Remey’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Sire? Is something amiss?”
“No time to explain—but the two Welshmen are to be taken captive. Indeed, they will not leave this place alive. Understand?” The aging seneschal inclined his head in a compliant nod. “Go,” said Neufmarché, 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 Mérian 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 Neufmarché 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, Mérian. 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.
It was with these thoughts turning over in her mind that she made her way amongst the untidy sprawl of tents to the baroness’s pavilion in the centre of the camp. Mérian had been sent to find Sybil and inform her friend that she had said her good-byes to her parents and that her things were packed and awaiting collection by the baron’s servants. As she passed the baron’s tent, however, a shout brought her up short. She stopped.
It sounded like an argument had broken out. There was a crash, as if a table had been overturned, and suddenly, out of the tent burst four marchogi dragging two men between them.
At the sight of the young noblewoman standing directly in their path, the soldiers halted. The foremost prisoner raised his head. Even with the blood streaming from a cut above his eye, even though she never thought to see him again amongst the living, she knew him.
“Bran!” She blurted the name in startled amazement. “Is it you?”
“Mérian,” gasped Bran, no less astonished to see her.
“Step aside, lady,” said one of the knights, jerking Bran to his feet.
Without thinking, Mérian held up her hand. “Stop!” she said, and the soldiers paused. She stepped nearer. “I thought you died—everyone said so.”
“Wishful thinking.”
“You know this man?” The voice was Neufmarché’s. He stepped from the tent and came to stand beside Mérian.
“I did once,” Mérian replied, turning to the baron. “I— until this moment, I thought him dead! Why are you treating him so? What has he done?”
“He claims to be the heir of Elfael,” the baron replied. “Is this true?”
“It is,” Mérian granted.
“That is all I need to know.” The baron, sword in hand, waved the soldiers on. “Take them away.”