making, and he did not want to appear irresolute or less than fully supportive of his uncle’s grand enterprise.
There were four of them—an architect, a surveyor, and two apprentices—and although Falkes could not be sure, he suspected that in addition to their charting activities, they were also spies. The questions they asked and the interest they took in his affairs put the count on his guard; he knew only too well that he enjoyed his present position through the sufferance of Baron de Braose. Not a day went by that he did not ponder how to further advance his uncle’s good opinion of him and his abilities, for as Elfael had been given, so Elfael could be taken away.Without it, he would become again what he had been: one more impoverished nobleman desperate to win the favour of his betters.
Fate had reached down and plucked him from the heaving ranks of desperate nobility. Against every expectation, he had been singled out for advancement and granted this chance to make good. Spoil this, and Falkes knew another opportunity would never come his way. For him, it was Elfael . . . or nothing.
Thus, he must ever and always remain vigilant and ruthless in his dealings with the Welsh under his rule, nor could he afford to show any weakness to his countrymen, however insignificant, that might give the baron cause to send him back to Normandie in disgrace.
Although his cousin Philip heartily assured him that his uncle, the baron, applauded his accomplishments, Falkes reckoned he would not be secure in his position as Lord of Elfael until the de Braose banner flew unopposed over the surrounding commots. So despite the bone-cracking cold, a most miserable Falkes remained with his visitors, sitting on his horse and shivering in the damp wind.
The surveying party had arrived the day before when the first wains rolled down into the shallow bowl of the valley.
Bumping across the stream that was now a swift-running torrent, the high-sided, wooden-wheeled vehicles toiled up the slope and came to a stop at the foot of the mound on which the fortress stood. The wagons, five in all, were full of tools and supplies for the men who would oversee the construction of the three castles Baron de Braose had commissioned.
Building work would not begin until the spring, but the baron was anxious to waste not a single day; he wanted everything to be ready when the masons and their teams of apprentices arrived with the thaw.
By the time the wildflowers brushed the hilltops with gold, the foundations of each defensive tower would be established.
When the stars of the equinox shone over the sites, the ditches would be man deep and the walls shoulder high. By midsummer, the central mound would belly to the sky, and stone curtains twice the height of the workmen would crown the hillcrests.
And when the time came for the master mason to call his men to pack their tools and load the wains to return to their families in Wintancaester, Oxenforde, and Gleawancaester, the walls and keep, bailey, donjon, and ditch would be half-finished.
For now, however, the wagons and animals would remain in sight of Caer Cadarn, where their drivers would camp in the lee of the fortress to shelter from the perpetual wind and icy rain that roared down out of the northwest. All winter long, Count Falkes’s men-at-arms would be kept busy hunting for the table, while the footmen and servants foraged for wood to keep the fires ablaze in hearth and fire ring of caer and camp.
It was not at all a convivial country, Falkes decided, for although winter had yet to arrive in force, the count had never been so cold in all his life. Curse the baron’s impatience! If only the invasion of Elfael could have waited until the spring.
As it was, Falkes and his men had come so late to Wales that they had not had time to adequately prepare for the season of snow and ice. Falkes found he had seriously underestimated the severity of the British weather; his clothes—he wore two or three tunics and mantles at a time, along with his heaviest cloak—were too thin and made of the wrong stuff. His fingers and toes suffered perpetual chilblains. He stamped his way around the fortress, clapping his hands and flapping his arms across his chest to keep warm. By night, he took to his bed after supper and burrowed deep under the fleeces and skins and cloaks