"Of course-we must have workers in sufficient number."

"They may resist."

"I don't see how they can," declared Philip. "You said the king and his son have already been removed, along with their men-at-arms. If you were to encounter any meaningful resistance, you would certainly have done so by now. Whatever opposition we meet from here on will be easily overcome."

Despite his cousin's effortless assurance, Falkes remained sceptical. He had no clear idea how many of the original inhabitants remained in Elfael. Most seemed to have fled, but it was difficult to determine their numbers, for even in the best of times they rarely stayed in one place, preferring to wander here and there as the whim took them, much like the cattle they raised and which formed their chief livelihood. Be that as it may, those few who remained in the scattered farms and steadings were certain to have something to say about invaders taking their property, even if it was mostly grazing land.

"You can tell your father, my uncle, that he will find everything in good order by next spring, God willing. In the meantime, I will await the arrival of the surveyors-and what is more, I will accompany them personally to see that all is carried out according to the baron's wishes."

They talked of the work to be done, the materials to be obtained, the number of men who would be needed, and so on. In all that followed, Count Falkes paid most stringent attention-especially when it came to the labourers who would be required.

It was common practise amongst the Ffreinc to entice the local population of conquered lands to help with construction work; for a little pay, parcels of land, or promises of preferential dealings, an ample workforce could often be gathered from the immediate area. The custom had been applied to rousing effect amongst the Saxons. This is how the Conqueror and his barons had accomplished so much so quickly in the subjugation and domination of England. There was no reason why the same practise should not also work in Wales.

The prospect of ready silver went a long way toward slaking any lingering thirst for rebellion. Often those who shouted the loudest about rising up against the invaders were the same ones who profited most handily from the invasion. God knows, Baron de Braose's renowned treasury had won more battles than his soldiers and could be relied upon to do so again. And as everyone knew, the Welsh, for all their prideful bluster, were just as greedy for gain as the most grasping, lack-land Saxon.

It was with this in mind that the two kinsmen rode out the following day to view the commot. Philip wanted to get a better idea of the region and see firsthand the land that had so quickly fallen under their control.

The day began well, with a high, bright sky and a fresh breeze pushing low clouds out of the west. Autumn was advancing; everywhere the land was slumping down toward its winter rest. The leaves on the trees had turned and were flying from the branches like golden birds across a pale blue sky. Away in the distance, always in the distance, defining the boundary of the commot, towered the green-black wall of the forest, looming like a line of clouds, dark and turbulent, heralding the advance of a coming storm.

The two noblemen, each accompanied by a knight and three menat-arms, rode easily together through the valley and across the rolling hills. They passed by the little monastery at Llanelli and paused to examine the setting of the place and the construction of the various buildings before riding on. They also visited one of Elfael's few far-flung settlements, cradled amongst the branching valleys. This one, huddled in the wind shadow of the area's highest hill, consisted of a house and barn, a granary, and a coop for chickens. It, like so many others, was abandoned. The people had gone-where, Falkes had no idea.

After visiting a few of the dwellings, they returned to their horses. "A piss-poor place," observed Earl Philip, climbing back into the saddle. "I would not allow one of my dogs to live here." He shook his head. "Are they all like this?"

"More or less," replied Falkes. "They are mostly herdsmen, from what I can tell. They follow their cattle, and these holdings are often abandoned for months at a time,"

"What about the farms, the crops?" wondered Philip, taking up the reins.

"There are few enough of those," answered Falkes, turning his horse back onto the trackway. "Most of the open land is used for grazing."

"That will change," decided Philip. "This soil is rich-look at the grass, lush and thick as it is! You could grow an abundance of grain here-enough to feed an army."

"Which is precisely what will be needed," replied Falkes, urging his mount forward. He thought about the baron's plans to subdue the next commots. "Two or three armies."

They rode to the top of the hill above the settlement and looked out over the empty valley with its narrow stream snaking through the deep green grass, rippling in the wind. In his mind's eye, Earl Philip could see farms and villages springing up throughout the territory. There would be mills-for wood and wool and grain-and storehouses, barns, and granaries. There would be dwellings for the farmers, the workers, the craftsmen: tanners, chandlers, wainwrights, ironsmiths, weavers, bakers, dyers, carpenters, butchers, fullers, leatherers, and all the rest.

There would be churches, too, one for each village and town, and perhaps a monastery or two as well. Maybe, in time, an abbey.

"A good place," mused Falkes.

"Yes." His cousin smiled and nodded. "And it is a good thing we have come." He let his gaze sweep over the hilltops and up to the blue vault of heaven and felt the warm sun on his face. "Elfael is a rough gem, but with work it will polish well."

"To be sure," agreed Falkes. "God willing."

"Oh, God has already willed it," Philip assured him. "As sure as William is king, there is no doubt about that." He paused, then added, "None whatsoever."

The day following the feast of Saint Edmund-three weeks after Earl Philip's visit and the weather had turned raw. The wind was rising out of the north, gusting sharply, pushing low, dirty clouds over the hills. Count Falkes's thin frame was aching with the chill, and he longed to turn around and ride back to the scorching, great fire he kept blazing in the hearth, but the baron's men were still disputing over the map they were making, and he did not want to appear irresolute or less than fully supportive of his uncle's grand enterprise.

There were four of them-an architect, a surveyor, and two apprentices-and although Falkes could not be sure, he suspected that in addition to their charting activities, they were also spies. The questions they asked and the interest they took in his affairs put the count on his guard; he knew only too well that he enjoyed his present position through the sufferance of Baron de Braose. Not a day went by that he did not ponder how to further advance his uncle's good opinion of him and his abilities, for as Elfael had been given, so Elfael could be taken away. Without it, he would become again what he had been: one more impoverished nobleman desperate to win the favour of his betters.

Fate had reached down and plucked him from the heaving ranks of desperate nobility. Against every expectation, he had been singled out for advancement and granted this chance to make good. Spoil this, and Falkes knew another opportunity would never come his way. For him, it was Elfael… or nothing.

Thus, he must ever and always remain vigilant and ruthless in his dealings with the Welsh under his rule, nor could he afford to show any weakness to his countrymen, however insignificant, that might give the baron cause to send him back to Normandie in disgrace.