up his duties as Rhi
Bran the Hud, Lord of the Forest, whom some call the Dark Enchanter of the Wood. And from that day to this, he abides as a great black raven still.
The last note faded into silence. Laying aside the harp, Angharad gazed at the rapt young man before her and said, “That is the song of King Raven. Dream on it, my son, and let it be a healing dream to you.”
PART THREE
THE MAY
DANCE
CHAPTER 22
Warm winds from the sea brought an early spring, and a wet one. From Saint David’s Day to the Feast of Saint John, the sky remained a low, slate-grey expanse of dribbling rain that swelled the streams and rivers throughout the Marches. Then the skies finally cleared, and the land dried beneath a sun so bright and warm that the miserable Outlanders in their rusting mail almost forgot the hardships of the winter past.
The first wildflowers appeared, and with them wagons full of tools and building materials, rolling into the valley from Baron de Braose’s extensive holdings in the south. The old dirt trackways were not yet firm enough, but Baron de Braose was eager to begin, so the first wagons to reach the valley churned the soft earth into deep, muddy trenches to swamp all those who would come after. From morning to night the balmy air was filled with the calls of the drivers, the crack of whips, and the bawling of the oxen as they struggled to haul the heavy-laden vehicles through the muck.
The Cymry also returned to the lower valleys from their winter sanctuaries in the high hills. Although most had fled the cantref, a few remained—farmers for the most part, who could not, like the sheep and cattle herders, simply take their property elsewhere—and a few of the more stubborn herdsmen who had contemplated their choices over the winter and concluded that they were unwilling to give up good grazing land to the Ffreinc. The farmers began readying their fields for sowing, and the herdsmen returned to the pastures. Following the age-old pattern of the clans from time past remembering— working through the season of sun and warmth, storing up for the season of rain and ice, when they took their ease in communal dwellings around a shared hearth—the people of the region silently reasserted their claim to the land of their ancestors. For the first time since the arrival of the Ffreinc, Elfael began to assume something of its former aspect.
Count Falkes de Braose considered the reappearance of the British a good sign. It meant, he thought, that the people had decided to accept life under his rule and would recognise him as their new overlord. He still intended to press them into helping build the town the baron required—and the castles, too, if needed—but beyond that he had no other plans for them. So long as they did what they were told, and with swift obedience, he and the local population would achieve a peaceable association. Of course, any opposition to his rule would be met with fierce retaliation—still, that was the way of the world, and only to be expected, no?
Anticipating a solid season of industry—a town to raise and border fortifications to be established—the count sent a messenger to the monastery to remind Bishop Asaph of his duty to supply British labourers to supplement the ranks of builders the baron would provide. He then busied himself with supervising the allotment of tools and materials for the various sites. Together with the architect and master mason, he inspected each of the sites to make sure that nothing had been overlooked and all was in readiness. He personally marked out the boundaries for the various towers and castle ditch enclosures, spending long days beneath the blue, cloud-crowded sky, and counted it work well done. He wanted to be ready when the baron’s promised builders arrived. Time was short, and there was much to be done before the autumn storms brought an end to the year’s labour.
Nothing would be allowed to impede the progress he meant to make. Only too aware that his future hung by the slender thread of his uncle, the baron’s, good pleasure, Falkes agonised over his arrangements; he ate little and slept less, worrying himself into a state of near exhaustion over the details large and small.
On a sunny, windblown morning, the master mason approached Falkes on one of his visits to the building sites. “If it please you, sire, I would like