CHAPTER SIX
Four weeks later, Mid-September
Lioncross Abbey, near Lyonshall, England
The Welsh Marches
Lioncross Abbey Castle was named because it was built on the site of an ancient Roman house of worship and incorporated portions of two walls and part of the foundation into the structure of the castle itself. A former owner had christened it “Lioncross” after Richard the Lionheart, a man that the de Lohr family shared a great history with.
In truth, the castle had only belonged to the de Lohrs for less than one hundred years, when it passed into the family through marriage. It sat atop a low ridge overlooking a lake and the dark mountains that marked the Welsh border could be seen in the distance. The land around Lioncross was relatively flat and the Romans, as well as subsequent builders, had seen the advantage of building on the only rise for miles around. With the enormous curtain wall that surrounded the castle, the grounds of which were as vast as some of the largest castles in England, Lioncross Abbey was a force to be reckoned with.
The first Earl of Hereford and Worcester had been none other than Christopher de Lohr, the man known as King Richard’s Lion’s Claw. He had been with Richard on his crusade to The Holy Land and had made a name for himself there. When he’d returned to England, it had been with a litany of nicknames and titles, not the least of which was Defender of the Realm. In those turbulent days of Richard and John, when the Plantagenets fought brother against brother, or brother against father, or anyone else they decided to battle, Christopher and his brother, David, had been right in the middle of it, strongly supporting the crown.
The current earl was also named Christopher de Lohr, after his famous grandsire. The son of Curtis de Lohr, eldest son of Christopher and his lady wife, Dustin, Christopher the Second was a man in his fifth decade and had assumed the earldom at his father’s death only two years earlier. He had two younger brothers, Arthur and William, and so as not to confuse him with his legendary grandsire, he was known simply as Chris. Chris de Lohr meant the current earl, while Christopher meant the Lion’s Claw.
Not that Chris was any less powerful or decorated than his father or grandfather; on the contrary, he’d made a name for himself fighting with King Henry’s army and in the battles against Simon de Montfort. He was a proud tribute to the de Lohr name and he’d married well, having four sons and a daughter. Morgen, his eldest son, was also a fine tribute to the de Lohr name, but those who had known Christopher whispered that Morgen was much more like David, his great-uncle, than his grandsire. Morgen de Lohr had that quick temper in him that David de Lohr had been so famous for.
But Chris could not have been prouder of the young man, and of the rest of his brood – Rees, Dru, Kade, and Rhianne. His wife, Kaedia, was Welsh, a lass of a local chieftain he’d long had an alliance with, so his sons were a hybrid of an old English family and an old Welsh tribe, giving them all a particular view of the world. The boys had been raised English, and had fostered in the finest houses, but there was a part of them that was sympathetic to Welsh causes and to the Welsh fight for independence against Edward, which had made things rather difficult for them with Edward’s ongoing battles.
That was the reason Chris hadn’t consulted with Morgen or Rees when the news came out of Wales, via de Lohr spies in fact, that there was a new rebellion rising in the south. Although Morgen tended to side with the English in all things, as he would be an English earl when his father passed on, Rees had the heart of a rebel. He was passionate for the underdog; in this case, the Welsh. Dru and Kade were mostly English, like Morgen was, but Rees could get them worked up if he truly believed in a cause.
Therefore, when Chris received the men who watched the Welsh Marches for him, it was in secret for the most part. Chris’ captain, a powerful knight by the name of Augustus de Shera, had admitted the spies and brought them in through the postern gate, sneaking them in through the kitchens and into Chris’ solar.
It was there that Chris was told a great and troubling tale of a new Welsh rebellion, and the conversation with his two spies went on for more than an hour as he made sure to get every piece of information out of them. When he was certain they could tell him no more, he sent them to the kitchens to find something to eat and settled down in his chair as Augustus closed the solar door. Only then did the knight speak.
“I suppose I should not be surprised to hear that there is rebellion in the wind,” he said. “But I am concerned to hear of the rise of a bastard of Llywelyn ap Gruffydd.”
Chris drew in a long, thoughtful breath. A big man in size and stature, he looked very much like his grandsire with his shaggy blond hair and reddish-blond beard. His leather chair creaked as he sat back in it, gathering his thoughts.
“Gwendraith, Idole, and Llandarog Castles,” he said slowly. “I know of these places. They are near Carmarthen Castle. In fact, as I recall, they guard some of the major roads leading to and from Pembroke Castle.”
Augustus nodded. Much as Chris had a great family legacy, so did Augustus. His father was Maximus de Shera, one of three brothers known as the Lords of Thunder. Back in the days of Simon de Montfort, the de Shera brothers were legendary, now having bred several legendary sons. Augustus had his father’s size and temper, a big man who was deadly with a sword. He’d served Chris for six years, and Chris depended heavily on his strength and insight.
“They were all garrisons of Pembroke Castle before this happened,” Augustus said. “They are also very close to Carmarthen Castle, which is held by the Welsh.”
“And Dinefwr Castle,” Chris said. “Do not forget that one. That also secures a major road into the north of Wales and it also belongs to the Welsh these days.”
Augustus scratched his dark head. “If I was to guess about this, I would say that the Welsh are looking to cut off Pembroke from the rest of the Marcher lordships.”
“It is certainly possible.”
“Divide and conquer, mayhap?”
Chris shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, but it looks like that to me, too,” he said. “If they manage to starve out Pembroke which, in any case, they cannot do because the garrison can always receive supplies by the sea, but still – they can cut off all land access, and that will make it very difficult for de Valence. It could be a prelude to creating quite a problem for the Marcher lords in the south, including me.”
Augustus folded his big arms across his chest. “We have had peace for some time,” he said. “I should not like to find ourselves in battle mode again if the Welsh are truly rebelling. And what of this bastard son? Blayth the Strong? I’ve never even heard that name before.”
Chris shook his head. “Nor have I,” he said. “But I know who might have – your cousin and mine, Bhrodi.”
Augustus knew that name would come up. Bhrodi de Shera was Augustus’ close cousin by blood, the eldest son of his father’s brother, and just a year older than Augustus himself. Bhrodi was another Welsh-English hybrid, perhaps one of the most powerful lords in both Wales and England because not only had he inherited the Earldom of Coventry from his father, but he’d inherited the Kingdom of Anglesey through his mother’s father. He was a prince among the Welsh, and he’d married very well for himself – the youngest daughter of England’s greatest knight, William de Wolfe.
Therefore, Bhrodi was many things to many people, including an ally to the House of de Lohr because there were more family relations there in that his father’s mother had been a de Lohr. She’d been the youngest daughter of Christopher de Lohr, the Lion’s Claw, so the House of de Shera and the House of de Lohr were deeply intertwined. It made Augustus a cousin to Chris also, and the relationship between both families was a cultivated and mutually beneficial one.
“It is possible that Bhrodi knows about the man,” Augustus said after a moment. “But if he doesn’t, then he certainly should, although you know the northern Welsh princes are somewhat removed from southern Wales. They are the ones who have historically stirred up the trouble.”
Chris turned to look at him. “Then it makes sense that this bastard of Llywelyn’s should be stirring up trouble,” he said. “In any case, our spies seem to believe the Welsh are following this man. Tales of Blayth the Strong are spreading. He’s already managed to capture three castles and tie up major roads, and if we are not vigilant, Blayth and his followers may push our way. We must send word to Bhrodi and find out what he knows of this. We may need his help.”
Augustus wasn’t hugely keen on the idea. “In most of the battles between the Welsh and Edward, Bhrodi has managed to stay clear of them,” he said. “He has been involved, at times, but the only reason Edward leaves him alone is because he married a de Wolfe. Even Edward will not violate that treaty and risk alienating William de Wolfe. That would be a very bad thing, indeed.”
Chris knew that. “I am not asking Bhrodi to get involved,” he said. “At least, not yet. But I would like to know what he knows so we can prepare. If this Blayth intends to invade my lands, I want to know all I can about him.”
Augustus couldn’t disagree. The idea of trouble in the Marches again was not a pleasant thought. “Very well,” he said. “I will prepare a rider if you wish to scribe the message. If the weather remains good and the rider is able to cover several miles a day, he should be able to deliver it in four or five days.”
“On your way, then. There is no time to waste.”
Augustus was about to go about his business when the solar door rattled. Then, there was a loud and obnoxious knock. Augustus had bolted the panel for privacy because the de Lohr sons seemed to have no respect for their father’s personal space, so he cast a long look at Chris and watched the man roll his eyes.
“Open it,” he said, flicking his wrist.
Fighting off a smile, Augustus went to the door and unbolted it, pulling the panel open only to find Morgen, Rees, and Dru de Lohr standing outside. The three older brothers were fair and blond, a distinct de Lohr trait, and wasted no time pushing into the room. They frowned at Augustus before turning their displeasure on their father.
“Are you whispering behind locked doors now, Father?” Morgen demanded. “What goes on in here?”
Chris lifted an eyebrow at his nosy son. “That is for me to know,” he said. “If I wanted you to be part of it, I would have invited you.”
Morgen pointed to Augustus. “So he gets to stay?”
Chris rolled his eyes again. “You act as if the man is not your best friend in the world.”
Morgan frowned at Augustus even though his father’s statement was true. “Not when he gets to have a private council with you and I do not.”
“Stop complaining, Morgen. You and your brothers will sit down and shut your mouths. I will tell you everything, but I do not appreciate your tone.”
Morgen was usually the calmer one and he was rather embarrassed to realized he’d come across rather whiny about the whole thing. His brother, Rees, had seen Augustus usher in the two spies and had immediately run to his brothers to tell them what he’d seen. The fact that his father had not invited him to what was evidently a secretive meeting had offended Morgen deeply, and the three brothers had been watching the solar door for the better part of an hour.
However, they knew better than to interrupt their father. They weren’t so offended that they were ridiculously bold in what was clearly a private matter. But they watched the two men leave their father’s solar and head for the kitchens, and then waited an appropriate amount of time to enter their father’s solar, only to discover that the door was locked.
Still, he wasn’t so disrespectful to his father that he didn’t realize that everything the man said was true – had he wanted him present, he would have sent for him. With an exasperated sigh, Morgen plopped down in one of his father’s fine leather chairs.
“Well?” he asked. “Why the secrecy? What is happening?”
“We were discussing a wife for you,” Augustus said, taunting the man on a sore subject. Like most young knights, Morgen did not feel he was ready for a wife, something his father poked him about mercilessly. “Were we not discussing such a thing, my lord? That woman from the tavern in the village.”
Chris was on to Augustus’ game. “Aye. That one. The one with the bulbous breasts and missing teeth.”
“Aye, that one.”
“Wait!” Morgan practically shouted. “That is not funny!”
Augustus was trying very hard not to grin. “Good Christ, Morg,” he said. “She owns the place. Think of the money!”
Chris nodded his head seriously. “Forget the money, lad. Think of the whores.”
Morgan looked at his father with his mouth hanging open. “I am going to tell Mother you said that.”
Chris broke down into gasps of laughter, as did Augustus. “No need,” Chris said. “We were not really speaking of a wife for you, although it is something that is increasingly on my mind even if it is not on yours. We were speaking on information we have just received, news on a rising rebellion in Wales. It is possible we may have trouble in the future.”
Morgen calmed dramatically. All thoughts of a missing-tooth wife faded at the expression of concern on his father’s face. “Is it that bad?”
Chris shrugged. “It could be,” he said. “We are sending a missive to your cousin, Bhrodi, to see what the man knows.”
“May I take it to him, Father?” Rees asked. “I have a new horse that is very fast. I should like to give him his head and see just how fast and far he can go.”
Chris looked to his second eldest. “If you would like to,” he said. “If you are confident that your mount will not be exhausted after a day or two.”
Rees nodded eagerly. “He will not be,” he said, quickly moving for the door. “I shall go and prepare him now.”
As Rees rushed out, Chris opened the painted wooden box that contained vellum. His quill and ink were nearby and he pulled them closer as he thought on what he would say to Bhrodi.
“What of this rebellion, Father?” Morgen asked. “What have you been told?”
Chris paused, quill in hand, and looked at his son. “There are rumors that a bastard of Llywelyn the Last is rallying the Welsh to his side,” he said. “A man named Blayth the Strong. Three castles have already fallen to this rebellion and it is possible there will be more.”
Morgen’s brow furrowed with concern. “Blayth the Strong,” he repeated. “I’ve not heard of him.”
“Nor have I.”
“Doesn’t the word blayth mean wolf in the Welsh tongue?”
“It does, indeed.”
“Then there is a new Welsh prince rising?”
Chris’ expression darkened as he pondered the rise of a new Welsh prince. “Nay, lad,” he muttered. “There is a storm rising and we must be prepared.”
Rees departed Lioncross Abbey on his long-legged stallion within the hour, heading for northern Wales.