"Bishop Asaph!" boomed the baron as the priest was announced. "Pax vobiscum!" He crossed the chamber in long, quick strides and held out his hand in the peculiar greeting of Ffreinc noblemen. "It is good to see you again." The bishop grasped the offered hand somewhat awkwardly. "You should have told me you were coming! I would have had a dinner prepared in your honour. But come! Come, sit with me. I will have some refreshment brought, and we will eat together."
The effusive greeting banished Bishop Asaph's worst fears. "Thank you, Baron Neufmarche, but your servant was kind enough to offer me bread and wine just now. I would not presume to keep you from your affairs a moment longer than necessary."
"So earnest," observed the baron lightly. "It is a most welcome interruption, bishop. You have an advocate in me. I hope you know that."
"You cannot imagine how it gratifies me to hear those words, Baron Neufmarche. You are very kind."
Neufmarche brushed aside the compliment. "It is nothing. However, I can see that you are troubled-and I think it must be something serious indeed to bring you from your beautiful valley." He gestured his guest to a chair beside his own. "Here, my friend; sit down and tell me what is distressing you."
"To be blunt, it is about the food supplies you promised to send."
"Yes? I trust they were put to good use. I assure you, the grain and meat were the finest I could lay hands to at short notice."
"I am certain they were," Bishop Asaph conceded. "But we never received them."
"Nothing? Nothing at all?" wondered the baron. Asaph shook his head slowly. "How is that possible?"
"That is what I have come to discover," replied the bishop, who then told of his conversation with Count Falkes. "In short," concluded the bishop, "the count gave me to know in no uncertain terms that the supplies had never been sent-or, if they had, they never arrived. He suggested I take up the matter with you"-the bishop spread his hands-"so here I am."
"I see," The baron pursed his lips in a frown of vexation and ran a broad hand through his long, dark hair. "This is most disturbing. I made arrangements for the supplies the same day I returned from Elfael, and was glad to do it. Why, the wagoners reported a successful delivery with no difficulties along the way."
"I do believe you, baron," the bishop assured him. "It can only be that de Braose has taken the food and kept it for himself."
"So it would seem," Baron Neufmarche concurred. Rising from his chair, he crossed to the door in quick strides, opened it, and summoned the servant waiting outside. "Bring Remey here at once." The man hurried away, and the baron returned to his guest. "This will soon be put right."
"What do you intend-if I may be so bold?"
"I intend to send another consignment immediately," declared the baron. "What is more, I intend to make certain that it reaches you this time. I will give orders that the food is to be delivered to you and no one else."
"Baron Neufmarche," sighed Asaph, feeling the weight of care lift from his shoulders, "you have no idea how much this means to me. It is a blessing of the highest order."
"It is nothing of the kind," protested Neufmarche. "If I had been more diligent, this would not have happened, and you would not have had to undertake such an onerous errand. I am sorry." He paused. Then, his voice becoming grave, he said, "I can see now that we have no ally in Count de Braose. He is duplicitous and deceitful, and his word can no longer be trusted."
"Alas, it is true," confirmed Asaph readily.
"We must watch him closely, you and I," the baron continued. "I have received word of, shall we say, certain undertakings involving the count and his uncle." He offered a brief confidential smile. "But never fear, my friend; trust that I will do whatever I can to intercede for you."
Before the bishop could think what to say, the door opened and a thin man in a soft red hat entered the room. "Ah, there you are!" called the baron. "Remey, you will recall the supplies we sent to Count Falkes in Elfael, yes?"
"I do, my lord. Of course. I saw to it personally at your request."
"How many wagons did we send?"
The old servant placed a finger to his lips for a moment and then said, "Five, I believe. Three of grain, and two more loaded with meat and various other necessaries."
"That is correct, Remey," confirmed the baron. "I want you to ready another consignment of the same." He paused, glancing at the bishop, then added, "And double it this time."
"Ten wagons!" gasped Bishop Asaph. This went far beyond his most fervent hopes. "My lord baron, this is most generous-indeed, more than generous! Your largesse is as noble as it is needful."
"Think nothing of it," the baron replied grandly. "I am only too glad to be of some small service. Now then, perhaps I can persuade you to share a little sustenance with me before you return to Elfael. In fact, if you would consent to stay a day or so, you may depart with the first wagons."
"Nothing would please us more," replied the bishop, almost giddy with relief. "And tonight, Brother Clyro and I will hold vigil for you and extol your name before the Throne of Grace,"
"You are too kind, bishop. I am certain I do not deserve such praise."
"On the contrary, I will spread word of your munificence from one end of Elfael to the other so that all our people will know who to thank for their provision." Tears started to his eyes, and he dabbed them with his hands, saying, "May God bless you richly, baron, for troubling yourself on our behalf. May God bless you well and richly."
)3ran spent the day getting to know the people of Cel Craidd, the hidden heart of the greenwood. A few were folk of Elfael, but many were from other cantrefs-chiefly Morgannwg and Gwent, which had also fallen under Norman sway. All, for one reason or another, had been forced to abandon their homes and seek the refuge of the wood. He talked to them and listened to their stories of loss and woe, and his heart went out to them.
That night he sat beside the hearth in Iwan's hut, and they talked of the Ffreinc and what could be done to reclaim their homeland. "We must raise a warband," Iwan declared, brash in his enthusiasm. "That is the first thing. Drive the devils out. Drive them so far and so hard they dare not come back again."
The three men faced one another across the small fire burning in the centre of the hut's single room. "We could get swords and armour," Siarles suggested. "And horses, to be sure. Good ones-trained to battle." The young man had been chief huntsman to the king of Gwent, but when the Ffreinc deposed his lord and took all hunting rights to themselves, Siarles had fled to the forest rather than serve a Ffreinc lord. He had assumed the position of Iwan's second. "De Braose has hundreds of horses. We'll raise a thousand," he said, exuberance getting the better of him. He considered this for a moment and then amended it, saying, "Not every warrior will need a horse, mind. To be sure, we must have footmen as well."
The mere thought of trying to find so many men and horses was laughable to Bran. Even if men in such numbers could somehow be found, arming and equipping a warband of that size could well take a year or more-and they must be housed and fed in the meantime. It was absurd, and Bran pitied his friends for their hopeless, pathetic dream; it might make the British heart beat faster, but it was doomed to failure. The Ffreinc were bred for battle; they were better armed, better trained, better horsed. Engaging them in open battle was certain disaster; every British death strengthened their hold on the land that much more and increased misery and oppression for everyone. To think otherwise was folly.