'Well, in any event we'll soon find out,' said the baron with a sigh. 'I'm going to see them now, but I wanted to ask if you would come with me to greet them. I'd like to have you there, Father.'
'Certainly, my son. I'd be delighted.'
The baron held out his hand to the elder man and helped him to his feet.
'These old bones get slower every day,' said the priest, rising heavily.
'Nonsense, Father,' replied Baron Neufmarche. 'The years touch you but lightly.'
'Bah! Now who is speaking nonsense?'
They strolled amiably to the baron's great hall, where, at a table near the wide double door leading to the castle's main yard, a very dusty Gysburne and travel-soiled abbot were finishing their wine and cheese. 'My lord baron!' declared Gysburne, standing quickly and brushing crumbs from his tunic. 'God be good to you, Sire. My thanks for your inestimable hospitality.'
'God with you, Marshal,' replied the baron, 'and with you, Abbot de Rainault. Greetings and welcome. I hope you are well?'
Abbot Hugo extended his hand to be reverenced. 'God with you, Baron. I fear you find me not at all well.'
'Oh? I am sorry to hear it.' The baron turned to his companion, and they exchanged a knowing glance. 'May I present my dear friend, Father Gervais. I think you may know one another.'
The abbot glanced at the elderly cleric. 'No, I don't think so. I would remember. God with you, Father.' He gave the old man a nod and dismissed him with a slighting smile. 'It will save us all some bother if I come to the point, my lord.'
'I am all for it,' replied the baron. 'Please, continue.'
'There has been a wicked uprising in Elfael. Soldiers under the command of Marshal Guy, here, were slaughtered in an unprovoked attack and the fortress taken. In short, we have been driven from our lands by an uprising of Welsh rebels. I say rebels, and so they style themselves. In truth, they are little more than thieves and outlaws, every last one.'
'I see.' Baron Bernard frowned thoughtfully. 'That is not good news.'
'What is more, they have killed a regiment of king's men under the command of one Captain Aloin. The few survivors have been driven into exile with me.'
'Hmmm…' said the baron, shaking his head.
'These rebels, Lord Abbot,' said Father Gervais, 'would they be the same that control the King's Road through the forest? We have heard about them.'
'The same, since you ask. Yes, the same. Their strength in arms and numbers has grown in these last months, and they have become ever more bold in their raiding and thieving. We had hoped that the arrival of the king's soldiers would have been sufficient to discourage them. Alas, they respect no authority and live only to shed innocent blood.'
'How many men did the king lend you?' wondered the baron, summoning a steward with a gesture. 'A chair for Father Gervais,' he said. 'And one for myself. Bring us wine too.'
The steward brought the chairs, and another produced a small table for the wine; while the cups were filled, the abbot continued. 'How many king's men did I have? Too few, by the rood. If we had received numbers sufficient to the task-and which I specifically requested, mind you-I am certain this disaster could have been averted. It is only through my most stringent endeavours at persuasion that any of us have survived at all.'
Marshal Guy stared at the abbot, whose lies he almost believed himself.
'The attack was vicious and unprovoked, as I say,' concluded the abbot. 'They struck without warning and showed no mercy. Though we mounted a vigorous defence, we were at last overwhelmed. We were fortunate to escape with our lives.'
'Yes, no doubt,' mused the baron thoughtfully. 'You said they were with you, the soldiers who survived the attack-where are they now?'
'In the town,' replied Guy. 'We've been on the road for four days without horses. We are all of us exhausted.'
'Of course,' replied the baron.
Guy could not fail to notice that the baron did not offer to send for the troops and bring them to the castle to be fed. In fact, the baron seemed more than content to let the matter rest where it lay. The abbot, however, was not so inclined; he had the spoon in his fist and meant to stir the pot with it.
'My lord baron,' said Hugo, offering up his cup to be refilled.
'How many men have you under your command?'
The baron waited while the wine was poured. 'Not as many as I should like,' he answered, raising his cup to his lips, 'times being what they are.' He drank a sip to give himself a little time to think. 'No doubt, King William would be able to raise as many as required.' He smiled. 'But I am no king.'
'No, of course not,' replied the abbot. He placed his cup carefully on the table and looked the baron full in the face. 'Even so, I would like to ask you to consider lending me some of your soldiers. Now'-he raised his hand as if to forestall an objection he saw coming-'think carefully before you answer. You would be aiding the church in its ongoing affairs, and that would place me in a position to pass along certain indulgences…' He watched the baron for his reaction. 'Certain, shall we say, very valuable indulgences. The perpetual prayers of an abbey can guarantee salvation on the Day of Judgement, as we know-which is ordinarily obtained only at great expense.'
The baron, still smiling, said nothing.
'You could of course lead your men,' continued Hugo. 'I would not presume to usurp your place on the field. Indeed, I have no doubt that under your able command Elfael would be rid of the outlaws within two or three days-a week at most.'
Baron Neufmarche placed his cup very deliberately on the table and leaned forward. 'Your confidence in me is most gratifying, Lord Abbot. And of course, I wish I were in a position to help. Unfortunately, what you suggest is difficult just now-not to say impossible. I am truly sorry.'
The abbot's face froze. His white hair wild on his head, his pristine satin robe stained from the toil of his flight, he appeared haggard and old as he gazed at the baron, trying to find a way over the stone wall so deftly thrown into his path. 'Ah, well,' he said at last, 'I find it never hurts to ask.'
'You have not because you ask not,' declared Father Gervais suddenly. 'Saint James… I believe.'
'Precisely,' murmured the abbot, thinking furiously how to rescue his stranded request.
'What plans have you made?' inquired the baron, looking to Gysburne.
'We will go to the king,' answered Guy. 'His men would return in any case, and we-'
'The king, yes,' interrupted the abbot, rousing himself to life again. 'It is his cantref, after all, and his to defend.'
'My thoughts exactly,' concurred the baron-as if the point had been under dispute but was now successfully resolved to the satisfaction of all. 'It goes without saying that I would ask you to stay here and rest a few days, but I can see that the urgency of your journey requires you to reach Londein without delay. I only wish it was possible to lend you horses for the remainder of your journey'-he spread his hands helplessly-'but, alas, such is not the case.'
'Your thoughtfulness is commendable,' intoned the abbot. He slumped wearily in his chair, looking more and more like an old bone that had been gnawed close and tossed onto the midden heap.
'No, no,' countered the baron, 'it is nothing. Please, you will stay and eat something before you go. I insist. Then, my commander will escort you to rejoin your men in the town and see you on your way. You've come this far without incident; we don't wish to see anything ill befall you now, do we?'
And that was that.
A cold supper was brought to the chamber, and while the abbot and marshal ate, two mules were loaded with provisions to be led by a driver who would accompany them and bring the animals back upon their arrival in Londein.
As the abbot and marshal were preparing to leave, the baron and several of his men joined them in the yard to bid the visitors farewell. 'God speed you, my friends,' he said cheerily. 'At least you have good weather for your journey.'
'At the very least,' agreed the abbot sourly.
'Ah,' said the baron, as if thinking of it for the first time, 'There was a sheriff, I believe, in Elfael. You didn't say
