"Someone requests audience, sire."
"Affairs are concluded for the day," Neufmarche replied. "Tell them they are too late."
There was a short silence, and then a small cough at the door flap.
"What? Did you not hear what I said? The council is over."
"I have told them, sire," the squire replied. "But they insist."
"Do they!" shouted the baron. Rising from his chair, he stumped to the doorway in his stocking feet and threw back the hanging flap. "I am at rest, idiot!"
The squire jumped back, almost colliding with the two strangers behind him-Welshmen from the look of them: a young one, dark and slender, with a puckered scar along his cheek, and an older one, broad and bandy-legged, who, despite his outgrown tonsure, appeared to be a priest of some kind. Both men were dusty from the road and stank of the saddle.
"Well?" demanded the baron, glaring at the strangers who had disturbed his peace. "What is it? Be quick!"
"Pax vobiscum," said the fat priest. "We have come on a matter we think will be of special interest to you."
"The only thing that interests me right now," snarled the baron, is a cup of wine and the comfort of my chair-which I possessed until your unseemly interruption."
"William de Braose," said the young man quietly.
Neufmarche turned a withering gaze upon the lithe stranger. "What about him?"
"His star ascends in the king's court while yours declines." The young man smiled, the scar twisting his expression into a fierce grimace. "I would have thought the humiliation of that would be a constant embarrassment to a man like you. Am I wrong?"
"Impudent knave!" spat Neufmarche, thrusting forward. "Who are you to speak to me like this?"
The stranger did not flinch but replied with quiet assurance. "I am the man who offers you a way to reverse your sorry fate."
Baron Neufmarche succumbed to his own curiosity. "Come inside," he decided. "I will listen to what you have to say." Holding the flap aside, he invited the strangers to enter and dismissed the squire. "I would ask you to sit," the baron said, returning to his camp chair, "but I doubt you will be here that long. For I warn you, the moment I lose interest in your speech, I will have you thrashed and thrown out of this camp.
"As you say," replied the young man.
Taking up his cup once more, the baron said, "You have until this cup is drained." He drank deeply and said, "Less now. I would speak quickly if I were you."
"De Braose is a tyrant," the young man said, "with little understanding of the land he has taken, and none at all of the people under his rule. Most of them have fled, and those that remain are made to perform slave labour at the cost of their own fields and holdings. If they were allowed to return to their homes, to work the land and tend their herds, Elfael would enjoy prosperity unequalled by any other cantre? All that is required is someone who can guide the will of the people-someone the Cymry will follow, who can deliver them to you."
The baron sipped again, more slowly this time, and considered what he had heard. "You can do this?"
"I can." There was no hint of hesitation or doubt in the young man.
"Your offer is tempting, to be sure," allowed the baron cautiously. Putting the cup aside, he said, "But who are you to make such an offer?"
At this, the bowlegged friar spoke up. "Before you stands Bran ap Brychan, the rightful heir to Elfael. And I am Aethelfrith, at your service.
Neufmarche gazed at the young man before him. It never ceased to amaze him how very often events beyond his reckoning conspired to bring his plans to bountiful fruition. Here, he had not lifted a hand, and the prize plum had simply dropped into his lap. "The rightful heir is dead," he said, feigning indifference. "At least, that is what I heard."
"To my great relief," replied Bran, "it remains a rumour only. Still, it serves a useful purpose."
"When the time is right," put Aethelfrith, "we will make his presence known, and his people will rally to him and overthrow the de Braose usurpers."
"In exchange for your promise to restore me to the throne," Bran said, "I would pledge fealty to you. Elfael would then abide in peace."
Now the baron smiled. "What you have said has roused my interest-and more than you know." He rose and walked to the rear of the tent. "Will you take some wine?"
"It would be an honour," replied Tuck. "There is much to discuss."
"A moment, please," said the baron. "I will order cups to be brought." With that, he disappeared through the rear flap into the room used by his servants for preparing food for the baron and his guests. "Remey!" Neufmarche called aloud. "Wine for my visitors." The servant, just returning from the kitchen tent with a trencher of sausages, appeared at his summons. Stepping quickly to meet him, the baron raised a finger to his lips for silence, leaned close, and whispered, "Fetch me four knights-armed and ready to fight. Bring them here at once."
Remey's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Sire? Is something amiss?"
"No time to explain-but the two Welshmen are to be taken cap tive. Indeed, they will not leave this place alive. Understand?" The aging seneschal inclined his head in a compliant nod. "Go," said Neufmarche, taking the trencher from his hands. "I will keep them occupied until you return."
Remey turned on his heel and padded away. The baron returned to his audience room with the sausages, which he placed on the table, inviting his guests to help themselves. "Sit you down, please. Enjoy!" he said with expansive warmth. "The wine will come in a moment. In the meantime, I would hear more about how you plan to bring about de Braose's defeat."
CHAPTER
46
The last day of the baron's council found Merian in a pensive mood. Having resigned herself to the fact that she would leave the council and return, not to Caer Rhodl, but to Castle Neufmarche in Hereford, she was nevertheless apprehensive. A sojourn amongst the Ffreinc in the baron's household? Secretly she was fascinated by the thought-even regarding the prospect of a winter spent in Normandie in a kindly light. Even so, she could not deny the feeling that she was behaving as something of a traitor. A traitor to what? Her family? Her country? Her own ideas about who and what the Ffreinc were?
She could not decide.
Her father had as much as commanded her to go. Her own mother had told her, "It is important that you do well in the baron's court, Merian. He likes you, and we need his friendship just now." Although she did not say it outright, her mother had given her to know that by currying favour with the baron, she was helping her family survive. In short, she was little more than a hostage to the baron's good pleasure.
She told herself that Cymru would be the same whether she was attached to the baron's court or not. She told herself that in all likelihood, her poor opinion of the Ffreinc was based on hearsay and ignorance and that this was a chance to discover the truth. Of course, she still considered the Ffreinc enemies, but was not a Christian required to love her enemy? From the time she was old enough to stand beside her mother in church, she had been instructed to love her enemies and do good to those who persecuted her. So if not the Ffreinc, then who? She told herself that any young woman in her position would welcome the chance to advance herself in this way, and that she should be grateful.
She told herself all these things and more. Yet the feeling of betrayal would not go away.