~lthough spies had long ago confirmed his suspicions-three castles were being erected on the borders of Elfael- Baron Neufmarche wished to see the de Braose bastion-building venture for himself.

Now that warmer weather had come to the valleys, he thought it time to pay another visit to the count. Along the way, he could visit his British minions and see how the spring planting progressed. As overlord of a subject people, it never hurt to make an unannounced appearance now and then to better judge the mood and temper of those beneath his rule. Lord Cadwgan had given him little trouble during his reign, and for that the baron was shrewd enough to be grateful. But with the long-awaited expansion into Welsh territory begun, Neufmarche thought it would be best to see how things stood on the ground, reward loyalty and industry, and snuff out any sparks of discontent before they could catch fire.

With this in mind, the baron struck out one bright morning with a small entourage for Caer Rhodl, the stronghold of King Cadwgan. Upon his arrival two days later, the Welsh king received him with polite, if subdued, courtesy. "My Lord Neufmarche," said Cadwgan, emerging from his hall. "I wonder that you did not send your steward ahead so I would know to expect you. Then you would have received a proper welcome."

"My thanks all the same, but I did not know I was coming here myself," lied the baron with a genial smile. "I was already on the road when I decided to make this stop. I expect no ceremony. Here, ride with me-I have it in mind to inspect the fields."

The king called for horses to be saddled so that he and his steward and a few warriors of his retinue could accompany the baron. Together, they rode out from the stronghold into the countryside. "Winter was hard hereabouts?" asked the baron amiably.

"Hard enough," replied the king. "Harder for those in the next cantref." He indicated Elfael to the north with a slight lift of his chin. "Aye," he continued, as if just considering it for the first time. "They lost the harvest, and that was bad enough, but now they have been prevented from planting."

"Truly?" wondered Baron Neufmarche with genuine curiosity. Any word of others' difficulties interested him. "Why is that, do you know?"

"It's that new count-that kinsman of de Braose! First, he runs them all off, and now that he has them back, he's herded them together and he's making them work on his accursed fortresses."

"He is building fortresses?" wondered the baron. He gazed at the king with an innocent expression.

"Aye, three of them," replied the king grimly. "That's what I hear," he concluded, "and I have no reason to believe otherwise."

"Very ambitious," granted Baron Neufmarche. "I would not think he needed such fortification to govern little Elfael."

"Nay, it's his uncle, the baron, who has eyes on the cantrefs to the north and west. He means to take as much as he can grab."

"So it would seem."

"Aye, and I know it. Greedy bastards," swore Cadwgan, "they cannot even rule the commot they've been given! What do they want with more land?" The king spat again and shook his head slowly-as if contemplating a ruin that could easily be avoided. "Mark my words, nothing good will come of this."

The baron sighed. "I fear you could be right."

Upon reaching the holding, the baron made a thorough inspection, asked many questions of the farmers-about the last harvest, the new planting, the adequacy of the spring rains-and walked out into one of the fields, where he bent down and rubbed dirt between his hands, as if testing the worth of the soil. At the end of his survey, he professed himself well pleased with the farmers' efforts and called to his seneschal to send the head of the settlement two casks of good dark ale as a token of his thanks and good wishes.

The baron and the king rode on to the next holding, where the herdsmen were grazing cattle. The baron asked how the cattle had fared during the winter and how it was going with the spring calving and whether they would see a good increase this year. He received a favourable reply in each case, and after concluding his enquiry, ordered two more casks of ale to be sent to the settlement.

Then, turning their horses, the party rode back to the caer, where King Cadwgan commanded his cooks to prepare a festive supper in honour of his overlord's unexpected, though not altogether unwelcome, visit. The baron had made Cadwgan feel like a knowledgeable confidant, a trusted advisor, and for that he ordered the best of what he had to offer: beeswax candles for the board, fine woven cloths to dress the table, silver plates on which to eat and silver cups for the wine he had been saving for such an occasion, and choice slices from the haunch of venison aging in the larder. Fresh straw was to be spread on the floor and a fragrant fire of apple wood and heather lit in the hearth.

"You will put your feet beneath my board tonight," Cadwgan told him, "and allow me to show you true Cymry hospitality."

"I would like nothing better," replied the baron, pleased with how well his scheme was coming together.

The king ordered his steward to conduct the baron to a chamber for his use and to prepare water for washing. "When you are ready, come join me in the hall. I will have a jar waiting."

The baron dutifully obeyed his host and, after refreshing himself in his room, returned a little while later to the hall, where he was delighted to see that two beautiful young women had joined them. They were standing on each side of the hearth, where a fire brightly burned.

"Baron Neufmarche," announced the king, "I present my daughter, Merian, and her cousin Essylt."

Merian, slightly older of the two, tall and willowy with long, dark hair, was wearing a simple gown of pale green linen; her cousin Essylt, fair with a pleasant, plump face and a delicate mouth, was dressed in a gown the colour of fresh butter. Both possessed an air of demure yet guileless confidence.

Merian regarded him with frank appraisal as she extended a small wooden trencher with pieces of bread torn from a loaf. "Be welcome here, Baron Neufmarche," she said in a voice so soft and low that it sent a pang of longing through the baron's tough heart.

"May you want for nothing while you are here," said Essylt, stepping forward with a small dish of salt in her cupped hands.

"I am charmed, my ladies," professed the baron, speaking the complete truth for the first time that day. Taking a piece of bread from the offered board, he dipped it in the salt and ate it. "Peace to this house tonight," he said, offering his hand.

"Your servant, Baron Neufmarche," replied the king's daughter. She accepted the baron's hand, performed a graceful curtsy, and bowed her head; her long, dark curls parted, slightly exposing the nape of a slender neck and the curve of a shapely shoulder.

"As I am yours," said the baron, delighted by the splendid young woman. Although he also accepted the courtesy of the young woman called Essylt, his eyes never left the dark-haired beauty before him.

"Father tells me you approve of the fieldwork," said Merian, not waiting to be addressed.

"Indeed," replied the baron. "It is good work and well done."

"And the herds-they were also to your liking?"

"I have rarely seen better," answered the baron politely. "Your people know their cattle-as I have always said. I am pleased."

"Well then, I expect we shall see an increase in our taxes again this year," she said with a crisp smile.

"Here now!" objected her father quickly; he gave the forthright young woman a glance of fierce disapproval. To the baron, he said, "Please forgive my daughter. She is of a contrary mind and sometimes forgets her place."