“Mayhap not, but there is a toll nonetheless,” the soldier said. “And surely you have heard that Lord de Lara is not keeping the money all for himself. Half of it is being given back to the churches in the area as alms for the poor. It is to help tend the needy.”
Gethin hadn’t heard that but, then again, he wasn’t a pious man. He was ashamed to admit it, though.
“Give it back or keep it is all the same to me,” he said. “He is still demanding tolls that he has no business demanding.”
“Pay it or go back.”
“I will not pay it.”
“Then go back the way you came.”
Infuriated, Gethin and his servant turned away, following the path they’d taken from home. The soldiers watched them go before retreating into the newly built stone toll booth, the one with a hearth for warmth and food, tables and chairs, and even a couple of beds for the night watch. There was a livery out back for their horses. It was rather large for a toll booth and sturdily built because of the money it was meant to protect.
One man remained on the road, however, keeping watch while the others gathered inside. In fact, he was still watching Gethin and his servant as they nearly faded from view before suddenly darting across the meadow that paralleled the road. As the soldier watched, he could see the men picking their way through the sodden meadow.
Their intent was clear. They intended to bypass the toll booth. That realization brought four soldiers from the toll booth astride their heavy warhorses, capturing Gethin before he could accomplish his deed.
The manservant, however, was wily. He managed to escape the soldiers, who gave up chase when the young man darted into a heavy copse of trees. Since there were disgruntled Welsh in the area, no one wanted to make an easy target for an ambush, so they retreated with their prize of the merchant.
Gethin ap Garreg was to have a first-hand look at Wybren Castle and her legendary, and terrifying, vaults. But unfortunately, he didn’t live to see them. In his struggle against a knight who was trying to mount him on a horse that would take him back to Wybren, he lost his balance and fell over backwards, landing on the back of his neck.
As Gethin died a quick and wasteful death as the result of a toll he refused to pay, his clever servant made it home.
Gethin’s daughter was heading to Wybren at first light the next morning.
CHAPTER FOUR
A few days later
Wybren Castle
“It belongs to the House of de Lara now. Can you smell that Saesneg stench?”
The whisper came from a small, crooked servant woman. She’d been born that way, with a crooked spine and a twisted leg that caused her to walk with a limp. She’d tagged along on this day of days but, now, her mistress was beginning to wonder why she’d allowed her to come at all.
The maid, Megsy, hated the English.
She was in the thick of them now.
But so were all of the Welsh in this area, from Four Crosses all the way down to Montgomery, and everything in between. The massive structure known as Castell Wybyrn, or Castle of the Sky, was the center of that universe and had seen a change in hands over the past several months.
The English had taken control of a historically Welsh castle.
More changes had come with the new English overlords that affected their everyday lives. One of them was the tolls – her father had been caught up in refusing to pay for a toll on a road he’d traveled upon his entire life.
And now, here she was to free him.
Megsy had insisted on coming with her. She would not let her young, beautiful, and stubborn mistress confront the English alone. Now that they had arrived, they stood at the bottom of the hill that led up to the castle, getting a feel for what lay at the top. The hill was covered with a thick canopy of trees, obscuring the castle walls above and shielding that mighty fortress in the sky.
Juliandra ferch Gethin stood at the bottom of the road that went up to the first of two big gatehouses, fighting down her natural fear of the English. She had not been here since she had been a small child and her father had come to pay tribute to the Welsh lords that used to live here. She had fairly forgotten just how imposing it was. It was also busy at this time of day, with people moving up and down the road.
“Where did all of these people come from?” she asked Megsy, though it was a rhetorical question. Castles like this were always busy. “Do you suppose they all have family in the vaults for refusing to pay the toll?”
Megsy clung to her mistress, holding fast to her as she looked around. “They look like people who would do business here,” she said. “I see farmers mostly. Look, the gatehouse is open and there are soldiers guarding it. What will you tell them?”
Juliandra looked ahead at the first gatehouse. A permanent wooden bridge spanned a gulch that was deep and overgrown, a trench that encircled the entire castle and was a moat in some places. Reeds and green growth sprouted out of the muck. She hoped they wouldn’t toss her into it when she told them why she had come.
Give me back my father!
“I do not know,” she said after a moment. “The truth, mayhap. Surely they would not think to punish me for seeking my father’s freedom. I have brought money for the toll, after all. I will simply ask them to release my father.”
Megsy didn’t think it was such a good idea. In fact, she looked at her mistress in horror.
“Are you mad?” she hissed. “They will likely put you in the vault beside him if you demand his release.”
“I did not say demand.”
“You must lead with the money you’ve brought and then ask politely!”
Juliandra looked at her, annoyed. “Of course I will ask politely,” she said. “You sound as if I am going to lay siege.”
The old maid eyed her. “Knowing you as I do, you very well could,” she muttered. “Will you at least be pleasant and sweet about it?”
“To the English?” Juliandra said, aghast. “I will not. I will simply tell them why I have come and offer to pay his toll. I will not be rude, but I will not be sweet, either.”
Megsy made a face suggesting that this situation might not go very well. She had rather hoped her mistress might try to charm her father’s way to freedom because Juliandra could be very charming when she wanted to be. But she could also be bold and demanding.
She didn’t think the English would take that too well.
“Let’s get on with it, then,” she said.
They began to move.
The bridge across the rocky gulch loomed before them. At this time of day, people were mostly leaving the castle after having conducted their business, so Juliandra and Megsy were walking against the crowd. There were at least six soldiers at the gatehouse, possibly more that they couldn’t see. They could, however, see sentries on the wall, pacing the length of it, watching both those coming and going as well as the land beyond.
English bearing a dark blue dragon on their tunics surrounded by a sea of yellow and white were unfamiliar colors at this castle, visitors who had taken up residence. Somewhere, Juliandra remembered her father speaking on the House of de Lara and how their origins went back to the conquest of England, and further back still. The dragon on their tunics spoke of the family’s position along the Welsh Marches. It was accepted that Wales was the land of dragons, and the de Laras were close to that mystical and magical land.