and curse at the utter, bloody waste
of it.
The mood of all the men
was dark, taking out the despair at death with anger at the men
who’d done this. But as much as I wanted to start pulling out our
prisoners’ fingernails, I refrained. Now if I had Gruffydd ap
Gwenwynwyn under my nose, Goronwy would be hard pressed to hold me
back. Too bad he hid behind King Henry’s skirts where I couldn’t
touch him.
I closed the door to the
bedroom and turned toward the stairs that led to the kitchens. Even
though it was nearly midnight, servants were still awake, preparing
food and drink for those of my men who couldn’t sleep after the
day’s work. The morning would come all too soon for everyone. I
pushed open the door to the courtyard and strode towards the
stables where Goronwy had put our two surviving
prisoners.
“ One’s no older than my
man-at-arms who’d died,” Goronwy said in an undertone as I walked
in. “Perhaps like him too, this was his first mission for his
lord.”
“ He will be the one you
break first,” I said.
“ His face is white and
he’s near in tears,” Goronwy said. “Third stall from the
right.”
“ Not much longer now, my
lord,” Hywel said.
He leaned back in a
straight-back chair, his giant feet up on a trough. Lanterns blazed
from hooks along the walls, sending light into the darkest corners.
The stables had room for more than fifty horses, as was necessary
given the number of men I often brought with me in my travels or
for a day’s hunting in the forest. The manor house itself barely
deserved the name, however. It had a large hall and rear kitchen,
but only three rooms above stairs. And no dungeons, which is why
Goronwy was using two stalls for our prisoners instead of the usual
horses.
I scuffed at the floor
with my boot, glad to see that attention to detail of the stable
boys, even in my absence. With only fire for light, even protected
within a lantern, they had to be constantly vigilant about loose
hay tracked across the floor.
“ Shall I bring him out, my
lord?” Goronwy said.
“ It’s your decision,
Goronwy,” I said. “I stand by your assessment.”
Goronwy signaled to the
two guards who stood on either side of the boy’s stall. One of the
guards was the man, Bevyn, whose charge it had been to care for
Marged. She told me she’d ordered him to leave her, but I wasn’t
satisfied, even if he’d saved Goronwy’s life. It was my orders that
he needed to obey; neither his nor Marged’s judgment had yet been
proved, even if today’s escapade had ended well for them. It might
not have.
The guards disappeared
inside the stall and came out leading the boy, his hands tied
behind his back. Bevyn pushed him to his knees in front of Goronwy.
The boy was older than Goronwy had implied, nearer to twenty than
fifteen, of middle height and thin, with reddish hair and a pointed
beak of a nose.
“ Your name,” Goronwy
said.
The boy squared his
shoulders, raising his chin in a manner that matched the fine cut
of his cloak. “Humphrey de Bohun, Lord of Brecon and the
Marche!”
“ Ho!” Goronwy said. “Not
quite yet, I don’t think.”
“ I grant your family has
held lands in the Marche since your ancestors came to Wales,” I
said, “but Brecon Castle belongs to me, unless you have further
unwelcome news?”
“ No, sir,” Humphrey said.
“I do not.”
I had to admire his
courage and panache. He could have denied his antecedents, but then
he was probably hoping I’d ransom him, as was customary among the
nobility, rather than kill him, as he might have deserved. The boy
didn’t appear as close to breaking as Goronwy and Hywel had
thought, but then, they hadn’t known who he was before
either.
“ Your
grandfather lives?” Goronwy said, keeping to the main point.
Humphrey’s grandfather was also Humphrey de Bohun, the Earl of
Hereford and one of my most formidable opponents in controlling the
Marche. Humphrey’s father had died at Evesham fighting for
of it.
The mood of all the men
was dark, taking out the despair at death with anger at the men
who’d done this. But as much as I wanted to start pulling out our
prisoners’ fingernails, I refrained. Now if I had Gruffydd ap
Gwenwynwyn under my nose, Goronwy would be hard pressed to hold me
back. Too bad he hid behind King Henry’s skirts where I couldn’t
touch him.
I closed the door to the
bedroom and turned toward the stairs that led to the kitchens. Even
though it was nearly midnight, servants were still awake, preparing
food and drink for those of my men who couldn’t sleep after the
day’s work. The morning would come all too soon for everyone. I
pushed open the door to the courtyard and strode towards the
stables where Goronwy had put our two surviving
prisoners.
“ One’s no older than my
man-at-arms who’d died,” Goronwy said in an undertone as I walked
in. “Perhaps like him too, this was his first mission for his
lord.”
“ He will be the one you
break first,” I said.
“ His face is white and
he’s near in tears,” Goronwy said. “Third stall from the
right.”
“ Not much longer now, my
lord,” Hywel said.
He leaned back in a
straight-back chair, his giant feet up on a trough. Lanterns blazed
from hooks along the walls, sending light into the darkest corners.
The stables had room for more than fifty horses, as was necessary
given the number of men I often brought with me in my travels or
for a day’s hunting in the forest. The manor house itself barely
deserved the name, however. It had a large hall and rear kitchen,
but only three rooms above stairs. And no dungeons, which is why
Goronwy was using two stalls for our prisoners instead of the usual
horses.
I scuffed at the floor
with my boot, glad to see that attention to detail of the stable
boys, even in my absence. With only fire for light, even protected
within a lantern, they had to be constantly vigilant about loose
hay tracked across the floor.
“ Shall I bring him out, my
lord?” Goronwy said.
“ It’s your decision,
Goronwy,” I said. “I stand by your assessment.”
Goronwy signaled to the
two guards who stood on either side of the boy’s stall. One of the
guards was the man, Bevyn, whose charge it had been to care for
Marged. She told me she’d ordered him to leave her, but I wasn’t
satisfied, even if he’d saved Goronwy’s life. It was my orders that
he needed to obey; neither his nor Marged’s judgment had yet been
proved, even if today’s escapade had ended well for them. It might
not have.
The guards disappeared
inside the stall and came out leading the boy, his hands tied
behind his back. Bevyn pushed him to his knees in front of Goronwy.
The boy was older than Goronwy had implied, nearer to twenty than
fifteen, of middle height and thin, with reddish hair and a pointed
beak of a nose.
“ Your name,” Goronwy
said.
The boy squared his
shoulders, raising his chin in a manner that matched the fine cut
of his cloak. “Humphrey de Bohun, Lord of Brecon and the
Marche!”
“ Ho!” Goronwy said. “Not
quite yet, I don’t think.”
“ I grant your family has
held lands in the Marche since your ancestors came to Wales,” I
said, “but Brecon Castle belongs to me, unless you have further
unwelcome news?”
“ No, sir,” Humphrey said.
“I do not.”
I had to admire his
courage and panache. He could have denied his antecedents, but then
he was probably hoping I’d ransom him, as was customary among the
nobility, rather than kill him, as he might have deserved. The boy
didn’t appear as close to breaking as Goronwy and Hywel had
thought, but then, they hadn’t known who he was before
either.
“ Your
grandfather lives?” Goronwy said, keeping to the main point.
Humphrey’s grandfather was also Humphrey de Bohun, the Earl of
Hereford and one of my most formidable opponents in controlling the
Marche. Humphrey’s father had died at Evesham fighting for
Similar Books
