"Yes? What of it?"

"Well, it would seem that the fellow sought restitution of his lands in exchange for his service to your throne."

Abbot Hugo's expression grew grim. He had carefully avoided any mention of the circumstances leading up to the insurrection-lest his own part in the baron's conspiracy against William should inadvertently come to light.

"Ah, yes. Good hunting land, Elvile, I believe."

"The best, Sire," encouraged Hugo.

"What is your point, Flambard? We settled with Duke Robert and his schemers. That is over and done."

"Quite so, Sire," offered Hugo.

"If I may," continued the justiciar, undeterred, "I would suggest that inasmuch as this Welshman did not receive the reward he was looking for at the time, it would seem that he has taken matters into his own hands."

"I am to blame for this?" said William. "Is that what you're suggesting? I am to blame for this rebellion?"

"By no means, Sire. Far from it. I merely point out that the two matters are related. Perhaps in light of the present circumstance it would be most expedient simply to allow the Welshman to claim the throne. I believe he offered to swear fealty to you once. If you were to allow him his due this time, I have no doubt he could be persuaded to make good his previous offer."

William the Red stared at his chief counsellor in disbelief. "Give him what he wants-is that what you said?"

"In a word, Majesty, yes."

"By the bloody rood, Flambard, that I will not do! If we were to allow these rogues to murder my troops and then take whatever they want with our blessing, the kingdom would soon descend into anarchy! No, sir! Not while I sit on the throne of England. All such insurrections will be crushed. This rogue will be captured and brought to the tower in chains. He will be tried for treason against the crown, and he will be hung before the city gate. That is how we deal with rebels while William sits the throne!"

"Very wise, Your Majesty," intoned the abbot. "It goes without saying that you shall have my entire support-and that of my marshal."

William glanced at the abbot and gave a short blast through his nostrils. "Huff." Turning swiftly on the cardinal, he said, "Summon the barons. I want them to-" He stopped, did a rapid calculation in his head, and then said, "No, send to them and command them to raise their men and attend me at Hereford… Who's that?"

"Neufmarche, Highness," volunteered the abbot, with smug satisfaction at the thought that the baron would be forced to help in the end.

"All are to meet me at Hereford Castle with their troops. We will march on Elfael from there and take these rebels. I want sufficient force to quash the rebellion in the egg. It shouldn't take long." He looked to the marshal for agreement.

"A few days, Sire," said Gysburne, speaking up. "There are not so many that they cannot be brought to justice in a day or two of fighting-a week at most."

"There! You see? A week and the thing is done, the rebels brought to heel, and I can go to Normandie."

Cardinal Flambard pursed his lips doubtfully.

"Well?" demanded the king accusingly. "You're sulking, priest. Out with it."

"With all respect, Highness, I still believe an embassy to this nobleman, outlaw as he may be, would achieve the same end with far less cost-and then there is the bloodshed to think about."

"Nonsense," snorted William. "Hang the cost and bloodshed. The rest of Wales will see and understand by this that our sovereign rule will not be violated. Treason will not be tolerated. And that will save blood and silver in days to come."

"You can always invade Wales as a last resort, my liege," suggested Cardinal Flambard. "Should the embassy fail, that is, which I doubt…"

But William the Red was no longer listening. He had turned his back and was striding for the door. "Send to the barons, Cardinal," he called over his shoulder. "All are to meet me in Hereford ready to fight in six days' time."

PART FIVE

For nine seasons long they lived in the woode he sheriff, they vexed, and his men.

The regent's reeve bent but did not yet break, and Rhiban was angered with him.

"I must regayne my land and my rights,

My people needs all must be free.

Let's go with our bows to the true king's keep,

And there with our points make our plea."

"I rede that not," said Merian fayre,

"Beloved, repent of your haste.

Let's all of us, yeomen and women alike,

Go with you to argue your case."

So soon they are gone up to greate Lundein Town,

Wives, maids, and warriors same.

But when city folk 'round there them saw,

They thought that besiegers there came.

The ploughman he leaves his plough in the fields,

The smithy has fled from his shop;

And beggars who only a'creeping could go,

Over their crutches did hop.

The king is informed of the forth-marching host

And assembles his armies at speed.

He swings-to the gates and he marshals his men,

Their progress he means to impede.

With Fryer Tuck, Rhiban approaches the king

Under the true sign of peace.

The king gives him entrance, for he is full wise

And wishes hostility cease.

"God save the king," quod Rhiban to he,

"And them that wish him full well;

And he that does his true sovereign deny,

I wish him with Satan to dwell."

CHAPTER 32

Iwan awoke in the hall of the fortress where he had been born, raised, and grown to manhood. As a young warrior, he had become champion to Brychan ap Tewdwr, Bran's father-a hard man, fair but uncompromising, easily angered and stony as flint-and until the arrival of the Ffreinc invaders Caer Cadarn, the Iron Stronghold, had been his home. God willing, it would be again.

He sat up and looked around at the scores of bodies asleep on the floor around him, then rose and quietly made his way to the entrance, pushed open the heavy oaken door, and stepped out into the quiet dawn of a fresh day. He turned his face to the new-risen sun and drew the soft morning air deep into his lungs, exhaling slowly. From somewhere high above a lark poured out its heart in praise of a glorious day. "It should be like this always," he murmured.

Surveying the yard and surrounding buildings, he noted the alterations made to the old fortress during the Ffreinc occupation of the last four years-mostly for the better, he had to admit. The timber palisade had been shored up all around, and weak timbers replaced and strengthened; a covered guard station had been erected above the entrance gate; the roof of the hall had been replaced with new thatch and given stout new doors; there were new storehouses, a granary, and the kitchen and cookhouse had both been enlarged. There were other changes he would notice in the days to come, to be sure.

Still, it felt like home to him. The thought brought a rare smile to his lips. He had come home.

What the day held, he could not say, but if it was anything like the last it would be busy. Since the capture of the sheriff and the departure of Hugo and his retinue from Saint Martin's, Cymry had been streaming to the caer bringing provisions and livestock; men and women brought their families for protection and to help defend the caer against the retaliation all knew was surely coming. For now, they were housed mostly in the hall and outbuildings of the fortress-with a few, here and there, sleeping on the ramparts.

He washed his face in the big, iron basin beside the door and then walked across the deserted yard to an empty storehouse behind the stables. Outside the small, square wooden building he found Alan a'Dale sitting slumped against a nearby post, his head on his knees.