Page 1 of Insurrection (Guard of Six #2)

PROLOGUE

Year of Our Lord 1240

Welsh Marches

“Y our mother is a frog!” Giggles followed. “Do you hear me? Your mother is a frog and your father is fish and you smell like stinky baby fish-frogs!”

It was a threat but, evidently, not a serious one. Serious threats weren’t usually followed by laughter or snickers or titters, which was exactly what was coming from behind the rock about twenty feet away.

But he wasn’t going to let his friend get away with it.

It was a bright day, unusually mild, on the gentle hills of the Welsh marches. This area was remote and lush, known as “The Wilds” to the English. The grass was greener than any grass, anywhere, and the scattered trees were filled with birds. Perhaps laughing at the lads below.

One lad in particular who was preparing to hurl an insult.

“Your mother is a… a sow!” he said, popping up from his hiding place and launching a pebble in the direction of the giggling rock. “She’s a sow because her son is a piglet!”

“Is that so?”

“It is!”

“Fight me!”

He did. Fistfuls of pebbles began to fly between the pair. Both boys were all of six years of age, but they were mortal enemies. Sort of. One was English, the other Welsh, because this was the Welsh marches, after all. It had been ingrained in them that they were enemies, so they acted the part. Acted.

The truth was much different.

In reality, they were the best of friends.

They’d met one another a couple of years earlier when the Welsh lad had run away from what he perceived as his mother’s nasty punishment and ended up on the English side of the border. A patrol from Nether Castle, the largest bastion between Gloucester and Hereford, had found the lad, cold and hungry and lost, and taken him back to the castle for warmth and sustenance.

That was how they had met.

Kent de Poyer was the eldest son of the Lord of Tyr Castle, Caledon de Poyer, and his father had asked him to comfort the young Welsh lad who found himself at their table, weeping and scared. Kent had been so young that he hadn’t realized he was sitting with the enemy, a young boy who had a funny way of speaking and who shoved bread into his mouth until Kent’s mother had to pull some out so the lad wouldn’t choke. He was hungry and thirsty and frightened and exhausted, and after much bread and hot food, he’d fallen asleep on the floor of the great hall, using one of the dogs as a pillow, curled up in front of the hearth. Jealous that the lad was permitted to sleep there, Kent waited until everyone was in bed before dragging his blanket down to the great hall and falling asleep next to the Welsh boy.

And that was how their friendship had started.

Ivor was his new friend’s name, Ivor ap Yestin, and Caledon had discovered that the boy was the son of one of the most powerful warlords in southern Wales. He lived in a great and mighty castle with the odd name of The Narth just across the border and, concerned that Ivor’s father might think the English had abducted his son, Caledon sent a messenger to The Narth to relay the message that Ivor had been found wandering and was safe. That message had brought a hundred Welshmen to Tyr Castle, seeking to claim that which had been lost, but it had taken time for them to come.

Time in which Kent and Ivor had cemented their alliance.

Kent had two younger brothers at the time and the three of them, plus Ivor, had a marvelous time whilst waiting for Ivor’s father to arrive. They played with little wooden carts, chased chickens, stole bread from the kitchen, and other naughty things. When the younger boys got too tired and surrendered to their nurse, Kent and Ivor went on to chase each other, startling horses and the guards. They’d even run circles around an old sergeant and ended up stealing his coin purse, right off his belt, as he bellowed at them.

They ran away laughing.

But Caledon forced Kent to return the coin purse about the time the Welsh began to show up in search of their lord’s son. Before the lad was taken away, Kent whispered in his ear—

Hen Gastell.

Old Castle.

That was where Ivor had been found. Kent knew that because he’d heard his father talking about it. He knew exactly where it was because he’d been there, and not wanting their playtime to end, Kent told Ivor to meet him at Hen Gastell in twenty days, indicated by holding up his hands with fingers splayed. Ivor nodded emphatically. He understood the assignment. Twenty days later, he wandered over to Old Castle, which was really just a mound and a pile of old rocks, a fortress from before the age of the ancient Kymry , and for the two young lads, it became the hill they guarded, or fought against, or surrendered on.

It became their home.

Now, two years later, it was still their home. They were still quite young, however, so there was always the chance that someone was out looking for them, and, too many times, they’d found them playing at the old castle. It was on the Welsh side of the border, which Caledon didn’t like, and he’d punished Kent more than once for straying away.

But that didn’t stop the lad from meeting his friend every twenty days.

They could count that on both hands and feet.

Today had been that day. The twentieth day, to meet with his friend and play that they were the lords of the castle, only they were bigger now, so the games became a little more daring. Rocks and pebbles were flying at each other because the game today was King of the Castle—whoever could keep the other one off the hill would be the king.

Kent intended that it should be him.

But it might be his last time.

“I call a truce!” he shouted as more pebbles came flying at him. “Do you hear me? A truce!”

Behind his rock, Ivor brushed off his hands. “What for?”

“I have to tell you something.”

“What?”

Kent stood up from behind the dirt pile that was protecting him. “My father is sending me away.”

Hearing that, Ivor stood up also. “Where?” he said, concerned.

Kent came out from behind the pile and went to sit on it, despondent. “Arundel.”

Ivor came to sit down next to him. “Where’s that?”

Kent lifted his shoulders. “Somewhere south,” he said. “Papa says it’s near the sea. A very big castle where I am to learn how to be a knight.”

Ivor pondered that. “And teach you how to fight the Welsh?”

Kent looked at him. “I will never fight you,” he said. “And they can’t make me. They can torture me and cut my toes off, but I won’t fight you. Will you fight me?”

Ivor shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Not if they stick me with a thousand red-hot daggers.”

That made Kent feel a little better. “What are you going to do when I am gone?” he asked.

Ivor shrugged, looking around at the landscape, at the sky. “I don’t know,” he said. “Stay here and learn my lessons. The old priest from Abergavenny comes to The Narth twice a week to give lessons to me and my younger sister. Does he give you lessons, too?”

Kent shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “My mother gives us lessons. I can write my name and I can read a little.”

“They’ll teach you more at Arundel?”

“Aye,” Kent said. “They’ll teach me everything.”

“And then you’ll come back?”

Kent nodded. “I have to, sometime,” he said. “When Papa dies, Tyr Castle will be mine. So will Nether Castle, where I was born.”

“Where’s that?”

“Far to the north, in Wales.”

Ivor’s features scrunched with confusion. “Why do you live here, then?”

“Because Tyr is part of my grandfather’s properties and my father commands it,” Kent said. “But when the castles are mine, I’ll make it so we don’t fight the Welsh anymore, but you have to make sure you don’t fight the English anymore.”

Ivor nodded solemnly. “I won’t,” he said. “I’ll make sure all of my people know we don’t fight the English from Tyr and Nether.”

“What about other English?”

“If they fight me, I have to fight them.”

Kent thought that was logical enough. “I’ll help you,” he said. “If they attack you, I’ll cut their heads off.”

“Good!” Ivor declared. Then he leapt to his feet. “Come along! We have to finish our battle before you go, so let’s make this the greatest battle ever!”

Kent stood up as Ivor ran down toward the River Mynwy, which slithered gently through the countryside like a blue snake. He followed, but at a slower pace.

“We must fight now?” he called after him. “We have the rest of the day to do this!”

But Ivor shook his head. “I am going to the other side of the river and we will pretend this is a great border,” he said. “I will launch projectiles at you and if all of my projectiles land and do not fall into the river, I win.”

“Win what?”

“Hen Gastell!”

That didn’t sit well with Kent, who was clearly the superior warrior here. He was English, after all. Scowling, he watched Ivor rush off toward a series of rocks that constituted the river crossing at this location. Truthfully, the river wasn’t usually hazardous at all. It was low most of the time, with sandbars in the middle of it, and very easy for young lads to cross back and forth.

But today was different.

There had been a good deal of rain as of late, and the water had swelled the river to nearly twice its size and depth. Gone were the sandbars. Mostly gone were the rocks used to cross the river. The banks on either side, thick with foliage, were muddy and soft. In fact, some of the small saplings lining the riverbank had already partially tumbled in, leaning into the water because their roots had pulled up in the mud.

Kent stood on the bank and frowned.

“I don’t think you should go across the river here,” he said. “You can hardly see the stones and it will be slippery.”

But Ivor, brave as he was, waved him off. “I made it across before,” he said. As he located the first rock, about three inches below the surface, he began to sing in an off-key voice. “ Summer days and summer stars, and a deep blue sea that glistens like silver. ”

“What are you singing about?”

Ivor pointed at the water. “It’s like a deep blue sea that glistens like silver,” he said. “Don’t you know that old song?”

“Of course I know that song,” Kent snapped. “Everybody knows that song. My nurse sings it.”

Ivor stopped pointing at the water and waved toward the bank on the opposite side. “Once I cross over, I’m going to find a tree branch and make a bow,” he said. “I can make arrows to shoot at you!”

He was enthusiastic about continuing their war. Kent was, too, but he was afraid of the river. That was the truth. He’d never particularly liked water, and he didn’t even like baths, so Ivor’s movements had him nervous.

He stood there and fidgeted.

“I don’t want to play by the river,” he said flatly. “Come back to the castle. We still have a war to fight there.”

Ivor ignored him. He was already at the edge of the river, looking at the stones that were just below the surface. Frustrated, Kent turned away from him and headed toward the castle, hoping Ivor would take the hint and give up on the river idea. He always had such silly ideas, anyway. As Kent stomped his way back to the mound that was once a castle, he heard something behind him.

Something deadly.

Splash!

He knew what had happened before he even turned around. But turn around he did, and he ran at top speed back to the river where Ivor had fallen in headfirst. In fact, he didn’t even see his friend until the lad’s head finally came up and he began to howl.

“Kent!” came the sputtered cry. “ Help! ”

Kent was in a panic. The river wasn’t moving swiftly, but his inherent fear of water had him frozen and indecisive. But only temporarily, because he was more terrified of his friend drowning in front of him than he was of his own phobia. Since the flow of water was slow, he had a little time, but it was also freezing, so he knew he had to act fast.

“I’m coming!” he shouted. “Try to swim to the bank! Swim toward me!”

Ivor was trying but the river was just a little too deep for him to get his footing. If he let himself go under a little, he could push off the bottom, and that was what he did, trying to push his way toward Kent, who had grabbed a broken branch by this time. He was holding it out to Ivor, but the lad couldn’t quite get to it. The river was moving a little swifter now because there were some rocks ahead that were causing the flow to quicken.

Kent knew he had to get to Ivor before the rocks did.

In he went.

He was a little taller than Ivor so he was able to get his footing once his head came out of the freezing water. His ears hurt like mad because of the shock of the cold water, but he managed to grab Ivor and half push, half pull the boy toward the muddy bank. Ivor was starting to stiffen up because of the water temperature, so Kent gave a hard shove and pushed him right into the muddy bank. A sapling was drooping down, and he grabbed Ivor, and the tree, and began to pull on them both.

“Take hold of the tree, Ivor!” he cried. “Pull yourself out!”

Ivor was so cold that he could hardly get a grip, but he managed to do it after a couple of tries. Kent was starting to freeze up as well, so he pulled himself out, pulling Ivor with him, and somehow the two of them ended up on the riverbank, lying face down in the mud.

Kent rolled onto his back.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked Ivor, his teeth chattering. “Ivor, say something!”

Ivor flipped onto his back, his entire body trembling with cold. “I… I’m not hurt,” he said. “But my hands are freezing.”

Kent sat up and grabbed Ivor’s hands, rubbing them briskly between his own. But it wasn’t much help because they were both soaked through.

They had to get moving and find some help.

“Get up,” Kent finally said, pulling on Ivor’s hands. “Stand up. We have to move. We have to get warm.”

Ivor sat up unsteadily as Kent finally pulled him to his feet. Together, they staggered their way back toward the old castle. They were just coming through the trees when they caught sight of men on horseback over near the mound. It didn’t take Kent long to see that it was his father and several of his father’s soldiers. Rather than run from the man, as he’d done in the past, he realized that he was very glad to see him.

“Papa!” he screamed, waving his arms. “Here!”

One of his father’s men heard him and called over to Caledon to alert him. The entire contingent came racing over to the soaking boys who were struggling to walk.

Caledon, tall and blond and handsome, was the first one off his horse.

“Kent!” he gasped, seeing the state of the muddy, soaked boys. “What happened?”

“I fell in,” Ivor said, lips blue and teeth chattering. “Kent pulled me out.”

Caledon looked as if he wanted to scold them, badly, but only for a brief moment. Even he realized the need to get the boys dry and warm quickly.

“Hurry,” he said to the man next to him. “Build a fire. A big one. We have to get them dry before the chill kills them.”

The soldiers began to move swiftly, finding kindling and fuel and moving to build a fire right in that very spot. Meanwhile, Caledon and another soldier began to strip the boys out of their wet clothing while still another soldier stripped off both of his tunics, turning them over to Caledon to put on the boys to somehow try to keep them warm. It was a swift operation with men trying to build a fire as Caledon tried to keep his son from succumbing to frigid temperatures.

But he’d never been so angry in his life.

“I told you not to come here again,” he said as he pushed Kent onto his bottom and began to unlace his shoes. “I told you to stay away from this place. What on earth possessed you both to go to the river? You know you should not play there.”

Kent wasn’t sure how to answer. It wasn’t his fault, but Ivor’s. Still, he wasn’t going to blame his friend. He was willing to take the punishment. Seated next to him, Ivor was having his shoes yanked off him in the most undignified way and spoke before Kent could think up a plausible excuse.

“I was going to make an arrow and a bow,” Ivor said, sounding feeble. “We were going to fight for the castle.”

Caledon sighed heavily as his attention shifted to the Welsh lad. “Ivor, what has your father told you about playing at the old castle?”

“Not to play there.”

Caledon cocked an unhappy eyebrow. “Now you’ve fallen in the river,” he said. “How would he feel if you drowned? Worse still, you pulled Kent in with you. What if he drowned, too? Do you know how terrible that would be?”

Ivor did. Tears stung his eyes and he turned his head so the English lord wouldn’t see him weep. Not that Caledon was wrong, but Ivor just didn’t want the man to see his tears.

Tears are only for the weak, his father would say.

He wasn’t weak.

But he was cold and naked until the English soldier wrapped him in his tunic. When the fire began to blaze, Caledon put both boys close enough to it to singe their eyelashes, but they warmed quickly and their clothes dried well enough. Stiff with the mud still, but dry. When that was finally accomplished, Caledon had the boys dress in their clothing again and Ivor was put on the rear of one of the soldier’s horses and taken all the way back to The Narth, where Yestin, Ivor’s father, was informed of his son’s actions that afternoon.

The day did not end happily for Ivor.

And Kent never saw his friend again.

Life had a way of taking up his time, and his training at Arundel had been intense. As the years passed, he thought of his old friend once in a while, but by the time he became a full-fledged knight, memories of Ivor ap Yestin had mostly faded into the mists of his past. The fiery little Welsh lad with the stiff black hair and the strong-willed English lad with his grandfather’s dark hair had gone their separate ways in a world that wouldn’t allow for such friendships.

And they accepted that, long ago.

For Kent and Ivor, Hen Gastell was no more.

But it was sure fun while it lasted.