here and there, and the thought came to him that perhaps it was time he learned to read properly—not like a barnyard chicken pecking seeds willy-nilly.
The old priest awoke with a start. “Oh! Bless me, I must have dozed off. Good day to you, my son, and God’s rich blessing.”
“Very well, Father,” replied the baron, and thanked the priest. “I would not disturb your meditations, but we have visitors—Abbot Hugo de Rainault and his marshal, Guy of some such. I believe you know the abbot?”
“I had dealings with him now and then,” replied the priest, “but that was a long time ago. I would not say I knew him.”
The baron considered this and turned another page of the book in his hand. “There must be trouble in Elfael,” mused the baron idly. “I can think of no other reason de Rainault would turn up at my door.”
The priest considered this. “Yes,” he agreed slowly, “no doubt you are right about that. Then again, it has been very quiet of late. We would have heard about any trouble, I think.”
“Perhaps not,” countered the baron. “The outlaws own the King’s Road through the forest. Nothing moves in or out of Wales that they do not allow—which is why I expect this visit means trouble.”
“You know best, Bernard.”
“Well, in any event we’ll soon find out,” said the baron with a sigh. “I’m going to see them now, but I wanted to ask if you would come with me to greet them. I’d like to have you there, Father.”
“Certainly, my son. I’d be delighted.”
The baron held out his hand to the elder man and helped him to his feet.
“These old bones get slower every day,” said the priest, rising heavily.
“Nonsense, Father,” replied Baron Neufmarché. “The years touch you but lightly.”
“Bah! Now who is speaking nonsense?”
They strolled amiably to the baron’s great hall, where, at a table near the wide double door leading to the castle’s main yard, a very dusty Gysburne and travel-soiled abbot were finishing their wine and cheese. “My lord baron!” declared Gysburne, standing quickly and brushing crumbs from his tunic. “God be good to you, Sire. My thanks for your inestimable hospitality.”
“God with you, Marshal,” replied the baron, “and with you, Abbot de Rainault. Greetings and welcome. I hope you are well?”
Abbot Hugo extended his hand to be reverenced. “God with you, Baron. I fear you find me not at all well.”
“Oh? I am sorry to hear it.” The baron turned to his companion, and they exchanged a knowing glance. “May I present my dear friend, Father Gervais. I think you may know one another.”
The abbot glanced at the elderly cleric. “No, I don’t think so. I would remember. God with you, Father.” He gave the old man a nod and dismissed him with a slighting smile. “It will save us all some bother if I come to the point, my lord.”
“I am all for it,” replied the baron. “Please, continue.”
“There has been a wicked uprising in Elfael. Soldiers under the command of Marshal Guy, here, were slaughtered in an unprovoked attack and the fortress taken. In short, we have been driven from our lands by an uprising of Welsh rebels. I say rebels, and so they style themselves. In truth, they are little more than thieves and outlaws, every last one.”
“I see.” Baron Bernard frowned thoughtfully. “That is not good news.”
“What is more, they have killed a regiment of king’s men under the command of one Captain Aloin. The few survivors have been driven into exile with me.”
“Hmmm . . .” said the baron, shaking his head.
“These rebels, Lord Abbot,” said Father Gervais, “would they be the same that control the King’s Road through the forest? We have heard about them.”
“The same, since you ask. Yes, the same. Their strength in arms and numbers has grown in these last months, and they have become ever more bold in their raiding and thieving. We had hoped that the arrival of the king’s soldiers would have been sufficient to discourage them. Alas, they respect no authority and live only to shed innocent blood.”
“How many men did the king lend you?” wondered the baron, summoning a steward with a gesture. “A chair for Father Gervais,” he said. “And one for myself. Bring us wine too.”
The steward brought the chairs, and another produced a small table for the wine; while the cups were filled, the abbot continued. “How many king’s men did I have? Too few, by the rood. If we had received numbers