milk for the cat—is that not what you always say, Mother?”
Three days of preparation followed, and the ordinarily sedate fortress shook life into itself in order to make ready the lord’s departure. On the fourth day after receiving the summons, the entourage set out. All rode, save the steward, cook, and groom, who travelled in a horse-drawn wagon piled high with food supplies and equipment. The servants had dusted off and repaired the old leather tents Lord Cadwgan used for campaigns and extended hunting trips—of which there had been few in the last seven or eight years—in anticipation of making camp along the way and at the appointed meeting place.
“How long will the council last?” asked Mérian as she and her father rode along. It was early on the second day of travel, the sun was high and bright, and Mérian was in good spirits— all the more since her father’s mood also showed signs of improving.
“How long?” repeated Cadwgan. “Why, as long as Neufmarché fancies.” He thought about it for a moment and said, “There is no way to tell. It depends on the business to be decided. Once, I remember, Old William—the Conqueror, mind, not the red-bearded brat—held a council that lasted four months. Think of that, Mérian. Four whole months!”
Mérian considered that if the baron’s council lasted four months, then summer would be over and she would not have to go to Hereford. She asked, “Why so long?”
“I was not there,” her father explained. “We were not yet under the thumb of the foreigners and had our own affairs to keep us occupied. As I recall, it was said the king wanted everyone to agree on the levy of taxes for land and chattels.”
“Agree with him, you mean.”
“Yes,” said her father, “but there was more to it than that.
The Conqueror wanted as much as he could get, to be sure, but he also knew that most people refuse to pay an unjust tax. He wanted all his earls, barons, and princes to agree—and to see one another agree—so that there could be no complaint later.”
“Clever.”
“Aye, he was a fox, that one,” her father continued, and Mérian, after their stormy relations of late, was happy to hear him speak and to listen. “The real reason the council lasted so long came down to the Forest Law.”
Mérian had heard of this and knew all right-thinking Britons, as well as Saxons and Danes, resented it bitterly. The reason was simple: the decree transformed all forested lands in England into one vast royal hunting preserve owned by the king. Even to enter a forest without permission of the warrant holder became a punishable offence. This edict, hated as it was from the beginning, made outlaws of all those who, for generations, had made their living out of the woodlands in one way or another—which was nearly everyone.
“So that was when it began?” mused Mérian.
“That it was,” Cadwgan confirmed, “and the council twisted and turned like cats on a roasting spit. They refused three times to honour the king’s wishes, and each time he sent them back to think about the cost of their refusal.”
“What happened?”
“When it became clear that no one would be allowed to return home until the matter was settled, and that the king was unbending, the council had no choice but to assent to the Conqueror’s wishes.”
“What a spineless bunch of lickspits,” observed Mérian.
“Do not judge them too harshly,” her father said. “It was either agree or risk being hung as traitors if they openly rebelled. Meanwhile, they watched their estates and holdings slowly descending into ruin through neglect. So with harvest hard upon them, they granted the king the right to his precious hunting runs and went home to explain the new law to their people.” Cadwgan paused. “Thank God, the Conqueror did not include the lands beyond the Marches.When I think what the Cymry would have done had that been forced on us . . .” He shook his head. “Well, it does not bear thinking about.”
PART FIVE
THE
GRELLON
CHAPTER 39
Despite Count Falkes’s repeated offer to accompany him, Abbot Hugo insisted on visiting his new church alone. “But the work is barely begun,” the count pointed out. “Allow me to bring the architect’s drawings so you can see what it will look like when it is finished.”
“You are too kind,” Hugo had told him. “However, I know your duties weigh heavily enough, and I would not add to them. I am perfectly capable of looking around for myself,