With that, he turned on his heel and marched back through the gatehouse. The portcullus dropped, the heavy reverberation causing the ground to shake as the Welsh stood there and watched, realizing that their mission to discourage the new English lord had just come to an abrupt end.
Hearing the English on the battlements as they shouted to one another and went about their business told the Welsh that their presence, from this point on, was being ignored. Unhappy, frustrated, they turned away from the gatehouse and began to head back the way they had come.
But it wasn’t the end of their protest.
“Damnable Saesneg,” the older of the pair grumbled. “Did you see all of the men he had with him? They’ll be dug in like vermin before the day is over.”
The man with the eyepatch was grinding his teeth. “I did not expect him to listen to us,” he said. “He’s a dense Saesneg, like all the rest. If we are to evict the man from Wybren, then we cannot do it alone. We will need help.”
“What help?” the older man said. “What ally is going to tangle with the House of de Lara? They can bring forth thousands of men and they would burn our homes, kill our women. Nay, Aeron, our protest is at an end. We will not be able to send him home and we will not harrass him. I fear if we do, it will only bring us trouble.”
Aeron ap Gruffudd looked at his companion, Glynn ap Hywel. Glynn was at least twenty years older than Aeron was and he’d see a great many things over the years. He tended to be less aggressive towards the English because he’d been party to battles that had seen many Welshmen killed. But Aeron was young and he hadn’t yet learned the restraint that Glynn had sheerly out of necessity.
The fire of hatred burned deep in his belly.
“De Lara does not belong here,” he said. “I will send word to my cousin to the south. His lands border those of the Earl of Hereford and Worcester, Christopher de Lohr. He has dealth with these English and he keeps de Lohr on his side of the border. Phylip can raise more men and help us push de Lara back into England where he belongs.”
“It is foolish, I tell you!”
“We do not need an English army in our midst!”
When they realized they were shouting, they glanced over their shoulders to make sure their men hadn’t heard them. Some had, but they were pretending they hadn’t. The whole lot of them was moving down the slope from Wybren and into the village that crowded up around the base of the hill where the castle was built. Villagers were looking at the Welsh warlords with some fear, all of them fearful at the turn of tides at the great Castle of the Sky.
Fear that times were changing with an English overlord and they were unable to stop it.
Perhaps they were fearful, and perhaps Glynn was even more fearful, but Aeron wasn’t. He was already thinking ahead to the man he would send south to his cousin’s domain, asking him for help in eliminating the English lord from Wybren. Phylip hated the English as much as anyone but he had tentative peace with de Lohr purely out of necessity.
De Lohr was ten times his strength and size.
Still, Aeron wasn’t going to give up.
He wanted de Lara out.
Dead or alive – it was all the same to him, so long as the man was gone.
CHAPTER THREE
Two months later
“If you wish to use this road, then you must pay the toll.”
The words came from a severe-looking English soldier, though he wasn’t speaking unkindly or cruelly. Simply matter-of-fact. Beneath skies of blue, with a swift and brisk wind blowing through the small valley that was crisp and clear and green, a well-dressed Welsh merchant and his manservant faced the six English soldiers guarding the road.
The merchant appeared rather stunned.
“But… I do not understand,” he said in his thickly accented English. “I have traveled this road my entire life. No one owns the road. Who has placed a toll booth here?”
The soldier shifted on his big legs, his mail coat creaking. “The Lord of the Trilaterals, Kevin de Lara,” he said. “This road is the property of Wybren Castle that Lord de Lara has recently taken possession of. Did you not know that?”
The old man nodded in resignation. “I heard,” he said. “I knew the family who held it before. An old family, who held the castle when the Normans came. Arglwyddi Breidden.”
The English soldier understood Welsh. “It no longer belongs to the Lords of Breidden,” he said. “Old Lord Breidden passed away a few months ago without an heir. But before he died, he made a bargain with the House of de Lara. He didn’t want to leave the castle to the Welsh, who would only fight over it. He thought it better to give it to the English, who can manage it better.”
The merchant frowned. “Mayhap they can, but it will only bring them strife,” he said. “The warlords of these lands will not stand for such a thing. They’ll fight to remove the English. De Lara has many castles in England. Why does he need Wybren? It has always belonged to the Welsh.”
The soldier shrugged. “I do not know the man’s reasons,” he said. “But it does belong to de Lara now and this road is part of the Wybren holdings. If you want to travel upon it to the village of Pool, then you must pay the toll of two pence.”
The merchant was becoming increasingly unhappy. “For a road I have traveled upon my entire life?”
The soldier sighed heavily. “Change has come and you must accept it,” he said. “What is your name?”
“Gethin ap Garreg,” he said. “My home is to the north, called The Neath. Everyone knows me in these parts. I sell goods.”
“What kind of goods?”
Gethin shrugged. “Fabrics, beads, perfumes,” he said. “My father before me was a merchant. He made his fortune selling goods. I have men sworn to protect my merchandise.”
The soldier eyed him. “An army?”
“A tiny one.”
“Yet you travel alone, with merely a servant?”
Gethin looked at the skinny, young servant standing next to him. “It is a short journey,” he said, realizing he sounded foolish even as he said it. Wealthy men never traveled without armed escort. “We were only going to Pool.”
“Why?”
“Because my men have brought a shipment of goods all the way from Paris,” he said. “They are guarding the goods and I am going to meet them.”
The soldiers looked at each other. “Then you are going to meet your army?” the one in the lead clarified. “That is why you travel alone?”
“Aye.”
The soldier scratched his head. “Very well,” he said. “But you must still pay the toll. I will not, however, force you to pay the toll on your return trip.”
The merchant didn’t seem to think that was a good deal in the least. “But I have traveled this road my entire life,” he said. “My father did and his father before him. Now I am expected to pay to use a road I have always used? I will not do it, I say.”
“Then you will not pass.”
Gethin was beginning to become indignant. “This is the only road directly to Pool,” he said. “If I take any other road, I must go miles out of my way. It is not fair for the Saesneg to suddenly put a toll booth here, demanding money from the Welsh to use their own road.”