Chapter Twenty
Llywelyn
The pungent smoke from the campfire spiraled upward with that peculiar tang that filled the air only before a battle. I didn't know why, but when we traveled in times of peace, as we had from Cricieth to Brecon, the scent was never quite the same. I breathed it in, taking it for what it was-a sign that war was at hand and I would have to face it, yet again.
"Your brother, Dafydd, arrives."
"The foolish bastard dares show his face here?" Hywel said, incredulity evident in his face as well as his voice.
"Thanks to King Henry, we appear to be stuck with him," Goronwy said.
Dafydd meandered through the camp, raising a hand in greeting to one man and then another. I met Goronwy's eyes and he nodded. I didn't have to tell him what I was thinking: Make a note, Goronwy, of those to whom he speaks. It may serve us well to know who among my men he views as allies.
"I have so many enemies, I can hardly keep track," I said. "A reduction by one, even temporarily, is a blessing."
By the time Dafydd reached us, I'd tamed my expression. The grimace was gone. To know that I was angry would only serve as ammunition against me later. Better to swallow my pride and temper, and treat him as if I was glad to see him.
Dafydd dismounted and bowed, scrupulous in his obeisance. "My lord brother," he said. "I bring you letters from both Tudur and Meg."
I took the letters, glad to see them, though the thought of Dafydd in the same room as Meg brought the taste of acid to my mouth. I would not want her here; would never want to risk her, but it stuck in my craw that my absence left her vulnerable to my brother. "Thank you." I unclenched my jaw to let the words through.
"Your woman is in blooming health," Dafydd added. "But she has quite a mouth on her. I wouldn't want her in my bed."
"That's good to hear," I said, "since she's in mine."
I knew if I said anything more, I would have reproached him with the events of the winter, and now was not the time. The men were preparing for battle and it would do me no good to divide them before we started.
Goronwy came to my rescue. "How many men have you brought?"
"Thirty horse," Dafydd said. "I know you have a plan. What is it?" In an instant, Dafydd slipped into his on-again-off-again role as counselor and confidant. Instead of back-handing him across the face, I replied in the same tone.
"Gilbert de Clare builds. He laid the foundation stone on the 11th of April. He has dozens of craft workers. He has masons, ditch diggers, and camp followers. They're building him the finest castle in the realm."
"And what are you going to do about it?" Dafydd said.
"I'm going to burn it to the ground," I said. "I was going to wait until there was a little more to burn, but Goronwy convinced me we must attack immediately, before Clare gets wind of the size of our force."
"Surely he must know you're here."
"He has few soldiers stationed in this region, surprisingly. I've had scouts make a fifteen mile circuit around Caerphilly. He has no standing army. His knights are spread thin across the whole of his lands. My fifty horse, plus your thirty, and our two hundred foot should carry the day."
"If he's not gotten very far in the building, it won't take long," Dafydd said. "One night. But then, he can rebuild it in a day too."
I shook my head. "I have no intention of giving him that chance. I will strengthen the garrisons at my castles in the region and prevent him from moving into the area again."
"When is this to begin?"
"Tonight," I said. "You're just in time."
"Good," Dafydd said. "I'll inform my men."
"I want you on the right flank," I said. "Hywel on the left."
"And Goronwy?" Dafydd asked. "Where will he be?"
I realized that the question he was really asking was, "Does Goronwy watch over me? Do you trust me to do my part?" I wasn't sure if I could really trust my brother, but the odds of him being friendly with Clare were slim.
"He and Gruffydd ap Rhys lead the foot soldiers to Morcraig," I said. "All should be under my control by morning."