"Baron Neufmarche," she said, suddenly abashed. "Forgive me. I did not mean to trespass."

"Nonsense," he said, smiling, "I fear it is I who am trespassingon your enjoyment. I do beg your pardon." He moved to join her at the tapestry. She gazed at the wall hanging, and he gazed at her. "It is fine, is it not?"

"It is very beautiful," she said politely. "I've never seen the like."

"A mere trifle compared to you, my lady."

Blushing at this unexpected compliment, Merian lowered her head demurely. "Here now!" said the baron. Placing a finger beneath her chin, he raised her face so that he could look into her eyes. "I see I have made you uncomfortable. Again, I must beg your pardon." He smiled and released her. "That is twice already today, and I have not yet broken fast. Indeed," he said, as if just thinking of it for the first time, "I was just on my way to the table. Will you join me?"

"Pray excuse me, my lord," said Merian quickly, "but my mother will have risen and is no doubt looking for me."

"Then I must content myself to wait until the feast," said the baron. "However, before I let you go, you must promise me a dance."

"My lord, I know nothing of Ffreinc dancing," she blurted. "I only know the normal kind."

Neufmarche put back his head and laughed. "Then for you, I will instruct the musicians to play only the musique norniale."

Unwilling to embarrass herself further, Merian gave a small curtsy. "My lord," she said, backing away, "I give you good day."

"And good day to you, my lady," said the baron, smiling as he watched her go.

Merian ducked her head, turned, and fled back down the corridor the way she had come, pausing at her chamber door to draw a breath and compose herself. She touched the back of her hand to her cheek to see if she could still feel the heat there, but it had gone, so she silently opened the door and entered the room. Her mother was awake and dressed in her gown. "Peace and joy to you this day, Mother," she said, hurrying to give her mother a kiss on the cheek.

"And to you, my lovely," replied her mother. "But you are awake early. Where have you been?"

"Oh," she said absently, "just for a walk to see what I might learn of the castle."

"Was your father or brother about?"

"No, but I saw the baron. He was going to break his fast."

"Did you see his wife, the baroness?"

"She was not with him." Merian walked to the table and sat down. "Are they really so different from us?"

Her mother paused and considered the question. "I do not know," she said at last. "Perhaps not. But you must be on your best behaviour, Merian," her mother warned, "and on your guard."

"Mother?"

The queen made no reply but simply raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"Whatever do you mean?" persisted Merian.

"I mean," said her mother with exaggerated patience, "these Ffreinc noblemen, Merian. They are rapacious and grasping, ever seeking to advance themselves at the expense of the Britons by any means possible-and that includes marriage."

"Mother!"

It is true, Daughter. And do not pretend the thought of such a thing has never crossed your mind." Lady Anora gave her daughter a glance of shrewd appraisal and added, "More than one young woman has had her heart turned by a handsome nobleman-Ffreinc, English, Irish, or whatever."

"I would kill myself first," Merian stated firmly. "Of that you can be certain."

"Nevertheless," her mother said.

Nevertheless, indeed.

And yet here they were, attending a feast-day celebration in the castle of a wealthy and powerful Ffreinc lord. Her mother was right, she knew, but she still resented such an untoward intrusion into what she considered the affairs of her own secret heart. She might not have the remotest intention of encouraging a dalliance with a loathsome Ffreincman, but she did not like having anyone, much less her mother, insinuating that she lacked the wits to govern her private affairs. And anyway, Baron Neufmarche was married and almost twice her age at least! What on earth was her mother thinking?

"Just you keep yourself to yourself, Merian," her mother was saying.

"Mother, please!" she complained in a pained voice.

"Some of these noblemen need little enough encouragementthat is all I will say."

"And here was I," fumed Merian, "thinking you had said too much already!"

On the same day that Baron Neufmarche's supply wagons departed, the second dispatch of Baron William de Braose's wagons arrived. As the heavy-laden vehicles trundled out across the valley floor, the sun dimmed in the west, leaving behind a copper glow that faded to the colour of an angry bruise. Nine wagons piled high with sacks of lime, rope, rolls of lead, and other supplies brought from Normandie were met by Orval, the count's seneschal, who instructed them to make camp below the caer. "Food will be brought to you here," he told them. "Stay with your teams tonight, and tomorrow you will be escorted to the building works."

The drivers passed a peaceful night at the foot of the hill beneath the fortress, moving on the next day to the three castle mounds now emerging on Elfael's borders. The farthest, a place newly dubbed Vallon Verte, took all of a long day to reach, and it was already growing dark by the time the wagoners began unhitching the oxen and leading them to the ox pen. Only when their animals were fed, watered, and put to rest for the night did the drivers join the masons and labourers gathered around their evening fire.

The workers camped a little distance away from the ditch beyond which rose the bailey mound where they had been working that day. Cups of ale and loaves of bread were passed from hand to hand as whole chickens, splayed on green elm branches, were turned slowly in the flames.

Men talked easily and watched the stars gather in the sky overhead as they waited for their supper. When they had eaten, they spread their bedrolls in the emptied wagon beds and lay down to pass a peaceful night amongst the heaps of stone and stockpiled timbers of the building site. It was not until one of the drivers went to yoke his team the next morning in preparation for the return journey that he noticed half of the oxen had disappeared. Of the twelve beasts to have entered the pen the night before, only six remained. Three of his own animals were missing, half of a second team, and one of a third.

He quickly called the other drivers to him, but other than standing and staring at the half-empty pen, no one had any explanation for the disappearance. They called the master, but he could offer nothing better than, "The Welsh are a thieving kind, as God knows. It's their nature. I say, find the nearest farmer and you'll find your oxen, like as not."

When asked, however, the master refused to spare any of his men from the building work to search for the missing beasts. They were still arguing over who should go to the fortress to request a party to track down the purloined animals when the count himself appeared. He had come with a small force to make a circuit of the construction works. Now that the long-awaited supplies had arrived, he wanted to make certain that nothing prevented the workmen from making good and speedy progress.

"Thieves, you say?" wondered Falk-es when the drivers had explained the predicament. "How many?"

"Difficult to say, my lord," replied the driver. "No one saw them."

"No one saw anything?"

"No, my lord. We only discovered the theft a short while ago. It must have happened during the night."

"And the ox pens are not guarded, I suppose?"

"No, my lord."

"Why not?"

"No one steals oxen, my lord."

"I think," retorted the count, "you will find that they do. The Welsh will steal anything they can lay hands to."

"So it would appear."

"Indeed," replied the count sharply. "You will find them, or go back without them."