Stephen Lawhead - Hood

Merian, having dismounted with the others and accepted the welcome cup, raised the wine to her lips; it was watered and cool and went down with undignified haste. When all had finished their cups, the new arrivals were conducted into the castle. Merian, marching with the wooden stoicism of the condemned, followed her mother to a set of chambers specially prepared for them. There were two rooms behind a single wooden door; inside each was a single large bed with a mattress of goose down; two chairs and a table with a silver candleholder graced the otherwise bare apartment.

Food was brought to them, the candles lit, and a fire set in the hearth, for though it was a warm summer night, the castle walls were thick and constructed entirely of stone, making the interior rooms autumnal. Having seen to the needs of the baron's guests, the servants departed, leaving the women to themselves. Merian went to the window and pushed open the shutter to look out and down upon the massive outer wall. By leaning out from the casement, she could glimpse part of the town beyond the castle.

"Come to the table and eat something," her mother bade her.

"I'm not hungry."

"The feast is not until tomorrow," her mother told her wearily. "Eat something, for heaven's sake, before you faint."

But it was no use. Merian refused to taste a morsel of the baron's food. She endured a mostly sleepless night and rose early, before her mother or anyone else, and drawn by morbid curiosity, she crept out to see what she could discover of the castle and the way its inhabitants lived. She moved silently along one darkened corridor after another, passing chamber after chamber until she lost count, and came unexpectedly to a large anteroom that contained nothing more than a large stone fireplace and a hanging tapestry depicting a great hunt: fierce dogs and men on horseback chasing stags, hares, wild boars, bears, and even lions, all of which ran leaping through a woodland race. Drawn to the tapestry, she was marvelling at the prodigious size and the tremendous amount of needlework required for such a grand piece when she felt eyes on her back.

Turning quickly, she found that she herself was the object of scrutiny. "Your pardon, Lady Merian," said her observer, emerging from the shadowed doorway across the room. Dressed entirely in black-tunic, breeches, boots, and belt-save for a short crimson cloak neatly folded across his shoulders and fixed with a large brooch of fine yellow gold almost the same colour as his long, flowing hair, he wore a short sword at his side, sheathed in a black leather scabbard.

"Baron Neufmarche," she said, suddenly abashed. "Forgive me. I did not mean to trespass."

"Nonsense," he said, smiling, "I fear it is I who am trespassingon your enjoyment. I do beg your pardon." He moved to join her at the tapestry. She gazed at the wall hanging, and he gazed at her. "It is fine, is it not?"

"It is very beautiful," she said politely. "I've never seen the like."

"A mere trifle compared to you, my lady."

Blushing at this unexpected compliment, Merian lowered her head demurely. "Here now!" said the baron. Placing a finger beneath her chin, he raised her face so that he could look into her eyes. "I see I have made you uncomfortable. Again, I must beg your pardon." He smiled and released her. "That is twice already today, and I have not yet broken fast. Indeed," he said, as if just thinking of it for the first time, "I was just on my way to the table. Will you join me?"

"Pray excuse me, my lord," said Merian quickly, "but my mother will have risen and is no doubt looking for me."

"Then I must content myself to wait until the feast," said the baron. "However, before I let you go, you must promise me a dance."

"My lord, I know nothing of Ffreinc dancing," she blurted. "I only know the normal kind."

Neufmarche put back his head and laughed. "Then for you, I will instruct the musicians to play only the musique norniale."

Unwilling to embarrass herself further, Merian gave a small curtsy. "My lord," she said, backing away, "I give you good day."

"And good day to you, my lady," said the baron, smiling as he watched her go.

Merian ducked her head, turned, and fled back down the corridor the way she had come, pausing at her chamber door to draw a breath and compose herself. She touched the back of her hand to her cheek to see if she could still feel the heat there, but it had gone, so she silently opened the door and entered the room. Her mother was awake and dressed in her gown. "Peace and joy to you this day, Mother," she said, hurrying to give her mother a kiss on the cheek.

"And to you, my lovely," replied her mother. "But you are awake early. Where have you been?"

"Oh," she said absently, "just for a walk to see what I might learn of the castle."

"Was your father or brother about?"

"No, but I saw the baron. He was going to break his fast."

"Did you see his wife, the baroness?"

"She was not with him." Merian walked to the table and sat down. "Are they really so different from us?"

Her mother paused and considered the question. "I do not know," she said at last. "Perhaps not. But you must be on your best behaviour, Merian," her mother warned, "and on your guard."

"Mother?"

The queen made no reply but simply raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"Whatever do you mean?" persisted Merian.

"I mean," said her mother with exaggerated patience, "these Ffreinc noblemen, Merian. They are rapacious and grasping, ever seeking to advance themselves at the expense of the Britons by any means possible-and that includes marriage."

"Mother!"

It is true, Daughter. And do not pretend the thought of such a thing has never crossed your mind." Lady Anora gave her daughter a glance of shrewd appraisal and added, "More than one young woman has had her heart turned by a handsome nobleman-Ffreinc, English, Irish, or whatever."

"I would kill myself first," Merian stated firmly. "Of that you can be certain."

"Nevertheless," her mother said.

Nevertheless, indeed.

And yet here they were, attending a feast-day celebration in the castle of a wealthy and powerful Ffreinc lord. Her mother was right, she knew, but she still resented such an untoward intrusion into what she considered the affairs of her own secret heart. She might not have the remotest intention of encouraging a dalliance with a loathsome Ffreincman, but she did not like having anyone, much less her mother, insinuating that she lacked the wits to govern her private affairs. And anyway, Baron Neufmarche was married and almost twice her age at least! What on earth was her mother thinking?

"Just you keep yourself to yourself, Merian," her mother was saying.

"Mother, please!" she complained in a pained voice.

"Some of these noblemen need little enough encouragementthat is all I will say."

"And here was I," fumed Merian, "thinking you had said too much already!"

On the same day that Baron Neufmarche's supply wagons departed, the second dispatch of Baron William de Braose's wagons arrived. As the heavy-laden vehicles trundled out across the valley floor, the sun dimmed in the west, leaving behind a copper glow that faded to the colour of an angry bruise. Nine wagons piled high with sacks of lime, rope, rolls of lead, and other supplies brought from Normandie were met by Orval, the count's seneschal, who instructed them to make camp below the caer. "Food will be brought to you here," he told them. "Stay with your teams tonight, and tomorrow you will be escorted to the building works."

The drivers passed a peaceful night at the foot of the hill beneath the fortress, moving on the next day to the three castle mounds now emerging on Elfael's borders. The farthest, a place newly dubbed Vallon Verte, took all of a long day to reach, and it was already growing dark by the time the wagoners began unhitching the oxen and leading them to the ox pen. Only when their animals were fed, watered, and put to rest for the night did the drivers join the masons and labourers gathered around their evening fire.