Keller took the arrow from William and examined the tip. He held it up somewhat so it could catch what little light there was. After a moment, he glanced at William.
“Bodkin tipped,” he muttered, referring to the broad triangle shape. “Only a man of wealth would have launched this. Men of lesser means would have simply used a sharpened stick without the metal tip.”
William nodded, his eyes perusing the complex. “Agreed,” he said. His gaze finally came to rest on Chrystobel, standing next to Keller. She was looking rather shocked by the event and William focused intently on her. “What would you know of archers and errant arrows, my lady? How many archers does your father employ at night?”
Chrystobel was instantly on the defensive. “My father does not have archers upon the wall at night.”
“Yet someone shot this arrow into young George’s arm,” William said steadily. “That arrow is from a fine and expensive quiver, as evidenced by the metal tip and the goose feather fletchings. A man of some wealth owned this arrow.”
By this time, Chrystobel was gazing at the man as if he were, indeed, the enemy. He was interrogating her as if she was certainly his enemy and her resentment grew.
“I do not know anything about arrows or fletchings,” she said. “My father has twenty archers and all of them are fairly well armed but they do not stand watch at night.”
William could see that she was frightened but he didn’t back down. “Does your brother own a crossbow?”
“I do not know what my brother owns and I do not care.”
She was shaken and angry with her reply. William’s gaze lingered on her a moment before turning to Keller. “Mayhap we should find out what the man owns.”
Keller had been watching the exchange with his usual intense focus. He didn’t miss a sign or a twitch throughout the exchange and he was fairly convinced that his new wife was truthful when she said she knew nothing of the attack. But that didn’t solve the mystery of their attacker and Keller knew it was time to show his might. If he did not answer this incident strongly, then it could be perceived as weakness. He still had Chrystobel by the arm as he spoke to Wellesbourne.
“Roust the castle,” he said. “I want every man, woman, and child brought to the bailey and placed under guard. Clean this castle out, Will. Is that clear?”
William was already nodding firmly, snapping his fingers to the Ashby-Kidd twins. “Summon the men,” he commanded softly. “Have the sergeants break them into groups of ten or more. I will take a group into the keep and you two take the towers. If anyone resists, kill them.”
Chrystobel gasped but the English knights didn’t dispute the harsh order, nor did they particularly react to the command other than to follow it. An attack had been made against them and they had to show that such attempts would be harshly met. As William, George, and Aimery charged off, Keller turned for the keep and pulled Chrystobel along with him.
“Does that order go for me as well?” she asked fearfully as he dragged her along. “I was truthful when I told you that I did not know about my brother. I do not know if he owns a crossbow.”
Keller didn’t look at her. He was scanning the walls for another arrow that might try to strike him as well.
“I believe you,” he said. “But we must get under cover. If someone is aiming for English knights, they might accidently hit you if they are aiming for me.”
Chrystobel yelped, instinctively flinched and ducking her head down as she skipped along beside him. By the time they reached the keep, they were practically running. Chrystobel raced up the exterior stairs and bolted in through the door, followed by Keller, both of them swallowed up by the dark innards of the great stone structure. Before they could take the stairs, however, Chrystobel turned to him.
“What about my sister?” she asked anxiously. “Must she be held under guard out in the bailey like a common criminal?”
Keller shook his head. “Nay,” he replied. “I will have her brought to you. You two may remain together, in your chamber, until we sort this through.”
“But what about my father?”
“I will question him personally.”
Although still apprehensive, Chrystobel was satisfied by his answers enough so that she willingly took the narrow stairs to the next level where her bower was. Keller followed her into the chamber, one he had been in a scant hour before. The bed was still messy and the bowl of water and linen rag that Izlyn had been using to tend her sister’s bloodied mouth were still on the table.
Keller looked around the room, noting the small size of the bed. He couldn’t help but think that it would make consummating their marriage a bit tricky, for he wasn’t entirely sure they could both fit on the bed side by side. He might have to spend all night lying on top of her, which wasn’t an entirely terrible thought. A soft body against his rough flesh was something he’d not felt in years. The mere thought was enough to cause him to break into a sweat.
But he shook those visions from his mind, as tempting as they were, to focus on the moment at hand. Chrystobel was over by the hearth now, stoking it, to ward off the chill of the room.
“My lady,” Keller said, meeting her gaze when she turned to look at him. “I asked you a question today, twice, which you refused to answer, but hear me now: I will ask you this question and you will not avoid it. You will not lie to me, either. I expect nothing less than total truth from you or we will have a very difficult relationship from this moment forward. Is this in any way unclear to you?”
Chrystobel was looking at him with a mixture of fear and dread. “It is clear, my lord.”
Keller’s gaze lingered on her. “Very well,” he said after a moment. “You will tell me if you believe your brother is behind the arrow that injured my knight.”
Chrystobel hesitated. “If you are asking me if I believe him capable of such a thing, then the answer is yes,” she replied. “He is indeed capable of the action.”
“Do you believe he did it?”
She shrugged unsteadily. “That is difficult to say,” she said carefully, not wanting to anger or provoke him. “He might have had someone else do it for him. At times, Gryffyn likes to bully others into carrying out his unsavory tasks. Other times, he will simply do it himself. It mostly depends on what kind of mood he is in.”
“Does he have men at Nether who serve him directly?”
Chrystobel shook her head. Somehow, she didn’t feel much like defending her brother against this latest onslaught. If she did, it would go badly for her, she could tell. She struggled not to think herself a traitor for divulging what she could.
“He does not have men who serve him directly, but there are men who will only listen to him,” she said quietly. “There are at least six of them – Dewey, Glyn, Owain, Hwyel, Moeig, and Meustyn. They are soldiers, not knights, and they will do my brother’s bidding without hesitation.”
“Where are these men now?”