"Ah, it is you, my lord," said the priest when the baron turned. "I thought I might find you here." The grey-robed priest came to stand beside his lord and master. "You are not celebrating the victory with your men?"

"God grant you peace, father," said Bernard. "Celebrating? No, not yet. Later this evening, perhaps."

The priest regarded him for a moment. "Is anything the matter, my son?"

Crossing himself, Neufmarche rose and, taking the priest by the arm, turned him and led him from the chapel, saying, "Walk with me, father. There is something I would ask you."

They climbed to the rampart and began making a slow circuit of the castle wall. "Earl Harold swore a sacred oath to Duke William, did he not?" said the baron after walking awhile. The sun was lowering, touching everything with gold. The summer air was warm and heavy and alive with the click and buzz of insects amongst the reeds and bulrushes of the nearby marshland below the east wall.

"An oath sworn on holy relics in the presence of the Bishop of Caen," replied Father Gervais. "It was written and signed. There is no doubt about it whatsoever." Glancing at the baron, he said, "But you know this. Why do you ask?"

"The oath," said Bernard, "confirmed the promise made to William that he was to follow Edward as rightful King of England."

"Dune certitude."

"And the matter received the blessing of the pope," said Bernard, who is God's vicar on earth."

"Again, that is so," agreed the priest. He glanced at the baron, who continued walking, his eyes on the stone paving at his feet. "My lord, are you fretting over the divine right again?"

The baron's head turned quickly. "Fretting? No, father." He turned away again. "Perhaps. A little." He sighed. "It just seems too easy.. Unable to find the words, he sighed again. "All this."

"And what do you expect? God is on our side. It is so ordained. William has been chosen of God to be king, and thus any enterprise that supports and increases his kingdom will rightly be blessed of God."

Bernard nodded, his eyes still downcast.

The priest was silent for a moment, then declared, "Ah! I have it. You worry that your support of Duke Robert will be held against you. That you will be called to reckoning, and the price will be too heavy to bear. That is what is troubling you, n'est ce pas?"

"It has occurred to me," the baron confessed. "I sided with Robert against Rufus. The king has not forgotten, and neither will God, I think. There is an accounting to be rendered. Payment is due; I can feel it."

"But you were upholding the law," protested the priest. "You will remember that at the time, Robert was the rightful heir. He had to be supported, even against the claims of his own brother. You were right to do so."

"And yet," replied the baron, "Robert did not become king."

"In his heavenly wisdom, God saw fit to bestow the kingship on his brother William," said Father Gervais. "How were you to know?"

"How was I to know?" repeated Bernard, wondering aloud.

"Precisement!" declared the priest. "You could not know, for God had not yet revealed his choice. And I believe that is why Rufus did not punish those who went against him. He understood that you were only acting in good faith according to holy law, and so he forgave you. He returned you to his grace and favour, as was only just and fair." The priest spread his hands as if presenting an object so obvious that it needed no further description. "Our king forgave you. Vila! God has forgiven you."

In the clear light of the elderly priest's unfaltering certainty, Bernard felt his melancholy dissipating. "There is yet one more matter," he said.

"Let me hear it," said the priest. "Unburden your soul and obtain absolution."

"I promised to send food to Elfael," the baron confessed. "But I did not."

"But you did," countered the priest. "I saw the men readying the supplies. I saw the wagons leave. Where did they go, if not to the relief of the Welsh?"

"Before, I mean. I let the Welsh priest think that Count de Braose had stolen the first delivery, because it suited my purposes."

"I see." Father Gervais tapped his chin with an ink-stained finger. "But you made good your original vow."

"Oh yes-doubled it, in fact."

"Well then," replied the priest, "you have overturned the wrong and provided your own penance. You are absolved."

"And you are certain that my attainment of lands in Wallia is ordained by heaven?"

"Deus vult!" the priest confirmed. "God wills it." He raised his hand to the baron's arm and gave it a fatherly squeeze. "You can believe that. Your endeavours prosper because God has so decreed. You are his instrument. Rejoice and be grateful."

Bernard de Neufmarche smiled, doubts routed and faith restored. "Thank you, father," he said, his countenance lightening. "As always, your counsel has done me good service."

The priest returned his smile. "I am glad. But if you wish to continue in favour with the Almighty, then build him a church in your new territories.

"One church only?" said the baron, his spirits rising once more. "I will build ten!"

– you cannot save Elfael one pig at a time," Brother Aethelfrith was saying.

"Have you seen our pigs?" Bran quipped. "They are mighty pigs."

Iwan chuckled, and Siarles smirked.

"Laugh if you must," said the friar, growing peevish. "But you will wish soon enough you had listened to me,"

"The people are hungry," Siarles put in. "They welcome whatever we can give them."

"Then give them back their land!" cried Aethelfrith. "God love you, man; do you not see it yet?"

"And is this not the very thing we are doing?" Bran said. "Calm yourself, Tuck. We are already making plans to do exactly what you suggest."

The friar shook his tonsured head. "Are you deaf as well as blind?"

"Why do you think we watch the road?" asked Iwan.

"Watch it all you like," snipped the priest. "It will avail you nothing if you are not prepared for the flood I'm talking about."

The others frowned as one. "Tell us, then," said Bran. "What is it that we lack?"

"Sufficient greed," replied the cleric. "By the rood and Jehoshaphats nose, you think too small!"

"Enlighten us, 0 Head of Wisdom," remarked Iwan dryly.

"See here." Tuck licked his lips and leaned forward. "Baron de Braose is building three castles on the northern and western borders of Elfael, is he not? He has a hundred-maybe two hundredmasons, not to mention all those workers toiling away. Workmen must be paid. Sooner or later, they will be paid-every last manhundreds of them." Aethelfrith smiled as he watched the light come up in his listeners' eyes. "Ah! You see it now, do you not?"

"Hundreds of workers paid in silver," said Bran, hardly daring to voice the thought. "A river of silver."

"A flood of silver," corrected Aethelfrith. "Is this not what I am saying? Even now the baron is preparing to send his wagons with strongboxes full of good English pennies to pay all those workers. All the money you need will soon be flooding into the valley, and it is ripe for the taking."

"Well done, Tuck!" cried Bran, and he jumped to his feet and began pacing around the fire ring. "Did you hear, banfaith?" he asked, turning suddenly to Angharad sitting hunched on her three-legged stool beside the door. "Here is the very chance we need to drive the foreigners from our land."

"Aye, could be." She nodded in cautious agreement. "Mind, the Ffreinc will not send their silver through the land unprotected. There will be marchogi, and in plenty."

Bran thanked her for her word of warning, then turned to his champion. "Iwan?"

He frowned, sucking his teeth thoughtfully before answering. "We have-what?-maybe six men amongst us who have ever held more than a spade. We cannot go against a body of battle-trained knights on horseback."