Count Falkes de Braose anticipated the arrival of his cousin with all the fret and ferment of a maid awaiting a suitor. He could not remain seated for more than a few moments at a time before he leapt to his feet and ran to inspect some detail he had already seen and approved twice over. Ill at ease in his own skin, he started at every stray sound, and each new apprehension caused his heart to sink: What if Earl Philip arrived late? What if he met trouble on the way? What if he did not arrive at all?

He fussed over the furnishings of his new stronghold: Were they adequate? Were they too spare? Would he be considered niggardlyor worse yet, a spendthrift? He worried about the preparation of the feast: Was the fare sumptuous enough? Was the wine palatable? Was the meat well seasoned? Was the bread too hard, the soup too thin, the ale too sweet or too sour? How many men would come with Philip? How long would they stay?

When these and all the other worries overwhelmed him, he grew resentful of the torment. What cause did Philip have to be angry with him? After all, he had taken Elfael with but a bare handful of casualties. Most of the footmen had not even used their weapons. His first campaign, and it was an absolute triumph! What more could anyone ask?

By the time Philip, Earl of Gloucester, arrived with his retinue late in the day, Falkes was limp with nervous exhaustion. "Cousin!" boomed Philip, striding across the pennon-festooned yard of Caer Cadarn. He was a tall, long-legged man, with dark hair and an expanding bald spot that he kept hidden beneath a cap trimmed in marten fur. His riding gauntlets were trimmed in the same fur, as were the tops of his boots. "It is good to see you, I do declare it! How long has it been? Three years? Four?"

"Welcome!" uttered Falkes in a strangled cry. He loped across the yard with unsteady strides. "I pray you had an uneventful journeypeaceful, that is."

"It was. God's grace, it was," answered Philip, pulling his kinsman into a rough embrace. "But you now-are you well?" He cast a quizzical eye over his younger cousin. "You seem pale and fevered."

"It is nothing-an ague born of anticipation-it will pass." Falkes turned and flapped a hand in the vague direction of the hall. "Valroix Palace it is not," he apologised, "but consider it yours for as long as you desire to stay."

Philip cast a dubious glance at the crude timber structure. "Well, so long as it keeps the rain off, I am satisfied."

"Then come, let us share the welcome cup, and you can tell me how things stand at court." Falkes started across the yard, then remembered himself and stopped. "How is Uncle? Is he well? It is a shame he could not accompany you. I should like to properly thank him for entrusting the settlement of his newest commot to me."

"Father is well, and he is pleased, never fear," replied Philip de Braose. Removing his gauntlets, he tucked them in his belt. "He would have liked nothing better than to accompany me, but the king has come to rely on him so that he will not abide the baron to remain out of sight for more than a day or two before calling him to attendance. Nevertheless, the baron has instructed me to bring him a full account of your deeds and acquisitions."

"Bien sur! You shall have it," said Falkes, nervousness making his voice a little too loud. Turning to the knights and men-at-arms in Philip's company, he called, "Messires, you are most welcome here. Quarters have been arranged, and a feast has been prepared for your arrival. But first, it would please me if you would join me in raising a cup of wine."

He then led his guests into the great hall, the walls of which had been newly washed until they gleamed as white as the Seven Maidens. Fresh green rushes had been strewn over the sand-scoured wooden floor, permeating the enormous room with a clean scent of mown hay. A great heap of logs was blazing on the hearth at one end of the room, where, on an iron spit, half an ox was slowly roasting, the juices sizzling in a pan snugged in the glowing coals.

Several board-and-trestle tables had been erected, draped in cloths, and decked with fir branches. As the men settled on the long benches, the steward and his serving boys filled an assortment of vessels with wine drawn from a tun brought from Aquitaine. When each of the guests was in possession of a cup, their host raised his chalice and called, "My friends, let us drink to King William and his continued good health! Long may he reign!"

"King William!" they all cried and downed the first of many such cups that night. With the men thus fortified, the celebration soon turned into a revel, and Count Falkes's anxiety slowly gave way to a pleasant, wine-induced contentment. Cousin Philip seemed happy with his efforts and would certainly return to his uncle with a good report. As the evening wore on, Falk-es became more and more the jovial host, urging his guests to eat and drink their fill; and when they had done so, he invited his own men, and some of their wives, to join the festivities. Those who knew how to play music brought their instruments, and there was singing and dancing, which filled the hall and lasted far into the night.

Accordingly, it was not until late the next day that Falkes and Philip found opportunity to sit down together. "You have done well, Cousin," Philip asserted. "Father always said that Elfael was a plum ripe for the plucking."

"How right he was," agreed Falkes readily. "I hope you will tell him how grateful I am for his confidence. I look forward to an early demonstration of my loyalty and thanks."

"Rest assured I will tell him. Know you, he has charged me to convey a secret-all being well."

"I hope you think it so," said Falkes.

"It could not be better," replied Philip. "Therefore, I am eager to inform you that the baron intends to make Elfael his staging ground for the conquest of the territories."

"Which territories?" wondered Falkes.

"Selyf, Maelienydd, and Buellt."

"Three commots!" Falkes exclaimed. "That is… ambitious."

Falkes had no idea his uncle entertained such far-reaching plans. But then, with the endorsement of the king, what was to prevent Baron de Braose from laying claim to the whole of Wales?

"Ambitious, to be sure," avowed Philip pleasantly. "My father is intent, and he is determined. Moreover, he has the fortune to make it possible."

"I would never doubt it."

"Good," replied Philip, as if a knotty issue had been decided. "To this end, the baron requires you to undertake a survey of the land to be completed before spring."

"Before spring-," repeated Falkes, struggling to keep up. "But we have only just begun to establish-"

"Zut!" said Philip, brushing aside his objection before it could be spoken aloud. "The baron will send his own men to perform the survey. You need only aid them with an appropriate guard to ensure their safety while they work."

"I see." The pale count nodded thoughtfully. "And what is this survey to determine?"

"The baron requires three castles to be built-one on the border to the north, one south, and one west-on sites best suited for controlling the territories beyond each of those borders. This the surveyors will determine."

"Three castles," mused Falkes, stroking his thin, silky beard. The cost of such an undertaking would be staggering. He hoped he would not be expected to help pay for the project.

Philip, seeing the shadow of apprehension flit across his cousin's face, quickly explained. "You will appreciate," he continued, "that the building will be funded out of the baron's own treasury."

Falkes breathed easier for the reassurance. "What about the people of Elfael?" he wondered.

"What about them?"

"I assume they will be required to supply ready labour."