certainly gotten them into a bind.

  “I… I will only sing for the lord,” she said.

  The soldier shook his head, folding his arms over his chest. “Sing or I will turn you away,” he said. “It could be a trick to get into the castle, so prove it to me. Sing.”

  She was stuck now, with no way out. It was a trick to get into the castle, but if she wanted admittance to see Lord de Lara, then she would have to make a good effort of sounding like a singer or wait until Tuesday when she could join everyone else seeking the man’s attention.
r />   Perhaps she could bluff her way past these English buffoons.

  “My love gave me a ring of gold;

  In his eyes, I would never grow old.

  He pledged his troth, his love divine;

  And in my heart, he would always be mine.”

  It was short and sweet, but enough of a taste of her voice to prove her point. It had been slightly rushed, and she hadn’t put forth a good effort, but the truth was that her voice was really quite angelic. Megsy’s suggestion that she was an entertainer wasn’t a fluke, for Juliandra did like to write songs and sing them, but only to herself or to her family. She never sang outside of her own home. She could even accompany herself on the citole her father had given her for her day of birth a few years ago, but singing in front of an audience of strangers…

  That was a fresh, new terror.

  But it had worked. The soldier looked pleased and so did his colleagues.

  “Very well,” he said. “You can sing for your supper, lass. One of my men will show you where you can sleep.”

  With that, he motioned to one of his men, who immediately broke off from the group and motioned for Juliandra and Megsy to follow. As they walked past the soldier in charge, he spoke.

  “Would you sing better with a lute or harp?” he asked.

  Juliandra paused, looking at him. “I can accompany myself on a citole or a lute, but I… I failed to bring mine with me.”

  The soldier waved her off. “We have enough men with musical instruments that they can play for you. All you need do is sing.”

  Juliandra nodded, moving quickly to catch up with the soldier and Megsy, who was having a difficult time keeping up with her twisted leg. Juliandra took the little maid by the arm and helped her along, following the long-strided soldier across another bridge and through a larger gatehouse.

  Beyond that was a bailey, crowded with outbuildings and an enormous keep, which had turrets on the northeast and southeast corners, extending at least two stories beyond the top of the keep.