count hunched over a table laden with the half-empty plates of the meal just finished and squares of parchment on which were drawn plans for defensive fortifications.
“Forgive me, bishop, if I do not offer you refreshment,” said the count distractedly. “I am otherwise occupied, as you see.”
“I would not presume upon your attentions,” said the bishop tartly. “You can be sure that I would not come here at all if need did not demand it.”
Falkes glanced up sharply. “Pray, what are you prattling about now?”
“We were promised provisions,” said the bishop.
“When?”
“Why, when Baron Neufmarché was here. It has been almost a month now, and the need grows ever—”
“Neufmarché promised grain, yes, I remember.” Count de Braose returned to the drawings before him. “What of it?”
“My lord count,” said the bishop, his palms growing wet with apprehension, “it has not arrived.”
“Has it not?” sniffed the count. “Well, perhaps he has forgotten.”
“The baron promised to send the supplies immediately upon his return to Hereford. It has been, as I say, almost a month now, and the need is greater than ever. The people are at the end of their resources—they faint with hunger; the children cry. In some settlements, they are already starving. If relief is not forthcoming, they will die.”
“In that case,” replied the count, picking up a scrap of parchment and holding it at arm’s length before his face, “I suggest you take up the matter with the baron himself. It is his affair, not mine.”
“But—”
“We are finished here,” interrupted Count Falkes. “You may go.”
Aghast and confounded, Bishop Asaph stood in silence for a moment. “My lord, do you mean to say that nothing has been sent?”
“Have you taken root?” inquired the count. “The matter is concluded. You are dismissed. Go.”
The churchman turned and walked stiffly from the room.
By the time he reached the monastery, some semblance of reason had returned, and he had determined that the count was right. The baron had made the promise and must be held to account. Therefore, he would go to the baron and demand a reckoning. If he left at once, he could be in Hereford in four or five days. He would obtain an audience; he would implore; he would plead; he would beg the baron to make good his vow and release the promised food and supplies without delay.
CHAPTER 29
It took the two aging priests of Llanelli more than a week to reach the Neufmarché stronghold in Hereford. Though Bishop Asaph fervently hoped to travel more swiftly, he could not go faster than doddering Brother Clyro could walk, nor could he bring himself to deny the needy who, upon seeing the passing monks, ran to beg them for prayers and blessings.
Weary and footsore, they reached Hereford toward evening of the eighth day and found their way to the Abbey of Saints James and John, where they took beds for the night. They were led by the porter to the guest lodge and provided with basins of water to wash and later joined the priests for prayers and a simple supper before going to sleep. After prime the next morning, the bishop left his companion at prayer and made his way to the baron’s fortress. Set on a bluff overlooking the river Wye, the castle could be seen for miles in every direction: an impressive structure built of stone and enclosed by a deep, steep-sided ditch filled with water diverted from the river.
It was not the first fortress on this site; the previous one had been burned to the ground long ago during a battle with the English. The Ffreinc had rebuilt it, but in stone this time; larger, stronger, bristling with battlements, walls, and towers, it was built to last. Its latest inhabitant had extended the grounds around the stronghold to include common grazing lands, cattle pens, granaries, and barns.
The bishop paused before entering the castle gate. “Great of Might,” he murmured, lifting a hand toward heaven, “you know our need. Let relief be swiftly granted. Amen.” He then proceeded through the gate, where he was met by a gatekeeper in a short red tunic. “Pax vobiscum,” said the bishop.
“God with you,” answered the gateman, taking in the bishop’s robe and tonsure. “What is your business here, father?”
“I seek audience with Baron Neufmarché, if you please. You may tell him that Bishop Asaph of Elfael is here on a matter of highest importance.”
The servant nodded and led the cleric across a wooden bridge over the water ditch, through another gate, and