“This way,” said the abbot. They walked across the empty market square to what was left of the former monastery of Llanelli, on whose ruins the town was being raised. The modest chapter house had been enlarged to provide adequate space for the abbot’s needs—which, so it appeared to Falkes, were greater than his own, though he had a score of knights to house. Inside, what had been the refectory was now the abbot’s private living quarters.
“I have drawn plans for the abbey garden and fields,” the abbot said, placing a rolled parchment in the count’s hands. “Some wine?”
“You are too kind,” said Falkes. Unrolling the skin, he carried it to the room’s single window and held it to the light. The outline of the town was a simple square, and the fields, indicated by long narrow parallel lines, seemed to be some distance from the town and almost twice as large as Llanelli itself. “What are you thinking of growing?”
“Flax mostly,” replied the abbot, “and barley, of course. We will use what we need and sell the surplus.”
“With such a great extent of fields,” said the count, “you will surely have a surplus. But I am wondering who will work these fields for you?”
“The monks.” Abbot Hugo handed him a cup of wine.
“How many monks do you reckon you will need?”
“As to that,” replied the abbot with a smile, “I estimate that I can make do with no fewer than seventy-five, to begin.”
“Seventy-five!” cried Falkes. “By the Virgin! If you had said thirty I would have thought that was fifteen too many. Why do you need so many?”
“To carry on the work of Saint Martin.” Falkes turned an incredulous gaze upon the abbot who, still smiling, sipped his wine and continued, “It is ambitious, I confess, but we must begin somewhere.”
“Saint Martin’s?”
“You cannot imagine,” said the abbot, “that we would continue to call our new Norman abbey by its old heathen Welsh name. In fact, I have prepared a letter to the pope requesting a charter to be drawn up in the name L’Abbaye de Martin de Saint dans les Champs.”
At the mention of the pope, Falkes rolled up the parchment and handed it back to the abbot, saying, “You would be well advised to hold onto that letter a little longer, Abbot.”
CHAPTER 8
King Raven’s greenwood refuge served in most respects as a village for those forced to call it home. Deep in the forest, King Raven’s flock had carved out a clearing below the protecting arm of a stony ridge. At great effort, they had extended the natural glade to include a pitiful little field for barley, a sorry bean patch, and one for turnips. They had dragged together bits of this and that for their huts and crude shelters, and the pens for their few scrawny animals. There was a patched-together tun which served as a granary for storing a scant supply of grain, and a seeping pool at the foot of the rock scarp that served them for a well.
In the days following the archery contest, I came to see the place in a little better light than had greeted me on first sight, but that en’t saying much. For it did seem that a lorn and lonely air hung over the place—the vapour of suffering produced by the folk whose lives were bound to this perilous perch. No one was here who had hope of a better life elsewhere—saving, maybe, only myself. Now, a right fair forester like myself might find living in such a place no great hardship for a few weeks, or even months. But even I would be screaming to get free long before a year had come round. And these poor folk had endured it for more than a year—a tribute, I suppose, to Lord Bran and his ability to keep the flame of hope burning in their hearts.
I greatly wondered how they could keep such a place hidden, all the more since there was a bounty on Rhi Bran’s head. The baron’s reward had been set at a price, and it kept on creeping up, higher and higher as King Raven’s deeds became more outrageous and damaging to the de Braose interests. The reward was enough to make me wonder how far some poor fella’s loyalty might stretch before it snapped like a rotten rope. I also wondered how long it would be before one of the sheriff ’s search parties stumbled upon Cél