Christopher’s first reaction was that it was somehow the mercenary they’d heard tale of and his sense of concern grew. Perhaps the man, having grown weary of smaller targets along the Marches, was now moving to bigger game.
“Did you see any colors?” he asked. “Surely they were flying standards.”
The soldier sighed heavily. “Aye, they were,” he said. Then, he shook his head. “My lord, I grew up in these parts. I know the stories and I know the history. The last time I saw standards of black and red with a boar’s head in the center, Jax de Velt was sweeping through the Marches.”
Christopher stared at the man, trying not to show his astonishment. “DeVelt?” he repeated. “That is impossible. Jax de Velt’s reign of terror ended twenty-five years ago.”
The soldier nodded firmly. “I know it, my lord,” he said. “But unless someone else is flying the red and black boar’s head, Jax de Velt has returned to the Marches and he is coming our way.”
Christopher could hardly believe what he was hearing, but in the same breath, he remembered the conversation with Rod about the newest threat on the Marches and how the manhad burned Alberbury Priory to get to de Velt’s daughter. Christopher was terrified that his prophecy was about to come true;and Hell followed with him. Was it possible that de Velt was returning to the Marches to seek vengeance for his daughter’s abduction? Christopher could only guess. But one thing was for certain. He had to be prepared for whatever was coming. There was no time to waste. After a few moments of deliberation, he turned to Edward.
“You know what to do,” he said calmly. “Get the men moving, Edward. We will prepare for de Velt as if the man intends to attack us. Warn the village and take all who will come inside to the safety of the castle. Time is critical, so move quickly.”
With that, he turned away from the soldier and headed out of the hall with Edward beside him. Their manner was business-like and calm for the most part even though they were both rattled at de Velt’s appearance. It was exactly what they hadn’t wanted. Running a thoughtful hand through his thick blond hair, Christopher continued to focus on what needed to be done in order to secure Lioncross. He was certain he could hold de Velt off in any case, but he had to make sure they were fully prepared. He couldn’t take any chances.
“Gather the officers in the bailey so we can tell them what has happened,” he told Edward. “And find Max and Jeffrey. They must be given instructions. I need my knights, Edward.”
Edward nodded grimly. “I wish we had Gart and Rhys and Lawrence with us,” he muttered. “I would feel better about this whole thing.”
Christopher grunted agreement as they reached the keep entry. Beyond, he could see the massive bailey of Lioncross, busy with commerce and activity. Men were going about their business and the gates were open because it was the time in the morning when the kitchens dealt with local farmers. It tore athim to think all of it would soon be under siege. His peaceful, lovely world would soon be under threat.
“I wish that as well, but we do not,” he said quietly. “Gart is in France for my brother. As for Lawrence and Rhys… well, God rest their souls, they are no longer with us. And I sincerely wish my brother was here but he had to marry a woman who lives in Kent, so it would take him weeks to reach us. That being said, we must think of other options for assistance. De Boulers, mayhap?”
Edward nodded. “Unless de Velt has already torn him to pieces,” he said. “The scout said that the army was approaching from the north, which meant they had to pass through Shropshire lands. But I will send a messenger to Shropshire.”
Christopher agreed quickly. “Do it immediately,” he said. “But provided Shropshire is compromised, we will send a request to assistance to someone else.”
“Who?” Edward wanted to know. “Anyone else on the Marches is days away. Chepstow, mayhap? Or Gloucester?”
Christopher already had an idea of who to summon. “Nay, not them,” he said. “There are English outposts in Wales that are closer to us, Keller de Poyer, in fact. We have sent men back and forth to each other since he has been in Wales, nearly eight years now. He is two days away on a swift horse. He carries almost a thousand men.”
It was an excellent idea and Edward was already moving, preparing to send off messengers. Christopher caught sight of Max Cornwallis, one of his other knights, and summoned the man with a flick of the hand. From across the dusty bailey, Max came on the run and, soon, he too was off with orders from de Lohr. Much needed to be done in a short amount of time because from where the soldier said de Velt’s army was camping, they could be upon them in mere hours. Time was of the essence.
Time moved swiftly, indeed. The messengers were sent off in short order to Shropshire and de Poyer as Christopher had a conversation with his wife instructing her and their children to remain in the keep. The Lady Dustin de Lohr, a spitfire of a beauty, was fearful but resolved to her husband’s instructions to barricade the keep, and Christopher was better able to focus knowing his young family was safe.
And it was a very good thing that he was clear-headed with determination. A little more than a half-hour since Christopher had been told of de Velt’s presence, he heard the sentries on the wall take up a cry. A rider had been sighted, heading towards Lioncross on the main road leading in from the north. Christopher raced up to the walls to catch a glimpse of what had the sentries so excited and ended up standing in a group with Edward, Max, and Jeffrey, watching the incoming rider. As the man drew close, Jeffrey, an older Germanic knight who had spent many years on the Marches, hissed under his breath.
“De Velt,” he muttered in his thick accent. “He wears the red and black.”
They could all see that, adding to their unease. The rider drew close to the castle as the men glared down from the walls, scrutinizing him, and the rider wisely came to a halt well before he reached the walls. It was clear that Lioncross had been warned because peasants were streaming in from the village and the gates were open. Christopher, seeing the man come to a halt, made his way down from the walls and to the open gates of his fortress.
Since Lioncross had been many things before it became a castle, it was not moated, nor did it have a motte or a keep in the general sense. Lioncross depended upon her massive walls for protection, walls that were twenty-five feet high in places, with extended fighting platforms and murder holes from which to destroy the enemy. At the moment, however, the gates wereopen to allow the villagers easy entry, and one lone rider was clearly no threat against the hundreds of soldiers at Lioncross.
With that in mind, Christopher made his presence known at the front gates, flanked by Edward and Max while Jeffrey remained upon the walls to keep watch on the horizon. Dust was being kicked up in their faces by the villagers scurrying in through the open gates of the fortress as the three knights eyed the rider in the distance.
“Max,” Christopher said, his eyes still lingering on de Velt’s messenger. “Go out and tell him to drop his weapons. Strip him.”
Max, a massive knight with long, dark hair, made his way out to the distant rider. Christopher and Edward watched as Max explained the way of things to the rider, who dismounted his horse without a word of protest and began dropping his weapons to the ground. The sword and scabbard went down into the grass and so did a small array of daggers.
Max gestured to the man again, obviously giving him more instructions, and the rider peeled off his tunic and hauberk, followed by his mail coat and finally his boots. Nearly everything came off the man as Max had him strip down to his tunic and breeches. Even then, he patted the man down to make sure he wasn’t carrying a concealed weapon. Only when he was convinced the man was weaponless did he gesture to Christopher and Edward, who came forward through the crowd of villagers trying to enter the fortress. When they came to within about ten feet of the messenger, Christopher came to a halt.
It was an odd standoff, three big and fully armed knights against a man in his dirty tunic and breeches with no shoes. Christopher studied the man a moment before speaking.
“State your business,” he said evenly.
The soldier looked between the three men. “I come bearing a message for the Earl of Hereford.”
“That would be me,” Christopher replied. “State your business and be quick about it.”
