Page 427
One day earlier
Powys Region, Wales
“Do you suppose that when God created the earth, he forgot to mention that the sun needed to fall upon Wales as well?”
The question drew low laughter from the group. A column of five hundred English warriors tramped north out of Deheubarth, through Gwynedd and into Powys, traversing the lush green and wild country of Wales. August had seen unseasonably heavy rains, turning the roads to muddy swamps. At the moment, the gray clouds were scattering across the blue expanse of sky, moving to the east as the sea breeze blew strong. The comment came from a young knight because even though traces of blue could be seen among the clouds, it seemed that one was always blotting out the sun.
“God may have made Wales with too much bad weather and too many savages,” an older knight commented. Sir William Wellesbourne was a big, blond knight with dark eyes and a quick wit. “But it is William Marshal who has charged us with taming it. Consider this your test of knighthood, young George. Sun be damned.”
George Ashby-Kidd grinned sheepishly as his identical twin brother, Aimery, laughed the loudest. They were good-looking young men, newly knighted last year, with personalities as identical as their brown-haired, blue-eyed resemblance. They were quick to the sword, quick of temper, and ambitious. Their father was a long-time retainer of their liege, William Marshal, and very ambitious himself. The boys had been well schooled in knightly aspiration.
As the troops surrounding the knights twittered and snorted, a muzzled charger thundered up from the rear of the column. Wellesbourne quieted the snickering men as their commanding officer rode upon them. Mud sprayed as the big horse slowed from a canter to a nervous trot and the knight flipped up his visor with an enormous mailed hand.
Sir Keller de Poyer inspected his knights, flicking the sweat from his brow as he did so. Even in the cooler temperatures, sweat was running in his eyes. It had been a long day at a clipped pace and he, as well as his men, were showing their fatigue. He knew his men had been laughing; he heard them well down the line. He also knew they would shut up as he drew near. They always did, fearful of his temper as well as his punishment. Keller’s knights had learned through trial and error to both fear and respect him. They were all relatively new to his service and he was not, in their experience, a forgiving man.
“We should see our destination within the hour,” Keller glanced up at the waning sun as it struggled to peek from behind the gray clouds. “Will, send a rider on to announce our arrival. I would have sup waiting for us when we arrive.”
Wellesbourne nodded smartly and motioned to one of the mounted soldiers riding in the ranks behind the knights. The man dug his heels into his horse and shot off down the road, splashing black mud as he went. George’s charger became excited when the horse sped past, causing his animal to bolt off the muddy path. He had a devil of a time controlling the horse and bringing him back into the column. Keller rode up beside Wellesbourne, ignoring George and his frenzied charger.
William eyed de Poyer as the man pulled alongside. He’d distantly known Keller for a few years, as they both served William Marshal, but only in the past year had he come into the man’s service as garrison commander of Pembroke Castle. It had been a dark time in de Poyer’s life. All William knew, and this was strictly from what others had told him, was that Keller had been betrothed to a woman he was deeply in love with. But the woman had left him for another man and Keller had turned from a pleasant, dedicated knight into a withdrawn, quick-tempered malcontent.
Since William and Keller were about the same age and had the same number of years as sworn knights, there was an assumed amount of respect and camaraderie between them. There were times when William saw the warm, witty man come through. He had heard tale, from the old soldiers, that Keller had once been a congenial man known for his fairness and benevolence. He had been very much loved by his men and respected by both ally and enemy alike. As garrison commander of Pembroke Castle for the past several years, he had his share of respect from local Welsh chieftains. William Marshal had depended on him at Pembroke a good deal. But these days, most of the time, de Poyer was strictly professional with no emotion, only black and white in his decision-making. There was no longer any warmth or kindness. Those days departed when his lady-love did.
That made the trip to Nether Castle in the wilds of Powys such a dreaded task. They’d all been feeling it for days now as they traveled from Pembroke Castle into the green vales of Powys. Everyone treated the subject as one would the plague; with fear and avoidance. William hated to even bring it up, but there was no avoiding the reason for their trip. Best to get it out in the open to let whatever storm that would brew as a result to run its course and be done with it before they arrived at their destination.
“I have not yet had the opportunity to congratulate you on your contract,” he said casually as the horses plodded along. “The Marshal has rewarded you well for your years of service; a castle of your own and titles. You must be quite pleased.”
Keller’s jaw ticked as his dark blue eyes moved over the lush green landscape. “I should be.”
“But you are not?”
“I was content as garrison commander of Pembroke.”
“But to have title and lands of your own is every man’s dream,” William pressed. “Lord Carnedd now, is it not? And your property stretches from Banwy River to the Dovey Valley. I hear it is a rich, prosperous land much coveted by Welsh princes.”
“Which will make keeping peace all the more difficult.”
“Maybe so. But the Welsh overlord is loyal to William Marshal.”
“More than likely because the Marshal gifted the man with English lands and coinage,” Keller cast William a long glance. “Do not imagine that the man did not receive a handsome reward for surrendering his Welsh lands. He is now a very wealthy English lord, I promise you. And I also promise you that his Welsh neighbors will not take kindly to a garrison of English suddenly sprouting in their midst.”
William wriggled his eyebrows. “Perhaps not,” he said. “But that is why you have brought five hundred retainers and three knights, with still more on the way. Isn’t de Lohr sending some our way?”
De Poyer nodded faintly to the mention of the Earl of Hereford and Worcester, the great Christopher de Lohr, the most powerful Marcher lord in the realm. “The Marshal asked him to send a thousand more men if he can spare them,” he replied. “He is supposed to send a few knights along as well.”
Wellesbourne nodded confidently. “With a retinue that size, we shall make short work of any resistance the Welsh might display.”
“We shall see.”
The way Keller uttered the quietly spoken words led William to believe that he wasn’t entirely convinced of the English superiority, even with de Lohr reinforcing his numbers. The Welsh this far north could be powerful and cagey. That being the case, William sought to steer the subject away from that particular issue.
“I also hear that one thousand sheep are part of your contract,” he said.
“They are indeed,” Keller drew in a long, pensive breath. “I suppose I can always look at the positive; should I grow weary of fighting the Welsh, I can always become a sheep farmer.”
William laughed softly. “Cheer up, de Poyer. You are a fortunate man.”
Keller’s response was to spur his charger away from William and to the front of the column. It was apparent he didn’t wish to speak further on the matter and Wellesbourne was sorry that he had chased him off. Keller remained at the front, riding alone, until the tall, dark-stoned bastion of Nether Castle came into view.
