"All is forgiven now you're here," said the king, smiling for the first time that day. "Rise, Leicester, and let's have a look at you." The king crossed to the young lord and clapped him in a warm embrace. "Heaven bless you, Robert, I am right glad to see you. It has been too long."

The king called over his shoulder to Marshal Guy, "You can go now, Gysburne. But bring me word if anyone else should arrive this evening." Taking the Earl of Leicester by the arm, he steered the young man to a nearby table and drew out a chair. "What news from your brother?"

"I had word this morning, Sire. Henry is well and has raised two hundred. He hopes to join us tomorrow."

"Two hundred! Splendid! Here, have some wine. You must be parched," said the king. He picked up the jar, but the younger man took it from him.

"Allow me, Majesty," he said, pouring out the wine. He handed the cup to his king. "It would not do for anyone to think that the king served a lowly earl by his own hand."

"Hang what they think," said William recklessly. He took the cup and raised it. "Let us drink to a swift campaign," he said.

"And successful," said the earl.

"Swift and successful!" echoed the king. "This time next week, we shall be on our way to France."

"To be sure," affirmed Leicester lightly. "God willing."

"The Almighty has nothing to do with it," declared William, his nose in his cup. He swallowed down a bolt, then said, "This uprising will be crushed in the egg. We need not invoke heaven's help to apprehend a few scofflaw rogues and rebels."

Why this agonie? I do not see that you have any choice, mon cher," said Lady Agnes Neufmarche. "You must go. You must attend the king."

"I know! I know!" snapped the baron. "But this king will be the ruin of us all. He is an idiot. What is more, he is an idiot with a stick and a hornet's nest."

"Perhaps it will not be as bad as you fear," counselled his wife. "And if you were there, mon cour, you could see that our interests were well defended."

Bernard was not listening. "He has no idea of the hell he is about to loose on the land. No idea at all."

"You could warn him," suggested Agnes.

"Too late for that," the baron replied. "I know William. He's just like his father. Once he has his sword drawn, he will not see reason-only blood." The baron shook his head gravely. "There will be plenty of blood… on both sides."

"All the more reason to go and see what can be done to prevent it."

Bernard shook his head again and looked at the scrap of parchment on the table. He had received many royal summonses over the years and had always responded-to do anything else invited royal wrath at the very least or, at worst, banishment or hanging. There was no way around it; this summons had come at a most inopportune time: just when the baron was winning over the devotion of his Welsh vassals and preparing to expand his interests in the region, the king declared war. Neufmarche stood to lose years of patient work and hard-won goodwill to the unthinking ire of a flighty king who would tramp around the hills and valleys for a few days and then beetle off back to Londein or Normandie, as the whim took him.

Pretending he had not received the king's summons had bought him enough time to assemble his men and flee Hereford before the king arrived; not the wisest course, he would be the first to agree, but in his mind the only one open to him just now.

"There is something else," Agnes said.

Her tone made him abandon his ruminations on the problems posed by the king's untimely summons. He glanced at his wife to see the pucker of concern between her brows. "And that is?"

"Merian," she said simply.

"Merian," he repeated. His heart quickened at the name, but he stifled any sign of recognition. "What of her?"

"She is here," said the baroness.

"Alive-you mean…"

"Yes, alive and well-and here in this castle. She returned a few weeks ago-escaped from her captors, it seems. Although she does not admit to being held so. She-"

"Merian… here," said the baron, as if trying to understand a complex calculation.

"Oh, yes," said Agnes. "And the curious thing about it is that Garran has locked her in her chamber-for her own safety, of course. Given the chance, there is no doubt she would run straight back to the brigands who took her captive in the first place."

"How extraordinary," mused the baron.

"You should know, husband," continued Agnes, "that she has been saying some very disturbing things about you."

"About me?"

"Yes, mon cher, about you. It seems that through her ordeal she has come to believe that you tried to kill her. And this is why she fled her home and family for the forest."

"Mon Dieu," breathed Bernard. Recalling his bungled attack on Bran that day, his heart beat faster still. "She thinks I tried to kill her? Has the poor girl lost all reason then?"

"Oh, no," his wife assured him quickly, "she seems as sane as anyone. But she does cling to this absurd belief-perhaps it was a way for her to keep her sanity while captive. I only tell you about this so that when you see her you will not be taken by surprise at anything she says."

"I see, yes." Bernard nodded thoughtfully, considering the implications of what he had just been told. "I will speak to her, of course, but not just yet, I think. Perhaps when I have decided what to do about the king's summons."

"Well, do see her before you leave," advised the baroness. "If we were able to make her understand just how ridiculous is this notion of hers, then perhaps she might be trusted to obey and we could release her." Lady Agnes smiled. "It is a very cruelty to keep her captive in her own home after the torment she has endured, wouldn't you agree?"

"Oh, indeed," replied the baron, his mind racing to how this meeting might be put off. He was not of a mood to deal with angry, contrary, and likely vengeful women just now, and perhaps not for a very long time. "A very cruelty, as you say."

They're coming!"

At the shout, Tuck sat up and rubbed his face. He had been trimming the end of his staff and had fallen asleep in the warm sunlight. Now, he rose and, taking up the sturdy length of ashwood, gave it a swing once around his head, offering a grunt of satisfaction at the comforting heft of the simple weapon. He then turned around in time to see the messenger slide down the grassy bank and into the bowl of Cel Craidd. It was Prebyn, the son of one of the farmers whose house and barn had been burned by the Ffreinc when they ransacked their settlement a few days before. "They're coming! The Ffreinc are coming!"

Bran and Tuck hurried to meet the young man. "My lord Rhi Bran! Rhi Bran! They're coming," announced Prebyn, red faced and breathless from his run. "The Ffreinc… King William… they're on the road… they'll be here any moment." He gulped air. "There's thousands of them… thousands…"

"Steady on, Prebyn," said Bran. "Draw breath." He put his hand on the farmer's broad back. "Calm yourself."

The young man bent over and rested his hands on his knees, blowing air through his mouth. When he was able to speak again, Bran said, "Now, then. Tell me, what did Rhoddi say?"

"My lord Rhi Bran, he said I was to tell you that Red William's soldiers have been sighted on the road at the bottom of the long ridge-where the stream crosses-"

"I know the place," Bran said. "Rhoddi has given us fair warning. We have a little time yet." He sent the youth away with instructions to get something to drink, saddle a horse, and hurry back for new orders. "Well, my friend, we're in it now," he said when the messenger had gone. "I'll send Prebyn to the caer to alert Iwan and Siarles."

"God have mercy," breathed Tuck.