When Baron Neufmarche and his wife took their leave of King Garran two days later, they urged the new monarch to come to visit them in Hereford. "Come for Michaelmas," the baron said, his tone gently insistent. "We will hold a feast in your honour, and talk about our future together." As if in afterthought, he added, "You know, I think my daughter would like to know you better-you have not met Sybil, I think?" The young king shook his head. "No? Then it is arranged."

"You must come," added the baroness, pressing his hand as she stepped to the carriage, "and bring your mother, too. Do promise to bring her. I will send a carriage so she will travel more comfortably."

"My lady," replied the new-made king, unable to gainsay his lord's wife, "it will be my pleasure to attend you at Michaelmas."

Later, as the carriage climbed the first of many hills that would take the caer from view, Lady Agnes said, "King Garran and our Sybil, so? You have not mentioned this to me."

"Ah, um-" The baron hesitated, uncertain how to proceed now that his impromptu plan had been revealed. "I meant to tell you about that, but ah, well, the notion just came to me a day or so ago, and there wasn't time to-"

"I like it," she told him, cutting short his stuttering.

He stared at her as if he could not think he had heard her right. "You would approve of such a union?" wondered Bernard, greatly amazed at this change in his wife's ordinarily dour humour.

"It would be a good match," she affirmed. "Good for both of them, I should think. Yes, I do approve. I will speak to Sybil upon our return. See to it that you secure Garran's promise."

"It will be done," said the baron, still staring at his wife in slight disbelief. "Are you feeling well, my love?"

"Never better," she declared. She was silent a moment, musing to herself, then announced, "I think a Christmas wedding would be a splendid thing. It will give me time to make the necessary plans."

Baron Neufmarche, unable to think of anything to say in the presence of this extraordinary transformation of the woman he had known all these years, simply gazed at her with admiration.

CHAPTER 45

Noin and I spent the rest of the summer luxuriating in one another's love, and talking, talking, talking. Like two blackbirds sitting on a fence we filled the air morning to night with our chatter. She told me all the greenwood gossip-all the doings large and small that filled the days we were apart. I told her of my captivity and passing the time with Odo scribbling down my ramblings. "I should like to read that," Noin said, then smiled. "That alone would make it worth learning to read."

"Odo tells me that reading is not so difficult," I explained, "but the only things written are either for lawyers or priests, and not at all of interest to plain folk like you and me."

"I should like it all the same," Noin insisted.

As the days passed, I considered making good on my promise to build my wife and daughter a new house. I found a nice spot on a bit of higher ground at one end of Cel Craidd, and marked out the dimensions on the ground with sticks. I then went to our Lord Bran to beg his permission to clear the ground and cut a few limbs of stout oak for the roof beam, lintel, and corner posts.

"Why build a house?" he asked, holding his head to one side as if he couldn't understand. Before I could point out that I had promised it to my bride, and that her own small hut was a bit too snug for three or more he added, "We will be gone from here come Michaelmas."

"I know, but I promised Noin-" I began.

"Come hunting with us instead," Bran said. "We've missed you on the trails."

My broken fingers were slowly healing, but as my usefulness with a bow was still limited, I served mainly to beat the bushes for game. "Don't worry," Siarles told me after that first time we went out. "You'll be drawing like a champion again in no time. Rest those fingers while you can."

In this, he was a prophet, no mistake. I did not know it then, but would have cause to remember his words in times to come.

Thus, the summer slowly dwindled down and golden autumn arrived. I began counting the days to Michaelmas and the time of leaving we called the Day of Judgement. Bran and Angharad held close counsel and determined that we would go with as many of the Grellon as could be spared, leaving behind only those who could not make the journey and a few men to protect them. We would go to Caer Wintan-known to the English as Winchester-and receive the king's decision on the return of our lands. "The king must see the people who depend on his judgement for their lives," Angharad said. "We must travel together and stand before him together."

"What if he will not see us all in a herd?" wondered Iwan when he learned this.

"He will speak to all, or none," Bran replied, "for then he will judge what is right and for the good of all, and not for me only."

The next day, Bran sent Siarles with an extra horse to Saint Dyfrig's Abbey to fetch Brother Jago, and twelve days before the Feast of Saint Michael, we set off. It is no easy thing to keep so many people moving, I can tell you. We were thirty folk in all, counting young ones. We went on foot, for the most part; the horses were used to carry provisions and supplies. None of us rode save Angharad, for whom the walk would have been far too demanding. Her old bones would not have lasted the journey, I believe, for it is a fair distance to Caer Wintan from Elfael.

The weather stayed good-warm days, nights cool and dry. We camped wherever we would; with that many people and enough of them bearing longbows, we had no great fear of being harassed by Englishmen or Normans either one. The only real danger was that we would not reach Caer Wintan in time, for as the days of travel drew on, the miles began to tell and the people grew weary and had to rest more often. We moved more slowly than Bran had reckoned. "Do not worry," counselled Friar Tuck. "You can always take a few with you and ride ahead, can you not? You will get there in time, never fear."

Bran rejected this notion outright. We would arrive together each and every last one, he said, or we would not arrive at all. It was for the people we were doing this, he said, so the king must look into the eyes of those for whom his judgement is life or death. There was nothing for it but that we would simply have to travel more quickly.

That night he gathered us all and told us again why we were going to see the king and what it meant. He explained how it was of vital importance that we should arrive in good time, saying, "King William must have no grievance against us, nor any cause to change his mind. We must endure the hardships of the road, my friends, for what we do we do not for ourselves alone, but for the sake of all those in Elfael who cannot join us. We do it for the farmers who have been driven from their fields, and families from their homes; for the widows who have lost their men, and those who stood in the shadow of the gallows. We do it for all who have been made to labour on the baron's hateful strongholds and town, for those who have fled into bleak and friendless exile. We do it for those who will come after us to help shoulder the burden of reclaiming that which we have lost to the enemy. Yes, and for all who have gone before us we do this, theirs the sacrifice, ours the gain." He gazed at all of those clustered around him, holding their eyes with his. "We do not do this for ourselves alone, but for all who have suffered under the oppression of the Ffreinc."

Thus he braced our flagging spirits, speaking words of encouragement and hope. The next day, he became tireless in urging each and every one of us to hasten our steps; and when anyone was seen to be dragging behind, he hurried to help that one. Sometimes he seemed to be everywhere at once-now at the front of the long line of travellers, now at the rear among the stragglers. He did all this with endless good humour, telling one and all to think what it would be like to be free in our own lands and secure in our own homes once more.