Medieval Master Swordsmen(120)

“Rod!”

Rod was walking towards his brother very rapidly, then running. Before Rhys could say another word, Rod swarmed on the man and threw his arms around him, hugging him so fiercely that he lifted him off the ground. It was some time before Rhys realized he was laughing as his younger brother squeezed him within an inch of his life. Then Rod tried to throw him to the ground, but Rhys was still the bigger, stronger brother. He tossed his brother onto his back and landed atop him.

“My God, Rhys,” Rod grunted as Rhys pounded him in the chest once or twice. “Is it really you? I still think I am seeing a ghost.”

Rhys grabbed him around the neck and shook him. “Rod,” he loosened his grip, unwilling to commence with the usual rough-housing. He was still astonished and bewildered by the man’s appearance. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

Rod sat up as Rhys pulled. In little time he was back on his feet, beaming at his brother. He just stared at him, unable to answer for a moment. He still couldn’t believe it.

“I had to come,” he said simply. “I had to see you.”

Rhys’ brilliant blue eyes were warm with emotion, but he was still rightly dazed. “Why?” he demanded weakly.

“More importantly, how did you find me?”

Rod’s hands were on his brother’s arms, touching him as if fearful he was indeed an apparition. “David,” he said. “He told me where you were.”

Rhys shook his head. “I do not understand,” he muttered. “I sent David a missive several years ago telling him very cryptically that we were safe, but he was not supposed to… I did not tell him to.…”

Rod put up a hand to silence him. “I’ve known since the beginning what happened. There were only three of us who knew - David, myself, and the Teutonic general. But the general went to his grave not long ago, so I was told, which means that David and I are the only ones who know that you and Elizabeau did not perish at Ludlow those years ago.”

Rhys understood somewhat now. He patted his brother on the arm, on the head, looking remorseful and grateful at the same time. “I’m so glad you knew,” he breathed. “I wanted to communicate with you, many times, but I could not take the chance that the message would be intercepted. Sending that missive years ago to David was risky enough but I felt as if I had to. He had to know that we were safe.”

Rod sobered as he watched the struggle play across his brother’s face; it was Rhys’ features that he remembered, just a little older and grayer. But the man had lost none of his size or strength.

“You do not have to explain your reasons,” he said quietly. “I understand why you did what you did and I always agreed. But the hardest part was watching Mother grieve for you. I wanted to tell her many times but I swore to David that I would not. Too much was at stake for even Mother to know.”

Rhys looked particularly pained at the thought; even after all these years, he still missed his mother a great deal. “How is she?”

“Fine,” Rod nodded. “We lost my father a few years ago, however. It has been difficult for her but she manages.”

Rhys thought of Renard, the man who had raised him, and his heart hurt. “How did he die?”

“His heart gave out.”

Rhys nodded, thinking on the man who had treated him as a son. It was a sad and sobering realization to know he had passed. “I shall say a prayer for him,” he murmured. “What about the rest of the family? Dylan? Is he well?”

Rod grinned. “Well and knighted. He serves me at Bronllys. I swear that you would not recognize him. He has grown into quite a man.”

“No doubt,” he thought on his youngest brother with a smile. “And Carys? Did she marry Conrad?”

Rod nodded. “They live in Saxony. Three children, all boys.”

Rhys smiled weakly at the thought of his sister with children of her own. “And she is happy?”

“Radiant. I have only seen her once since that time, but she was very happy.” He eyed his brother expectantly. “And you? Did you marry Elizabeau?”

Rod’s smile broadened. “Of course. She is my angel.”

“Children?”

“Seven. Three boys, four girls.”

Rod’s eyebrows lifted. “Seven children?” he repeated. “Good lord, Rhys, must you always outshine us?”

Rhys laughed softly, turning his attention to his brother’s mounted companions for the first time. To his right, the large figure he thought he recognized had removed his helm and he found himself staring into Uncle Rhett’s very old, very tired, face. Rhys’ astonishment returned.