He smiled at his own superstitious nature-something else he never did.
When Remey, his red-capped seneschal, appeared in the doorway to tell him that he had visitors, he felt the intrusion like a clammy dampness in the small of his back. Odd, that. "Who is it?" he asked, and before Remey could reply, he added, "Send them away. I do not wish to see anyone today."
"Of course, my lord baron," replied the seneschal smoothly, "but you may wish to reconsider when I tell you that Abbot Hugo de Rainault and Marshal Guy de Gysburne have arrived on foot, alone, and wish to speak to you most urgently."
"Indeed?" wondered the baron, intrigued now. "Very well." He sighed, rising from his warm bench. "Give them something to drink, and I will join them in the hall. I want to speak to Father Gervais first."
"Very wise, my lord." Remey withdrew to find the steward and order some refreshments for the baron's unexpected guests.
When his servant had gone, the baron walked slowly across the courtyard to an opposite doorway which led onto the porch of the little chapel, where he found the family's elderly priest sitting in a pool of light from the courtyard and nodding over a small parchment chapbook in his lap. The baron picked up the book; it was the Gospel of Saint Matthew in Latin. He was able to pick out a few words here and there, and the thought came to him that perhaps it was time he learned to read properly-not like a barnyard chicken pecking seeds willy-nilly.
The old priest awoke with a start. "Oh! Bless me, I must have dozed off. Good day to you, my son, and God's rich blessing."
"Very well, Father," replied the baron, and thanked the priest. "I would not disturb your meditations, but we have visitors-Abbot Hugo de Rainault and his marshal, Guy of some such. I believe you know the abbot?"
"I had dealings with him now and then," replied the priest, "but that was a long time ago. I would not say I knew him."
The baron considered this and turned another page of the book in his hand. "There must be trouble in Elfael," mused the baron idly. "I can think of no other reason de Rainault would turn up at my door."
The priest considered this. "Yes," he agreed slowly, "no doubt you are right about that. Then again, it has been very quiet of late. We would have heard about any trouble, I think."
"Perhaps not," countered the baron. "The outlaws own the King's Road through the forest. Nothing moves in or out of Wales that they do not allow-which is why I expect this visit means trouble."
"You know best, Bernard."
"Well, in any event we'll soon find out," said the baron with a sigh. "I'm going to see them now, but I wanted to ask if you would come with me to greet them. I'd like to have you there, Father."
"Certainly, my son. I'd be delighted."
The baron held out his hand to the elder man and helped him to his feet.
"These old bones get slower every day," said the priest, rising heavily.
"Nonsense, Father," replied Baron Neufmarche. "The years touch you but lightly."
"Bah! Now who is speaking nonsense?"
They strolled amiably to the baron's great hall, where, at a table near the wide double door leading to the castle's main yard, a very dusty Gysburne and travel-soiled abbot were finishing their wine and cheese. "My lord baron!" declared Gysburne, standing quickly and brushing crumbs from his tunic. "God be good to you, Sire. My thanks for your inestimable hospitality."
"God with you, Marshal," replied the baron, "and with you, Abbot de Rainault. Greetings and welcome. I hope you are well?"
Abbot Hugo extended his hand to be reverenced. "God with you, Baron. I fear you find me not at all well."
"Oh? I am sorry to hear it." The baron turned to his companion, and they exchanged a knowing glance. "May I present my dear friend, Father Gervais. I think you may know one another."
The abbot glanced at the elderly cleric. "No, I don't think so. I would remember. God with you, Father." He gave the old man a nod and dismissed him with a slighting smile. "It will save us all some bother if I come to the point, my lord."
"I am all for it," replied the baron. "Please, continue."
"There has been a wicked uprising in Elfael. Soldiers under the command of Marshal Guy, here, were slaughtered in an unprovoked attack and the fortress taken. In short, we have been driven from our lands by an uprising of Welsh rebels. I say rebels, and so they style themselves. In truth, they are little more than thieves and outlaws, every last one."
"I see." Baron Bernard frowned thoughtfully. "That is not good news."
"What is more, they have killed a regiment of king's men under the command of one Captain Aloin. The few survivors have been driven into exile with me."
"Hmmm…" said the baron, shaking his head.
"These rebels, Lord Abbot," said Father Gervais, "would they be the same that control the King's Road through the forest? We have heard about them."
"The same, since you ask. Yes, the same. Their strength in arms and numbers has grown in these last months, and they have become ever more bold in their raiding and thieving. We had hoped that the arrival of the king's soldiers would have been sufficient to discourage them. Alas, they respect no authority and live only to shed innocent blood."
"How many men did the king lend you?" wondered the baron, summoning a steward with a gesture. "A chair for Father Gervais," he said. "And one for myself. Bring us wine too."
The steward brought the chairs, and another produced a small table for the wine; while the cups were filled, the abbot continued. "How many king's men did I have? Too few, by the rood. If we had received numbers sufficient to the task-and which I specifically requested, mind you-I am certain this disaster could have been averted. It is only through my most stringent endeavours at persuasion that any of us have survived at all."
Marshal Guy stared at the abbot, whose lies he almost believed himself.
"The attack was vicious and unprovoked, as I say," concluded the abbot. "They struck without warning and showed no mercy. Though we mounted a vigorous defence, we were at last overwhelmed. We were fortunate to escape with our lives."
"Yes, no doubt," mused the baron thoughtfully. "You said they were with you, the soldiers who survived the attack-where are they now?"
"In the town," replied Guy. "We've been on the road for four days without horses. We are all of us exhausted."
"Of course," replied the baron.
Guy could not fail to notice that the baron did not offer to send for the troops and bring them to the castle to be fed. In fact, the baron seemed more than content to let the matter rest where it lay. The abbot, however, was not so inclined; he had the spoon in his fist and meant to stir the pot with it.
"My lord baron," said Hugo, offering up his cup to be refilled.
"How many men have you under your command?"
The baron waited while the wine was poured. "Not as many as I should like," he answered, raising his cup to his lips, "times being what they are." He drank a sip to give himself a little time to think. "No doubt, King William would be able to raise as many as required." He smiled. "But I am no king."