Serpent (39 page)

             
“You
cannot
pose as Lord de Shera,” Ianto said with some anger in his tone. “How would you propose to do this? Unlike English
marchogs
who wear full armor and mail, including a helm to obscure the face, Welsh do not fight like that. We fight without the heavy encumbrances. Lord de Shera was quite evident to all of his men and to all Welshmen most of the time. You cannot pretend to be him by covering yourself in mail and armor to obscure your identity!”

             
Penelope, sitting at the feasting table in the small hall, had listened to Bhrodi’s
teulu
argue with her for the past fifteen minutes. They were unhappy with her suggestion that she should take Bhrodi’s place in combat, and Kevin was even unhappier although he’d not said word about it. She could tell simply by the way the man was holding himself, standing off in the shadows with his big arms angrily crossed. He was resistant to the core.

             
But Penelope was tired of fighting about it. She had made up her mind and it was her intention to shut down the
teulu
’s argument once and for all.

             
“What do you mean most of the time?” she asked, fixed on a portion of Ianto’s statement. “If he fought in clear view of the Welsh all of the time, why would you say he was only known most of the time?”

             
Ianto glanced at Ivor, at Gwyllim, before rolling his eyes in frustration. She had caught him on a technicality and he could not lie about it.

“There were times in heavy combat that he would wear pieces of his father’s armor, including the man’s helm,” he said. “It is very distinctive and even though the Welsh could not see his face, they would know it was him. It was the trappings of the Earl of Coventry.”

              Penelope abruptly stood up, slamming the cup in her hand down onto the table. Wine splattered.

             
“Then that is what I shall wear,” she snarled. “I am a trained knight and I know combat more than I know anything else. I was bred for this moment, don’t you see? God knew that Bhrodi would need me in this capacity during this terrible time with Edward and that is why He sent me. Now I can fight for Bhrodi while the man is incapacitated. I will not allow men to know he has been wounded, do you hear? All will believe he is still as strong and capable as ever. The Serpent is immortal.”

             
Ianto hissed and looked away while Gwyllim took up the battle against the very formidable Lady de Shera.

             
“If it is the illusion you wish to continue, then let one of us wear his armor and pose as Lord de Shera,” he said. “You would not be convincing, my lady. You are far too small. Men would see you wearing his armor and know it was not him.”

             
“But if I wore it, they would not know such a thing,” Kevin said from the shadows. He came forward, struggling to resign himself to Penelope’s outlandish idea because he knew, whatever happened, that she would go through with it. They could not stop her. “Lord de Shera and I are very close in size and the illusion would be better preserved. Listen to what Lady de Shera has told you; if King Edward knows that Lord de Shera is gravely injured, it will feed his confidence and Wales will fall beneath his hand faster than it already is. Moreover, if the Welsh know that Lord de Shera is injured and unable to fight, it will kill their fighting spirit. Dafydd will be the only Welsh prince left and, as we all know, the man is running for his life. Do you truly wish to see your country die so quickly? I have served with Lady Penelope in battle when she fought for her father and she had the mind and soul of a true knight. You will trust me when I tell you she is fully capable of commanding a battle.”

             
Penelope was shocked that Kevin would actually come to her defense but she used it to her advantage. Like any good warrior, she acted on the
teulu
’s indecision. She went in for the kill.

             
“My husband is lying wounded because he believed in a free Wales,” she said to the resistant Welshmen “I cannot let that sacrifice be in vain. I must help him fight against those who would seek to take away his legacy because it is now my legacy, too, and the legacy of our children. Tell me, Ianto; if the Welsh know that Bhrodi is badly wounded and unable to continue the fight, what will they do?”

             
Ianto looked at her with a guarded expression. After a moment, he sighed heavily. “It would not be good for their morale.”

             
“Will they give up this fight?”

             
“It is possible.”

             
“And what happens if they see Bhrodi returned to battle, leading the charge?”

             
Ianto glanced at the other
teulu
; he was having a difficult time fighting against Lady de Shera because he knew she was correct.

             
“They will be inspired.”

             
Penelope pointed a finger at him. “Exactly,” she said firmly. “They will be inspired and King Edward, who would celebrate my husband’s death with great gladness, will understand that Wales is still standing.
Bhrodi
is still standing. Don’t you see? We must keep up that charade if there is any hope of winning this fight.”

             
The
teulu
began to look at each other, digesting her words, struggling to see things her way. She was correct, of course. But there was also something else.

             
“You are a
Saesneg,
” Ianto finally said. “You would fight against your own king? Your own father?”

             
Penelope was knocked back a bit; although she knew, in theory, that she would be fighting her own father, the reality of it hit her hard when she heard the words spoken. It made her feel ill to think on it. After a moment, she simply nodded.

             
“I understand all of that,” she said, “and to that regard, I will say only this - when we go into battle, we will leave my father’s men alone if at all possible. When I go into battle, I am aiming for Edward.”

             
“But he is your king.”

             
“Not anymore.” She looked around at the doubtful faces and it angered her. “I am Lady de Shera, wife of Bhrodi de Shera, hereditary King of Anglesey and Earl of Coventry. I will ride into battle by myself if I have to but I would prefer to do it with you behind me. Will you fight with me? For Bhrodi’s sake, will you do it?”

             
It was a very hard sell. The
teulu
looked at each other, mulling over her words. They were men set in their ways and the thought of a woman riding into battle unsettled them. But times were changing; their liege had taken this woman as his wife and she was the daughter of The Wolfe. She was their own She Wolfe. If she was willing to fight for de Shera, then they should not resist her. They should support her. Ianto finally stood up and looked her in the eye.

             
“Lord de Shera thinks a great deal of you,” he said, manner bordering between reluctance and sincerity. “Because I love and trust my lord, I will think a great deal of you, also, and I will trust you. If you want to ride into battle to create the illusion that Lord de Shera still leads the fight against the Saesneg king, then I will ride with you.”

             
Penelope almost collapsed with relief; she was so sure they were going to deny her. She thought that, perhaps, she was going to have to do this all by herself. The realization that she had some support brought tears to her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said softly, sitting heavily on the bench in relief. “Thank you very much.”

“And I,” Ivor said, looking at Gwyllim, who was nodding. “’Tis a brave woman who would ride into battle for her husband, I say. I will stand with you also.”

As Penelope smiled at
Ivor, Gwyllim spoke. “If Lord de Shera could speak, he would not let you go,” he said, his dark eyes glimmering. “Mayhap we should not tell him.”

Penelope grinned, noticing that Yestin, the arrogant one, had not said anything
. He was staring at his cup of wine as if in deep thought. He must have felt the stares of everyone because he eventually looked up into the host of faces surrounding him. After a moment, he shook his head and stood up.

“
Ni allaf
,” he said as he walked away from the table. “
Rhaid i mi feddwl
.”

Penelope watched him go, looking to Ianto. “What did he say?”

Ianto’s gaze lingered on Yestin as the man disappeared from the hall. “He says he must think about it,” he told her. “Give him time. Yestin believes women are best seen and not heard. He will come to terms with this, eventually.”

Penelope nodded with some regret, thankful that she at least had most of the
teulu
on her side. Kevin came out of the shadows now that his anger at her suggestion had calmed and he sat down beside her.

“Where is the Earl of Coventry’s armor?” he asked. “I did not see it in the armory when I was doing an inventory of weapons.”

Ianto replied. “It is kept in a safe place,” he said. “We do not keep
marchog
armor in a Welsh armory. It might invite those who hate the Saesneg to destroy it.”

“Marchog?”

“English knights. Their armor does not get along well with our weapons. They cannot be in the same room together.”

He said it with some humor and
Kevin wriggled his eyebrows in agreement. He was prevented from saying anything further, however, because the old wardrobe in the shadows began to shake and rattle. The tiny old man who lived in the wardrobe was coming alive again, this time in the midst of a serious discussion. When the door to the wardrobe lurched open, however, the old man did not jump forth; instead, a broadsword came shooting out of the wardrobe and landed heavily on the floor.

Startled, Kevin was the first one to make his way over to it since he was the closest. He picked the broadsword up and as he curiously inspected it, Ianto spoke.

“That is Gareth de Shera’s sword,” he said.

Kevin looked up at him curiously. “Who is that?”

Ianto grinned. “Lord de Shera’s father,” he said, pointing to the wardrobe. “You wanted to know where his armor was? Now you know. We keep it in there with the old man to watch over it. No one would dare disturb his mad and troubled sleep.”

Kevin grinned because Ianto was. “So that’s where it is.”

“Aye.”

Kevin turned to look at the wardrobe, which was cracked open. “He is listening to us,” he commented. “Mayhap he is not as mad as you think he is. He knew enough that we were speaking of Coventry’s armor.”

“I have often thought that myself,” Ianto replied.

Penelope wasn’t particularly concerned with the mad uncle and the fact that he was listening in on their conversation
. She was more concerned with Kevin’s intentions. She was looking at the man quite seriously.

“Why would you volunteer to wear his armor?” she asked. “
You do not agree with any of what I am doing.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Mayhap I do not, but you are going to do it regardless of what I think. I cannot let you do it alone.”

She eyed him doubtfully. “It will make you a target; you know that.”

Kevin
nodded. “Of course it will,” he said. “But anyone who wears it will be a target. Who would you have more exposed? Me or one of the
teulu
?”

She frowned. “Not you,” she said. “
Kevin, this is not your fight. If you do this and you are caught….”

She couldn’t finish because they all knew what the penalty was for a Welsh commander to be captured by the English, a penalty made worse if an English knight was caught fighting for the Welsh
. Kevin met her gaze steadily.

“I will not be caught,” he told her quietly. “
As I said before, I will not let you go into battle alone. Neither will Edward or Thomas, I am guessing. If you go to fight, so do we.”
              Penelope shook her head. “But
why
?” she demanded. “You did not marry Bhrodi de Shera; I did. This is my fight.”

“I do this because we are family,” he said. “If you fight, I fight. It has always been that way.”

Penelope didn’t want to get into a squabble with him, not now. There was so much more to worry about. She looked at Ianto and Ivor and Gwyllim; they seemed to be gazing at her with some trust and perhaps some hope. She would settle for that, at least for now. She knew that full trust would have to be earned and she intended to do just that. For Bhrodi’s sake, she would do her very best.

“When Bhrodi left for
Dolbadarn Castle, he left with many of his vassals,” she said. “He said it was around three thousand men. Where are they now?”