the road, Hugo lifted his sweaty face to the solid stone walls of the castle on the hill above the town and felt what it must be like for weary pilgrims to behold the promised land.
Here, at last, he would be given a welcome worthy of his rank. Moreover, if he sharpened his appeal with hints of clerical patronage—offers of perpetual prayer and special indulgences excusing the baron from certain past sins—Hugo imagined he might enlist the baron’s aid to help him recover his abbey and reclaim Elfael from the hands of that blasted King Raven and his troop of outlaws. “Captain Aloin,” he called, climbing down from a swaybacked horse—the only one they had been able to commandeer from the first Norman town they had come to after leaving the March. “You and your men will rest and wait for us in the town. Go to the monastery and get some food and drink—my monks will take you there.”
“Where are you going, Abbot?”
“Marshal Guy and I will go to the baron and see if he is of a mood to receive us. If all goes well, I will send for you as soon as suitable arrangements can be made.”
The captain, who had risked life and limb in the abbot’s service, and whose troops bore the brunt of the failure to roust King Raven from his roost, was not best pleased to be shut out of the proceedings now. But Aloin was too tired to argue, so agreed—if only that he might find a cool place to sit down that much sooner. He waved the marshal and abbot away, ordered his men to go with the monks and fetch food and drink from the abbey and bring some back for him; and then, sitting himself down in the shade of the stone archway leading into the town square, he pulled off his boots and closed his eyes. Before he drifted off to sleep, it occurred to him that this was likely the last he would see of the abbot. This caused him fleeting concern. Yet, close on this first thought was another: if he never saw that grasping, arrogant, conniving churchman again . . . well, all things considered, that was fine too.
Meanwhile, Bernard Neufmarché, Lord of Hereford and Gloucester, was sitting in his private courtyard gazing up at the sky for no other reason than that he thought a shadow had passed over him and he felt a sudden chill. He glanced up to see if an errant cloud had obscured the sun for a moment, but there were no clouds, and the sun shone as brightly as ever. The baron was not a man for omens or portents, but it did seem to him that lately—at least, ever since his lady wife had become smitten with all things Welsh—he often had odd feelings and sudden urges to do things he had never done before, such as sit quietly alone with his thoughts in his pleasant courtyard. Moreover, he often entertained the notion that strange forces were swirling around him, moving him towards destinations and destinies unknown.
He smiled at his own superstitious nature—something else he never did.
When Remey, his red-capped seneschal, appeared in the doorway to tell him that he had visitors, he felt the intrusion like a clammy dampness in the small of his back. Odd, that. “Who is it?” he asked, and before Remey could reply, he added, “Send them away. I do not wish to see anyone today.”
“Of course, my lord baron,” replied the seneschal smoothly, “but you may wish to reconsider when I tell you that Abbot Hugo de Rainault and Marshal Guy de Gysburne have arrived on foot, alone, and wish to speak to you most urgently.”
“Indeed?” wondered the baron, intrigued now. “Very well.” He sighed, rising from his warm bench. “Give them something to drink, and I will join them in the hall. I want to speak to Father Gervais first.”
“Very wise, my lord.” Remey withdrew to find the steward and order some refreshments for the baron’s unexpected guests.
When his servant had gone, the baron walked slowly across the courtyard to an opposite doorway which led onto the porch of the little chapel, where he found the family’s elderly priest sitting in a pool of light from the courtyard and nodding over a small parchment chapbook in his lap. The baron picked up the book; it was the Gospel of Saint Matthew in Latin. He was able to pick out a few words