it’s his uncle, the baron, who has eyes on the can-trefs to the north and west. He means to take as much as he can grab.”
“So it would seem.”
“Aye, and I know it. Greedy bastards,” swore Cadwgan, “they cannot even rule the commot they’ve been given! What do they want with more land?” The king spat again and shook his head slowly—as if contemplating a ruin that could easily be avoided. “Mark my words, nothing good will come of this.”
The baron sighed. “I fear you could be right.”
Upon reaching the holding, the baron made a thorough inspection, asked many questions of the farmers—about the last harvest, the new planting, the adequacy of the spring rains—and walked out into one of the fields, where he bent down and rubbed dirt between his hands, as if testing the worth of the soil. At the end of his survey, he professed himself well pleased with the farmers’ efforts and called to his seneschal to send the head of the settlement two casks of good dark ale as a token of his thanks and good wishes.
The baron and the king rode on to the next holding, where the herdsmen were grazing cattle. The baron asked how the cattle had fared during the winter and how it was going with the spring calving and whether they would see a good increase this year. He received a favourable reply in each case, and after concluding his enquiry, ordered two more casks of ale to be sent to the settlement.
Then, turning their horses, the party rode back to the caer, where King Cadwgan commanded his cooks to prepare a festive supper in honour of his overlord’s unexpected, though not altogether unwelcome, visit. The baron had made Cadwgan feel like a knowledgeable confidant, a trusted advisor, and for that he ordered the best of what he had to offer: beeswax candles for the board, fine woven cloths to dress the table, silver plates on which to eat and silver cups for the wine he had been saving for such an occasion, and choice slices from the haunch of venison aging in the larder. Fresh straw was to be spread on the floor and a fragrant fire of apple wood and heather lit in the hearth.
“You will put your feet beneath my board tonight,”
Cadwgan told him, “and allow me to show you true Cymry hospitality.”
“I would like nothing better,” replied the baron, pleased with how well his scheme was coming together.
The king ordered his steward to conduct the baron to a chamber for his use and to prepare water for washing.
“When you are ready, come join me in the hall. I will have a jar waiting.”
The baron dutifully obeyed his host and, after refreshing himself in his room, returned a little while later to the hall, where he was delighted to see that two beautiful young women had joined them. They were standing on each side of the hearth, where a fire brightly burned.
“Baron Neufmarché,” announced the king, “I present my daughter, Mérian, and her cousin Essylt.”
Mérian, slightly older of the two, tall and willowy with long, dark hair, was wearing a simple gown of pale green linen; her cousin Essylt, fair with a pleasant, plump face and a delicate mouth, was dressed in a gown the colour of fresh butter.
Both possessed an air of demure yet guileless confidence.
Mérian regarded him with frank appraisal as she extended a small wooden trencher with pieces of bread torn from a loaf.
“Be welcome here, Baron Neufmarché,” she said in a voice so soft and low that it sent a pang of longing through the baron’s tough heart.
“May you want for nothing while you are here,” said Essylt, stepping forward with a small dish of salt in her cupped hands.
“I am charmed, my ladies,” professed the baron, speaking the complete truth for the first time that day. Taking a piece of bread from the offered board, he dipped it in the salt and ate it. “Peace to this house tonight,” he said, offering his hand.
“Your servant, Baron Neufmarché,” replied the king’s daughter. She accepted the baron’s hand, performed a graceful curtsy, and bowed her head; her long, dark curls parted, slightly exposing the nape of a slender neck and the curve of a shapely shoulder.
“As I am yours,” said the baron, delighted by the splendid young woman. Although he also accepted the courtesy of the young woman called Essylt, his eyes never left the dark-haired beauty before him.
“Father tells me you approve of