groom's men creeping along the far wall. She stiffened to a tingle of fear in the knowledge that something was about to happen-treachery of some kind? Perhaps an ambush?
She nudged the baron with her elbow; he was leaning back in his chair, nodding, tapping his hands on the armrests in time to the music. 'Bernard!' she hissed, and nodded towards the gate. The two groom's men had reached the gate. 'Something is happening.'
He looked where she indicated and saw the gathered men. He could make out the forms of horses standing ready just outside the gate. He glanced hurriedly around for his knights. All that he could see were either dancing or drinking, and some had coaxed Welsh girls onto their laps.
Before he could summon them, one of the men at the gate raised a horn and blew a sharp blast. Instantly, a hush fell upon the revellers. 'My cymbrogi!' the man called. 'Kinsmen and countrymen all!'
'Wait! That's Garran,' said Baron Bernard.
'Shh! What's he saying?'
He spoke in Welsh first, and then again in French, saying, 'I thank you for your attendance this day, and pray let the celebration continue. My wife and I will join you again tomorrow. You have had the day, but the night belongs to us. Farewell!'
The second groom's man turned, and Agnes saw her daughter-with a man's dull cloak pulled over her glistening gown-raise her hand and fling a great handful of silver coins into the crowd. With a shout, the people dashed for the coins, and the newly wedded couple darted through the doorway towards the waiting horses. The groom's men shut the gate with a resounding thump and took up places before it so that no one could give chase; the music resumed and the festivity commenced once more.
'Extraordinary,' remarked Baron Neufmarche with a laugh. 'I wish I had thought of that on my wedding day. It would have saved all that commotion.'
'You loved the commotion, as I recall,' his wife pointed out.
'I loved you,' he said, raising her hand to his lips. 'Then-as I love you now.'
Perhaps it was the wine and song making him feel especially expansive, or the music and contagious spirit of the celebration; but it was the first time in many years that Bernard had said those words to his wife. Yet, even as he spoke them he knew them to be true. He did love Agnes. And he wondered why he had allowed so many other concerns-and women-to intrude upon his love for her, to wither it and debase it. Now, in this moment, all else faded in importance, growing dim and inconsequential beside his life with Agnes. In that moment, he vowed within himself to make up for those years of waste and the pain his neglect and infidelity must have caused her.
The baron stood. 'Come, my dear, the revelry will continue, but I grow weary of the throng. Let us go to our rest.' He held out his hand to his wife; she took it and he pulled her to her feet. The celebration did continue far into the night, the revellers pausing to rest only when dawnlight pearled the sky in the east.
For three days the wedding festivities continued. On the fourth day people began taking their leave of the bride and groom, paying homage to both as their king and queen before departing for home. Baron Neufmarche, well satisfied that he had done all he could to strengthen his client king and provide for his daughter, turned his thoughts to Hereford and the many pressing concerns waiting for him there.
'My dear,' he announced on the morning of the fifth day after the wedding, 'it is time we were away. I have ordered the horses to be saddled and the wagon made ready. We can depart as soon as we have paid our respects to the dowager queen, and said our farewells.'
Lady Agnes nodded absently. 'I suppose…' she said mildly.
The baron caught the hesitancy in her tone. 'Yes? What are you thinking?'
'I am thinking of staying,' she said.
'Stay here?'
'Where else?'
'In Wales?'
'Why not?' she countered. 'I am happy here, and I can help Sybil begin her reign. She still has much to learn, you know. You could stay, too, mon cher.' She reached for his hand and squeezed it. 'We could be together.'
The baron frowned.
'Oh, Bernard,' she said, taking his arm, 'I am happy for the first time in many years-truly happy. Do not take that away from me, I beg you.'
'No,' he said, 'you need not beg. You can stay, of course-if that is what you want. I only wish I could stay with you. I'd like nothing more than to see the building work on the new castle properly begun. Alas, I am needed back in Hereford. I must go.'
Agnes sympathized. 'But of course, mon cher. You go and tend to your affairs. I will remain here and do what I can to help. When you have finished, you can return.' She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. 'Perhaps we will winter here.'
'I would like that.' He leaned close and kissed her gently. 'I shall return as soon as may be.'
So, that was that. Lady Agnes stayed at Caer Rhodl, and the baron returned to Hereford, leaving behind his wife and daughter and, to his own great surprise, a piece of his heart.
CHAPTER 12
While Bran continued to court the confidence of Llewelyn and the lords of Gwynedd, slowly converting them to his scheme, Tuck was given the chore of gleaning all the information and gossip he could discover about Earl Hugh d'Avranches. He begged a ride across the strait in one of the local fishing boats to the busy dockyards at Bangor, where he spent a goodly while talking to the seamen of various stripes; all had strong opinions, but were weak on actual facts. When he reckoned he had gleaned all that could be learned on the docks, he moved on to the market square and strolled among the stalls, listening to the merchants and their customers, and stumping up the cost of a jar or two to share when he found someone whose opinions seemed worth his while to hear. As the day began to fade toward evening, he took shelter at the monastery, sat with the monks at table, and talked to the porter, kitchener, and secnab.
In this way, Tuck had collected a tidy heap of tittle-tattle and, after sifting everything well and wisely, it came to this: Hugh d'Avranches had come to England with the invading forces of the Duke of Normandy-William the Conqueror to some,Willy Bastard to others, father of the present King of England, William Rufus. And although Hugh did not actually fight at Hastings against Good King Harold, the Norman nobleman was nevertheless granted generous swathes of land in the north of England as a reward for his loyalty and support. Why was this? He had ships.
It was said that if not for Hugh d'Avranches' ships, the invasion of England would never have taken place. The master of upwards of sixty seaworthy vessels, he lent them to Duke William to carry the Ffreinc army across the Narrow Sea to Britain's green and pleasant shores, thereby earning himself an earldom. Most of the Cymry knew Earl Hugh as a fierce adversary well deserving of his wolfish nickname; more extreme views considered him little more than a boot-licking toady to his bloat-gut royal master, and called him Hw Fras, or Hugh the Fat. In either case, the Cymry of the region had long since come to know and loathe him as a ruler who made life a torrent of misery for all who lived within his reach, and a very long reach it was.
From his sprawling fortress at Caer Cestre on the northern border between England and Wales, Earl Hugh harrowed the land: raiding, thieving, spoiling, feuding, burning, and wreaking whatever havoc he might on any and all beyond the borders of his realm. Forever a thorn in the side of the local Cymry, he pricked them painfully whenever he got the chance.
It went without saying that it fell to King Gruffydd of Gwynedd to make a stand against this rapacious tyrant. Time and again Gruffydd's warriors and the earl's-or those of the earl's blood-lusting kinsman, Robert of Rhuddlan-tangled and fought. Some times the Cymry bloodied the Norman noses, but more often it went the other way. On one disastrous day, however, King Gruffydd ap Cynan had been captured. Earl Robert had bound his prize in chains and hauled him to Caer Cestre, where Gruffydd was cast into Fat Hugh's hostage pit. That was eight years ago, and he was still there, kept alive at Hugh's pleasure to torment and torture as whim moved him. It was thought that the Welsh king would rot in captivity. Hugh had no intention of releasing him and had refused to set either a ransom or a day of execution, but the earl did allow the Welsh king's kinsmen to pay their respects on
