A Plan is Formed
Photo © CatHat_Dev.
Thom found the king and his cousin in the woods and delivered his report.
"The house captain at the manor said what?" Evan's tone held the level of anger Thom expected.
He wiped a hand over his mouth and dug his heels more firmly into the dirt, so as to face Evan head on.
"The guard captain--his name is Barwyn--said they saw smoke from the burning farm yesterday. Long before the sun was midway in the sky. Lord Avlach is away and his wife would not give the guards permission to leave."
There was a long silence. Thom took the opportunity to study his boots.
"Permission," Evan said.
"Yes, my Lord."
"Permission from Avlach's wife?" The dusky black brows arched with a deadly gaze.
"Ah, yes. That's what the captain said." Thom's eyes met Gareth's then slid away.
The three stood on a path that led away from the farmhold. Light from the rising moon was bright enough to show Evan's face. Thom wished for clouds. Gareth tilted his chin and gazed up, appearing to search the sky for omens. An icy breeze sped down the mountain pass, dissolving the day's heat with cold fingers.
"I see," Evan finally said. "And did the house captain have any thoughts on the matter? Taking his marching orders from a woman?"
"He failed to say, my Lord." By the way the man glared at him like a just-gelded ox calf, Thom had his suspicions but thought it wise to keep silent. "I…ah…did have the opportunity to speak with the lady myself," he offered.
"You did?" Evan's voice became silky.
"The lady insisted on it," Thom said. A wayward, arrogant piece she was, too, impudent and high-nosed with her own importance. Thom's palm had itched for a willow switch just looking at her.
"Please. Enlighten me." Evan leaned against a tree and crossed his arms. A flash of moonlight made his eyes glitter.
"The wife said when people saw the smoke, she feared it would be dangerous for the men to ride out. She worried that letting a few leave would weaken their security."
"Ah." Thom saw the dark brows rise. "So, the lady is a tactician. How many men could not be spared?"
"The captain wanted to leave with four troopers, all good fighters and archers. I counted about thirty men that Lord Avlach left behind as guards."
Evan nodded. "So twenty-five men could not guarantee the lady's safety but thirty could?"
"Yes, my Lord." Thom heard a soft sigh and steeled himself.
"She failed to think that the raiders might fire her crops, or her manor?"
Thom studied his feet. "She did not mention it, my Lord."
The inquiring tone became harder. "Or perhaps, finding easy plunder, move over the rest of her land? Or further into Powys?"
"She did not say."
"Gareth?" Evan said.
Powys' war chief responded easily, not taking his sight from the moon. "Yes, Cousin?"
"Who is Avlach married to?" The man had run through several wives already, all dead from some cause or other. Gareth left off counting stars and looked at Evan.
"I believe her name is Briallen, which means--"
"Primrose!"
"Ah, yes. Primrose. Rather young, as I remember, with a nice shape to her."
"Half-witted and attractive, while Avlach is a doddering graybeard who lost the few wits he had left." Evan stalked a few paces up the path, let out an explosive breath, then returned.
"Thom, when did Avlach leave?"
"Six days, my Lord. He rode to Dinas Bran. A message came that his brother is ailing."
"I see. But Avlach's wife did not lift a finger while someone burned a farm, slaughtered her husband's crofters and stole the livestock?" Evan's hand touched his sword hilt; Thom swallowed the urge to step back.
"God have mercy! Did the woman say anything that made sense?"
Thom scoured a dusty hand across the stubble on his chin. The woman was a heedless wench and her husband blinded by her beauty. He owed them nothing but knew he walked on the shifting sand if he volunteered her remarks. Then, throwing caution to the winds, he spoke.
"The lady did say a few things. She was happy to know the King's war band was close. She feels much safer and invited everyone for a banquet tomorrow. And she told me…" Thom looked at Evan warily. "You should not trouble yourself if crofters at the farm died. They were only bondsmen and would be no trouble to replace."
The latter statement provoked an ominous silence, broken by a strangled "Jesus God!" from Gareth.
Evan's voice cut the air like a scythe. "That will be all, Thom. Be at Primrose's door before dawn. Tell her the King refuses to attend a feast to celebrate the death of fifteen men, women and children. Did you notice anything in the manor that looked valuable?"
Thom thought a moment. "Yes, my Lord. I saw a gold chest on a table." He made a motion with his hands. "About this size; the lady said she kept her jewels in it."
"Perfect. Open it, throw everything on the floor and tell her it is the first loss the king requires from her half-witted action. Bring the coffer to me. You may go."
"Yes, my Lord." Thom executed a brief bow and retreated into the shadows, walking fifty paces before he let the air stream from his lungs in a grateful hiss.
~ ~ ~
Gareth waited while Evan made several turns up and down the path, the tall form striding irascibly.
"The whelping little bitch feels safer, knowing the King is near," he said. "She should have let the guards do their job. I know the chief trooper at Avlach's manor; Barwyn is a decent, well-trained man. What is the point of having a house captain if you fail to listen to him?"
Gareth reached into the depths of his cloak and pulled out his wineskin. "Want a drink, Cousin?"
Evan flicked the offering aside.
"Well, I feel a bit dry, myself." Gareth fortified himself with a long pull.
"Gareth, on the off chance I die before we reach home, tell Owen. It will be worth remembering when Avlach arrives to plead his taxes. Sadly, he will have less money than he planned, since he lost 'just a few' of the people who make it. Lunatic, leaving his house to a woman's care. What remains of his brain resides between his legs."
Gareth grunted assent and drank again. He had no high opinion of bondsmen, slaves, or any other thing that did not know how to fight but was well acquainted with his cousin's views.
A cloud gusted across the moon, temporarily blocking the looming shadow of Idris, the roots of the mountain delving deep into the earth, its peak a jagged cleft against the sky. The summit was sheared cleanly, as if a giant's hammer had shattered it in one blow. Evan regarded the distant edifice balefully.
"Whoever the raiders were, they have more than a full days' start," he said. "They will be over the pass by now. Tomorrow, they'll be down the other side, if they've bothered to rest at all. Our horses travel as slowly over the mountain as cattle or sheep. We haven't a prayer of catching them."
"You want me to rouse some men and go after them anyway?"
"Pointless. Once they make the Gwynedd side, they melt into the trees. If we get too close, they head for the hill caves. You know what happens, Gareth, you've seen it."
"Well, we can still go over and burn a few of their holdings. Not much effort to do that."
"Aye, perhaps." Evan's tone became meditative. "Though one would think, with Cavynn Gwynedd away chasing Norse, they wouldn't have anyone to make raids."
"Oh, men can always find time for a bit of raiding. In any case, their hill folk would not have left with the warband. Like as not, they did the mayhem."
"Killing women and babes is 'mayhem'?" Evan countered. "I am deadly tired of this, Gareth."
"I'm not disagreeing with you, Cousin."
"They raid, we raid; we live with a slow hemorrhage." Evan began to pace, the folds of his cloak furling about him. The moon cast one side of him into bright relief, then the other, as he stalked under silvered beams, the planes of his face rigid.
Gareth located a sizable boulder near the path and made himself comfortable. He opened his wineskin and took a long swallow. The homily would shortly begin.
"Every year, Powys and Gwynedd lose enough people and livestock to goad the other side into retribution," Evan said. "Each skirmish resolves nothing; neither of us is strong enough to tear the other's heart out. I cannot leave my eastern borders unguarded and Cavynn would be foolish to pull out enough men to come over the mountains. Especially now, with the Norse riding the seas."
Evan managed a wry glance in Gareth's direction. "The only thing that keeps us from savaging each other are the rest of our enemies and these damnable mountain passes."
"Stalemate," Gareth agreed. "Unless you want to pay a high price to put it to an end."
Evan halted and stared up at the sky. "Look, Gareth! There are the stars that make up the constellation 'Bear,' the beacon that seamen navigate with by night. He rarely shines so brightly."
Gareth looked up. "Well, so he is. How strange." One of the Bear's claws winked, as its star turned and shivered in the sky. "I almost believe that bear thinks of hunting." The claw winked again.
Evan began to laugh. "Gareth, thanks to 'Bear,' random thoughts and rumors just became a decision."
"And?" Gareth said.
"I'm not eager to pay much to achieve peace with Gwynedd but I think we overlooked something."
Gareth's eyes widened. "What do you have in mind, Cousin?"
Evan gestured to the path. "Let's take a stroll and I can tell you."
"Fair enough," Gareth said as he stood. "But first, I have an unrelated question."
"Yes?"
The two began walking, heeled boots scuffing through thick leaves that blanketed the path. The trees guarding the way loomed over them.
"Why," Gareth began, "did you give orders to put the dead woman in a cairn, but not her babe?"
"Ah," Evan said, the note of satisfaction plain. "That is not an unrelated issue."
"No?"
"Indeed not. I have a plan for that wee battered corpse."
"Tell on, Cousin." Gareth offered his wineskin. "A drink now, perhaps?"
"My thanks, I believe I will." The two negotiated a wend in the path as they talked.
~
The morning dawned, bright and stark, with the promise of more heat. Evan made an adjustment to his saddle before swinging up to his horse. There was a flurry of movement as troopers mounted up.
Gareth watched from the ground, gnawing a frayed bit of willow.
"You think your knowledge of matters over there is good?" Evan nodded toward Cader Idris.
"I believe my information is gold-bright, Cousin, but I will make a short stop in Gwynedd, with a select few of my war-brothers just to make certain. I shall not even rape and pillage as I go; no one will know I came calling."
"Good." A smile touched Evan's mouth. "How old is Cavynn Gwynedd's sister?"
Gareth thought, brow furrowed. "Owen would know for certain. Sixteen, I think, perhaps seventeen by now. By some accounts she's as wilful as that pestilent vixen holed up in Avlach's manor. But you already know that."
"Cavynn's sister can be the incarnation of Guilty-Minded Guinevere, for all I care. I expect you home by the half-moon."
"Agreed."
Evan nudged his horse forward. "And remember your small gift."
Gareth waved in the direction of the new death cairns, lined up one by one at the far edge of the holding. He grinned. "Trust me, Lord King."
Evan guided his horse around and backed it, the fractious stallion sidling. "Mind that you hire one of their people to deliver it to the royal house at Aberystwyth. I do not want your head coming home on an ash pole. Aunt would not appreciate it, either."
Gareth held his arms straight out at his sides. "How foolish do I look?"
Evan shook his head; his face mirrored his cousin's grin. "I heard she has black hair, Gareth."
"Do you know, I heard that myself?" Gareth thumped his chest with a look of surprise. "Imagine both of us hearing the same thing!"
"Hair as black as a waterfall flowing in the dark of the moon," Evan continued. "It is said bards compose songs about her."
"I will let you know," Gareth clicked his teeth and nodded.
"Happy hunting, Lord Gareth."
"And also with you, Lord King. Go in peace, to love and serve…ah, love whatever you want, just go." Gareth raised his arms in a parody of a benediction.
Evan laughed and lifted a hand in farewell. He wheeled his horse and rode bareheaded into the morning, the babble of Cynan's weanling drowned by the creak of saddle leather and chink of bridle bits.
His torment at seeing the dead crofters eased a bit. Revenge might not be a tasty dish but it was a start.
Comments (6)
Show/hide comments
Show/hide comment form
Also love the description of Avlach's wife. Methinks she will regret her cowardice.