CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Six Days later
Lioncross Abbey
The sky was crowded with gray-tinged clouds, blown about by a blustery wind.
Asmara and Blayth were nearing Lioncross Abbey Castle, perched on the rise in the distance like a great crouching beast. It had massive towers on the corners of the curtain walls, and the mass of it was bigger than anything either of them had ever seen. The small Welsh castles had nothing against this enormous Norman monstrosity, at least from their limited experience. As they drew close and the wind whistled and howled, Asmara was beginning to feel a distinct sense of foreboding.
But they couldn’t turn back. She knew that. Her young stallion had come up lame again and she needed to find a safe haven to tend the horse. In fact, that had been their delay in leaving Jestin – the abscess in the hoof had returned and they had taken two precious days to try and ease it. When the horse seemed healed, they departed for Lioncross but the second day of their journey, the horse came up with a limp, so it had been slow going for the rest of the trip, which was fortunately almost over.
Now, Lioncross was on the horizon.
“How do you feel when you see the castle?” Asmara asked Blayth as they plodded along on the road, which had wound its way around the small hills of the Marches. “Are you still as determined as ever to do this?”
Blayth could hear the doubt in her voice. She was fearful of what was to come and, truth be told, so was he. But it did not diminish his desire to know the truth.
“I am,” he said, turning to look at her. “You should not worry. All will be well.”
Asmara tore her gaze away from the distant fortress, smiling weakly at him when their eyes met. “I am not worried for me,” she said. “Only you. De Lohr is the heart of the Marcher lords and he commands thousands. I feel as if we are walking into the belly of the beast.”
Blayth didn’t blame her for her apprehension. She’d spent her life fighting against men like the de Lohr. He was her enemy.
“You needn’t worry,” he said. “If I am really a de Wolfe, then I will be welcomed.”
“And if you are not?”
He cocked his head thoughtfully. “I have been thinking about the situation,” he said. “I would assume all English know one another, especially if they have fought in Wales, which the House of de Wolfe has.”
“We know that.”
“So has de Lohr.”
“Do you think they know each other, then? The House of de Wolfe and the House of de Lohr, I mean.”
He nodded. “It would make sense, would it not?” he said. “De Wolfe was at Llandeilo and we know that de Lohr has been involved in Edward’s conquest of Wales. Surely they know each other.”
“And if they do?”
He looked at her, then. “Then mayhap de Lohr will know me, as a de Wolfe,” he said. “I have been thinking he might. If Payton-Forrester is no longer here, then mayhap the earl will know me, or at least of de Wolfe. If I tell him my story, mayhap he will help.”
Asmara didn’t say what she was thinking, which was something not quite as optimistic as he was. She didn’t want to discourage him, not when they’d come so far and this was something he felt strongly that he needed to do, but the sight of the mighty bastion suddenly had her questioning the sanity of all of this. The English were something to be feared, and other than Pembroke Castle, this was the closest she’d ever come to an English stronghold.
The Welsh in her was naturally apprehensive.
“We can only pray,” she finally said. “But they will know we are Welsh. They will hear it in our voices when we speak their language, and it will not sound English. What if they do not believe your story?”
“We shall soon find out.”
Those were words of reason, not of comfort, and Asmara made a face at him when he couldn’t see her. They continued along the road, passing through the small green hills and coming up on the south side of the castle. There was a village to the east, and a fairly large one, but the road to the castle from the south didn’t pass through the village, it only skirted it. Soon enough, they saw the great lion-headed gatehouse of Lioncross looming before them.
The gates were open and people were passing in and out, going about their business, but there was a gang of heavily-armed de Lohr soldiers at the mouth of the gatehouse to ensure against any unsavory characters. Blayth had his eyes on the soldiers as he climbed down from his horse and with a hand gesture, asked Asmara to do the same thing. He was cautious as he approached, leading his horse, planning to say what he’d rehearsed in his mind a thousand times on their journey north. Now was the moment.
He prayed it went in his favor.
Approaching the group of armed soldiers as they watched peasants go in and out of the castle grounds, he was polite in his greeting.
“My name is Blayth,” he said. “This is my wife, Asmara. We seek Sir Corbett Payton-Forrester. Is he here at Lioncross?”
The soldiers looked at him curiously. There was no real hostility, merely interest. They began looking at each other.
“He was here,” one of them said. “I don’t know if he’s gone. Does anyone know?”
The soldiers began shaking their heads at each other. The younger soldier who had spoken first looked at Blayth.
“Do you know him?” he asked. “What do you want with him?”
Blayth could see that the soldiers were looking at the badly damaged left side of his head, and looking him over in general. He was an enormous man, and heavily scarred, and clearly something of interest.
Blayth could feel their scrutiny but he wasn’t self-conscious about it. As long as they weren’t being openly hostile, he could accept their curiosity.
“I have… unfinished business with him,” he said. “He was a prisoner in Wales. It was I who released him so that he could escape. I would like to speak with him.”
That brought a reaction of surprise from the soldiers, one of whom called for his commanding officer. An old soldier emerged from the guard room, speaking to another soldier and sending him off running before turning for the crew at the open gates. The soldiers were waving him over and he moved, rather slowly, until one of the men spoke to him and pointed at Blayth. That seemed to get the old soldier’s attention, and he moved among the men at the gate until he was in front of them, now with a clear view of Blayth.
Like the soldiers, the commander was now looking over the enormous, scarred warrior. He was definitely a curiosity, for all of them. It wasn’t often one saw a man that badly damaged and still standing, so that brought some respect from the old soldier. He approached cautiously.
“I understand you are looking for Corbett Payton-Forrester?” he asked.
Blayth nodded. “I am,” he said. “We have unfinished business. Is he still here?”
The old soldier started to nod, but suddenly, he came to a halt. He blinked his eyes as if he wasn’t sure what he was seeing and took a couple of steps in Blayth’s direction. His eyesight wasn’t very good at a distance, anyway, so he had to get closer in order to see the man more clearly and when he did, his eyes widened.
“What… what did you say your name was?” he asked, sounding startled.
“I am Blayth,” Blayth replied. “This is my wife, Asmara.”
The old soldier looked at him a moment longer before drawing back, a look of utter shock on his face.
“Blayth?” he repeated. “Is… is that what you said?”
Blayth wasn’t sure why the man seemed shaken up. In fact, it made him just the slightest bit wary. “Aye.”
The old soldier began to back away, but he was still looking at Blayth. He held up a hand to him. “Come with me,” he said, urgently. “Come into the ward with me, please. Bring your wife.”
Blayth thought the old man sounded rather odd, as if he were either very excited or very frightened about something. His voice was trembling. But Blayth obliged, motioning to Asmara, who followed him cautiously. She was still unsure about the entire situation, now being invited into what she had termed the belly of the beast. They entered the grounds of Lioncross Abbey Castle, passing under the enormous gatehouse with the lion’s head on it, and into a ward that was larger than anything either of them had seen inside of a castle.
The bailey was divided up into sections, with great stone walls creating the barriers, and the old soldier motioned them to a yew tree that was over near a wall that had a soldier’s training area beyond. The tree had wooden benches built around it and the old soldier pointed to it eagerly.
“Remain here,” he told them. “I will return.”
He started to walk away. “Are you going to tell Payton-Forrester than I am here?” Blayth called after him.
The old soldier didn’t reply. He simply kept walking, very quickly in fact. Blayth watched the man as he headed for the enormous, multi-leveled keep. When the man disappeared through the arched entry, he took a few steps towards Asmara, who was standing beneath the tree.
“That seemed odd,” he muttered to her. “I wonder why he was running like that.”
Asmara was leery about the entire circumstance, more so now with the soldier’s reaction. “I do not like the way they are looking at you,” she said. “Why did he run like that?”
Blayth shook his head slowly. “I do not know,” he said. “But I am sure we will find out.”
It was just a feeling he had.