“Two days ago I sent some men out to see what was what in those hills. There had been rumors, although I’m always the last to hear such things. It is like living in a den of thieves who don’t even speak your language. Hell of a thing. Anyway, one of my men was a long time gone, and comes back this morning with word of an army. An army! A half-day’s ride into those damn mountains, and treacherous paths the whole way. They are scattered into many small camps. Hell of a thing.”

“How large an army?”

“He did not introduce himself and take a count, now did he? At least a hundred, probably more. He saw some banners, but did not know the colors.”

So, it was true that some chieftains had joined with Carwyn. And if some did, more might. One scent of potential victory and that army would swell tenfold.

“Where the hell did they come from, that’s what I want to know. I doubt there are a hundred families for miles around.”

From Powys and Gwynedd. From Glamorgan and Brecon. From the Welsh lands held by the English for centuries, and from those only held for fifty years. And they had probably been packing their weapons and moving here for weeks, long before Nesta verch Llygad arrived at Anglesmore.

No wonder Nesta had been sanguine about this rebellion. No wonder there had been so little attempt on her part to contact Carwyn Hir. Her role was mostly done. This was where she had been during those months after leaving the convent. Traveling through Wales, visiting the old leaders, letting them know the time was now. Sealing that marriage alliance that would lend her father’s men legitimacy and strength.

Marcus looked across the timber-roofed hall, to where Nesta sat surrounded by women and their children. Her dark eyes glinted with joy as they threw family news at her, filling in the big hole made by eight years’ absence.

I am nothing in this. In any of it. That part was not true, and the evidence would be plentiful if Stratford and the King looked for it. Even now, she was the daughter of Llygad, and a symbol to the men camped in the distant mountains.

“How many did you bring?” Hubert asked.

“Over two hundred, with Addis de Valence’s men included.”

“There could be a thousand out there for all we know.”

“I doubt that.” Not yet. But maybe there would be soon. Maybe bearing banners that Hubert would quickly recognize.

“Well, it is a good thing I sent messengers to the King’s men in Danbigh, and to some of the marcher lords. Also to Warwick.”

Marcus’s attention snapped away from Nesta. “Warwick does not even hold lands here. You feared for your safety so much that you asked for help from an English baron?”