Authors: Netherworld
As the rain pounded and the thunder rumbled in the pewter sky above, Izlyn broke away from her sister and headed down the entry stairs. Puzzled, Chrystobel called after her sister but the young girl ignored her as she headed around the side of the keep. Curious, Chrystobel followed, dodging mud puddles and rain as it poured off of the keep, until she found her sister back in her flower garden which, by now, was more of a muddy soup with dormant plants sticking out of it. There were, however, a few sprigs of green that still had blossoms on them, now limp with rain, and Izlyn pulled at one of the last purple thistles, tearing it free of the plant.
Chrystobel continued to follow her sister as the girl returned to the bailey where the army was nearly formed. The knights were yelling and a quartermaster’s wagon was being moved into place. Men were soaked, and unhappy, but there wasn’t much that could be done about it. Izlyn headed straight for the army, peering at the men she came across. It was clear that she was looking for someone and as she stood there, looking rather lost, George came through a row of men and nearly ran into her.
As Chrystobel watched, Izlyn’s face lit up and she smiled brightly at George, who smiled in return. He had genuinely become fond of the girl over the past few weeks, as they had spent a good deal of time together chasing rabbits or trying to fish from the small, overgrown pond near the garden. When George smiled at her, Izlyn extended the thistle to him, giving him the bud, and he took it graciously. He even tucked it into his armor in the folds near his neck. Then he patted her on the cheek and turned away, heading to the front of the column where his charger was.
Izlyn watched him go, an aura of happiness and longing on her face. Chrystobel had seen the exchange, as sweet as it was, but she called her sister over to her once George walked away because she didn’t want to see her sister get trampled with the men still moving about. Izlyn scooted over to her and they headed back towards the keep, where it was dry, until a shout caught their attention.
It was Gart, heading towards them from the gathering of soldiers. He was completely soaked through, rain dripping off of his face as he approached. His attention was focused on Izlyn.
“Lady de Poyer,” he glanced at Chrystobel, greeting her, but his focus quickly returned to Izlyn. “What’s this I hear? You have given George a posy and not me? My lady, I am sincerely crushed. I thought you liked me best of all.”
Izlyn grinned broadly and flushed furiously. She was much better with her speech these days but still not completely comfortable. She struggled to bring forth her reply.
“He… is going,” she said haltingly. “You will… will stay here.”
Gart’s eyebrows lifted as he was horribly offended. “Is that all?” he demanded, although there was no force behind it. “You give him a flower because he is leaving? I will not stand for it. I will go fight him right now for your affections. I will not allow George to be your favorite.”
Izlyn was giggling, as was Chrystobel. It was so wonderful to see her sister happy, with affection and attention lavished upon her by knights who understood how terrible her life had once been. They seemed determined to make up for every horror Gryffyn had ever inflicted upon her, which made Chrystobel feel a good deal of respect and admiration for these men. They were near and dear to her heart, men of honor and compassion, and she would defend them to the death. She came to realize some time ago that she was more loyal to her English husband and his English knights than she was to the Welsh people. She’d only known pain and suffering from the Welsh. With the English, she’d only known joy, as had Izlyn. It wasn’t difficult to be loyal to them.
As Gart postured and threatened to fight George, Izlyn put up a hand and grasped his wrist. “N-nay,” she said, sounding firm. “You… cannot fight George. I… I will be angry with you.”
Gart stopped in the middle of his rage and looked at her, his expression conveying the best dramatics of a broken heart. Then, he turned away from her, wiping his eyes as if weeping. As he headed back towards the army, he kept turning around to see if she was watching him. When he saw that she was, he would resume wiping his eyes. Chrystobel sighed heavily and looked at her sister.
“You had better go give the man his own posy before he embarrasses himself with his sobbing,” she said, pointing to the garden. “Go along and find Gart a flower so he will not feel so bad.”
Izlyn nodded and turned in the direction of the garden, but paused a moment to grasp her sister’s fingers in order to get her attention.
“I am marrying George now,” she said haltingly.
Chrystobel laughed softly as Izlyn ran back to the garden to find Gart a flower. As she stood there, watching her sister disappear around the side of the keep, a big body walked up beside her and grabbed her around the waist.
“Greetings, my lovely,” Keller said as he kissed her on the cheek. Then, he hissed when he realized how wet she was. “By God’s Bloody Rood, woman! You are soaked through.”
She giggled. “I know,” she said. “I am returning to the keep, have no fear. But I should tell you something.”
“What?”
“Izlyn just told me she is marrying George and Gart is very upset that her affections have turned.”
He pursed his lips wryly. “Gart will overcome.”
“Gart said he is going to fight George.”
“Then George’s days are numbered.”
Chrystobel grinned at the jest, noticing that Keller kept turning around to see to his men’s state of readiness. She found herself looking at the army as well.
“Are they nearly ready to depart?” she asked.
Keller nodded, his gaze lingering on his men for a moment before turning to his wife. “Aye,” he replied. “Once they leave, you and Izlyn will stay to the keep and keep it locked. You will not come out, no matter what, and you will not open the door for anyone but me or my knights. Is that clear?”
The conversation had taken a serious turn and Chrystobel nodded. “Aye,” she said. “I had better go and make sure there are enough provisions in the keep.”
Keller nodded. “That would be a good idea,” he said. “I have no way of knowing just how long you are going to be trapped in there, so you’d better make sure you have everything you need.”
Chrystobel eyed him. “And you?” she asked softly. “Where will you be during this time?”
He heard the wistfulness in her tone and pulled her into his arms again. He had to get his fill of her before they were separated by necessity. This was a serious business they were about to face and although he was confident of victory, there were always unknown factors. It was those factors that concerned him.
“Keeping to the shadows,” he said softly. “I have no way of knowing when your brother will decide to make his move, but I have a feeling I will not have to wait long. Therefore, I will be keeping to the shadows, in the kitchen mostly, waiting for him to make an appearance. You and I must be clear on this, Chrystobel – you must stay to the keep no matter what you see or hear. Is that clear? If you open that keep door, you expose yourself to terrible danger and I will not be able to focus for fear of your safety. If I cannot focus, then your brother might have the opportunity to gain the upper hand. He might even have the opportunity to kill me. Do you understand how serious this is?”
Chrystobel nodded solemnly. “I do,” she said sincerely. “I promise I will stay to the keep no matter what.”
He kissed her on the tip of the nose. “Good,” he replied. “Now, make sure you have enough provisions. I will return to you as soon as the army is gone to seal you up in the keep.”
Chrystobel headed off, moving for the kitchens that were now filled with heavily armed men because the passage to the gorge had been unblocked. After giving Gart a small purple flower that had lost most of its petals, Izlyn joined her and together they finished gathering what they needed and had a few servants carry it all into the keep. There were dry stores, of course, beneath the small hall, which would hold them for quite a length of time, but Chrystobel made sure they had enough water to cook and wash with, and pots and utensils to eat from.
In all, the keep was fairly self-sufficient, as it was meant to be. By the time they were moving the last water barrel into the keep, the last of the army was just leaving the gatehouse. Chrystobel stood at the top of the keep, watching the army trickle out and the portcullis slam down behind them. There was something very ominous about the finality of that event. Now, they were open to prying eyes. They would be watched. Gryffyn would be watching. The very thought made her shudder.
Down in the bailey, Keller, Gart, Rhys, and William stood in a quartet near the portcullis. They, too, were watching the army as it faded down the road, blending in with the rainstorm. When the last man faded off, Keller turned to his knights.
“And so it begins,” he said quietly. “D’Einen thinks he can easily retake Nether but I will assure him that he cannot. William, make sure we have a heavy presence of men around the postern gate. It is my fear that if one of the Welsh happens to break free of the passage, they will head straight for that gate to open it up. Rhys, make sure the gatehouse is secured. Once William has the postern gate secured, he will join you in the gatehouse. The walls and the gatehouse, and the postern gate, will be your domains. Make sure they are sealed. Gart, you will come with me to the kitchen. You and I will wait for the first foolish Welshmen to come through that passage.”
The knights nodded, having their assignments given to them. “How far out will George and Aimery go before they turn around and come back?”
Keller lifted a thoughtful brow. “They are undoubtedly being watched, so they must at least make a good show of heading in the direction of Hen Domen. I told them to head out six hours and then camp. My guess is that d’Einen will move upon us this day, but if not today, then tomorrow for certain. I have told George and Aimery to head back to Nether tomorrow before dawn. We must give d’Einen a chance to move, and we may need George’s reinforcements by the time they return.”
“And if d’Einen has not moved yet?”
“Then I send a messenger to George and tell him to wait until further notice,” Keller replied. “If George returns too quickly, it will spook the Welsh.”
The plan was clear and the men headed to their posts, but not before moving to the keep where their armor was held. Now that the army was gone and the fortress was bottled up, they could dress in their protection without fear of someone sending word to d’Einen. Nothing was coming into the castle and certainly nothing was going out, especially a messenger. Nether was as secure as they could make it.
Chrystobel was standing in the keep entry as the knights began to file in, heading for the armor they had stacked up in the small hall. A pair of young squires, the ones that had been part of Rhys and Gart’s troops, followed the knights from the gatehouse and began helping the men with their protection.
As the small hall became crowded with knights preparing for battle, Chrystobel and Izlyn stood in the doorway, watching the men as they put on their layers of protection – padded tunics to avoid the itchiness of the mail, which went on top of the padding. Then came a heavy neck scarf to ease the weight and irritation of the hauberk for head and shoulder protection, and then another tunic on top of that one which usually helped secure the scabbard for the broadsword.
It was quite a process although Izlyn in particular was watching the squires, who were about her age. They had mostly stayed to the gatehouse with the soldiers so she’d not seen too much of them. Now, she was watching the competent young men with interest as Gart noticed where her attention was. When she would look at Gart, he pretended to weep, jealous of her attention to the squires. Izlyn just giggled.
Chrystobel, however, was completely focused on Keller as the man efficiently dressed. He was preoccupied, his mind on what lay ahead, and Chrystobel knew he was mostly focused on Gryffyn. Certainly, there was anxiety involving the Welsh that would be coming along with Gryffyn, but Keller was focused on Gryffyn alone.
He should have killed the man the day in the great hall when he came upon Gryffyn as he prepared to kill Chrystobel and, had it not been for Gryffyn knifing him in the back, Keller was certain that Gryffyn’s life would have ended on that day. But Gryffyn had not made an easy catch or an easy kill, and Keller was tired of chasing the man. Granted, he had a new wife and a new castle that had cornered his attention, but the time had come to focus on Gryffyn once and for all. The time had come to eliminate the threat.
Rhys and William were finished dressing first, saying their farewells to Chrystobel and Izlyn as they walked past the women and headed out of the keep. The squires soon fled, having nothing else to do, and Gart eventually came to say his farewells also. He accepted a smile from Chrystobel and a kiss on the cheek from Izlyn before heading out into the driving rain with his usual stalking gait.
Finally, it became Keller’s time to say his goodbyes and as he came to stand before his wife, words seemed to fail him. He stood there a moment, gazing at her, before taking her by the hand and leading her back into the small hall and away from Izlyn’s big and curious ears. Izlyn started to follow but Chrystobel held out a hand to the girl, stopping her in her tracks. Chrystobel, too, wanted a few private moments with her husband. When they neared the feasting table, covered with maps and other things related to the administration of Nether, Keller came to a halt and lifted Chrystobel’s hand to his lips.
“I am not an eloquent man,” he admitted, kissing her fingers. “I do not know what this day or even what tomorrow will bring, but I will leave you with these words – the day I met you was the day I started to live again, Chrystobel. I was terrified of you and you know that, but I learned to overcome my fear and I am so thankful that I did. Loving you is the best thing I have ever done.”
Chrystobel’s eyes widened. “You… you
love
me?”
He nodded, kissing her hand again. “I do,” he murmured. “Remember what I wrote to you?
When I look at you, I see all things bright and pure. I see the magic of a new beginning
. Every word of it is true and I love you more than words can express.”