“It is our very salvation!” Iwan and Siarles exchanged puzzled glances across the fire. Clearly, they did not see, so Bran explained, “The cardinal said he would annul Baron de Braose’s grant for six hundred marks. So we will simply buy Elfael from the king.”
“Six hundred marks!” muttered Siarles in dull amazement.
“Have you ever seen that much?”
“Never,” allowed Bran. “In truth, I don’t know if there is that much silver to be had beyond the March. But the terms were laid down by William’s own man. The cardinal said we could have Elfael for six hundred marks.”
“Aye,” mused Iwan, rubbing his chin doubtfully, “that is what he said—and it is just as impossible now as it was then.”
“A high price, yes, but not impossible. Anyway, it is far less than what would be needed to raise and feed an army of a thousand men—not to mention weapons and armour. For that, we’d need ten times more than the cardinal is asking.”
The two others fell silent gazing at him, calculating the enormity of the sums involved. Bran let his words work for a moment and then added, “That aside, I agree about the horses.”
“You do?” wondered Siarles, much impressed.
“Yes, but not a thousand. Three or four will suffice.”
“What can we do with three horses?” scoffed the young forester.
“We can begin raising the six hundred marks to redeem our homeland.”
PART FOUR
THE
HAUNTING
CHAPTER 30
Ten wagons laden with sacks of barley and rye, bags of dried beans and peas, and whole sides of beef and smoked pork trundled along the rising trackway through the forest. The supply van of Baron Neufmarché had spent all morning toiling up the winding incline of the ridge, and the crest was now in sight. Along with the wagons, the baron had sent an armed escort: five men-at-arms under the command of a knight, all of them in mail hauberks and armed with swords and lances, their shields and steel helmets slung behind their saddles. Their presence dared Count Falkes, or anyone else, to divert the consignment of supplies intended for the starving folk of Elfael.
The day had turned hazy and hot in the open places, the skies clear for the most part with but a smudgy suggestion of cloud to the west. The road, though deeply rutted and lumpy, was as dry as parchment. A drowsy hush lay over the rising woodland, as if the trees themselves dozed in the heat. The drivers did not press their teams too hard; the day was hot, the wagons were heavy, and they were loath to hurry. The food would arrive when it arrived, and that would be soon enough.
The six advance guards paused on the spine of the ridge and waited for the ox train to reach the top. From their high vantage point, the soldiers could see the Vale of Elfael spreading green and inviting to the north. “This is tedious work,” muttered the knight leading the escort. Turning to one of his men, he said, “Richard, go down and tell them that we will ride on. There is a ford ahead—just there.” He pointed down the descending slope to a place where a stream cut through the road as it pursued its switchback descent into the valley. “We will water the horses and wait for them there.”
The man-at-arms gave a nod, put spurs to his horse, and trotted back down the slope. “This way,” said the knight, and they rode down to the fording place, where they dismounted and stretched. After the animals had drunk their fill, the men drank, too, removing their round leather caps to lave cool water over their sweating heads. Kneeling in a sunny patch on the bank of the stream, the knight saw a shadow pass over him.
He watched the shade slowly engulf him, and thinking nothing more than that an errant cloud had passed over the sun, he ducked his head and continued cupping water to his mouth. Behind him, and a little way above, he heard the rustling of feathers and, still on his knees, craned his neck around to see a huge, dark, winglike shape disappear into the undergrowth—nothing more than a dull glimmering of black feathers, and then it was gone.
The sunlight returned, and the kneeling soldier was left with the strong sensation that something strange and unnatural had been watching him and, for all he knew, watched him still. The skin of his belly tightened beneath his chain mail tunic. Fear stretched both ways