Jouiae looked upon her sickly roses and wasting agrimonia, and she despaired. Her life had been spent in service to her husband: managing his household and embroidering his tunics and tapestries; his pleasure had not included her toiling amidst the chamomile and mint.

The wrinkled old man who had had the care of the flower beds and herbs had died in the spring, not long after the lord himself. The wealth of beauty, tastes, smells and medicines he had left behind, were imperiled under Jouiae's ignorant and incompetent care. As she pulled up yet another grassy chute, she felt yet another pang of doubt, wondering if it was indeed the weed she took it for, or some innocent remnant of the old man's tender cultivation. She glanced guiltily at his grave.

The old gardener had smiled blissfully, when Jouiae had agreed to bury him among his flowers. “They're not mine m'lady,” he had wheezed. “But if you wouldn't mind, I sure would like to rest there, maybe with some lavender planted atop my grave, so you don't get sick 'o the sight of me a-laying there.”

The lavender had failed to grow upon the gardener's little mound, and Jouiae felt guilty for that too.

She was startled by the large shadow that fell over her. Jouiae looked up to see Suna and a pair of servants erecting a large, improvised parasol above her. The men finished forcing their poles into the garden soil and returned their lady's thanks with idiot grins. A curt gesture from Suna flattened their smiles to hesitant smirks, and they bowed their heads as they backed away.

“Really Suna, that isn't necessary,” Jouiae said impatiently. “I don't mind a little sun.”

“You might after you brown up and wrinkle worse than me,” Suna replied.

“I'm not concerned by the appearance of my skin.”

“Only a woman with beauty to spare would fail to appreciate its value,” Suna lectured. She had been a beauty herself, when she was young, and like Jouiae, she had taken it for granted while it lasted. But now she was old: old, fat, wrinkled, spotted, sagging and even hairy in strange, unexpected places. Her beauty had been traded for wisdom -and regret, and she would be damned if she let Jouiae throw away such flawless, milky-clear skin after a lifetime of careful cosseting on her part. “Dig in the dirt if you must. I'll clean your nails and ease your blisters and smooth your callouses, all without complaint, but I wouldn't be worth my bread if I stood by and watched you turn into a raisin.”

Jouiae rolled her eyes, for Suna was in fact complaining. She turned back to her labor. “Does this look like a weed to you?”

Suna's only answer was a glare. After sixty years of life, lived across two continents and lands uncounted, her knowledge was as deep as it was vast, but she had never concerned herself with learning even a single species of English shrubbery. “You shouldn't be doing this,” she said instead, and not for the first time.

“I don't have money to hire another gardener.”

“You will soon enough. Besides, you have serfs in plenty who can do the work.”

“That money is already mostly spent, as you very well know, and what is left must be scrimped and saved wherever we can.

“And serfs aren't slaves Suna. Their labor is owed to the land, the farming, and not to my garden.”

“You're loved by your people. It would be a privilege for them to come up to the castle and do... this.”

“I already told you no,” Jouaie said lightly. She almost sang the last word, for she was utterly pleased to be able to say it. Suna had been her mentor for most of her life. A waspish teacher and stern disciplinarian, the old woman still held sway over her lady, as only a revered elder could. It was only in recent months, since becoming an independent widow, that Jouiae had begun to truly appreciate the inherent superiority of her rank: her privilege to command and right to a certain degree of haughtier. Her playful smile reverted back to a frown however, as she looked upon the young sage plants before her. She was about to go on destroying them when they were saved by a man-at-arms. This middle-aged man came running up, snapped the hilt of his dagger to his waist and bowed his head.

“Pardon lady,” he said breathlessly. “Riders on the road, coming down from Shrewsbury it looks.”

“Good news,” Suna said, and gave her lady a smug, told-you-so look. “That will be Weevil's men.”

“I think I recognized Eamon of York in the party,” the man-at-arms said.

“Are you sure?” Jouiae asked, and she saw how Suna's certainty faltered.

“No m'lady. They're still a ways off, but I'll stake my wage that I recognize his horse.”

Awkward silence answered this declaration, and Suna glared. The man hadn't been paid his wage in months. He hadn't meant to bring it up, and he certainly never would have complained. He loved his lady, as only a grateful father could. His daughter had been taken into Jouiae's household at a young age, taught French, arithmetic and a thousand other skills and niceties. It enabled her betrothal to the son of a prosperous freeholder: arranged painlessly over the feast of the trial day, with the lady negotiating on his daughter's behalf. His grandchildren would be freemen thanks to Jouiae, maybe even landowners in their own right. He would have gladly served her for the rest of his life without a single coin paid in recompense, and he would have felt as though he had come out ahead.

“Have a room made up for him and his servant,” Jouiae told Suna. “Do we have space for the rest of his party?”

“Not unless you're willing to bring them into the keep,” the man said. “There's eight in all, and the barracks and gatehouse is overflowing as it is.”

“You can put them in the stable or the tithe barn,” Suna suggested.

“Find a house for the others in the village,” Jouiae decided.

Not long after this, a man riding a fine black courser bounced awkwardly up to the gate. He introduced himself as Sion, and claimed to be Eamon of York's squire. He asked permission on behalf of his master to wait upon the lady of the castle, and trespass upon her hospitality for the night. He spoke more gruffly than Eamon would have liked, being embarrassed and unhappy about putting on airs, but the bemused men-at-arms were friendly enough. They assured him that the lady's friend was always welcome at Greystone, and that beds were already being made for Eamon and his party.

As her guards spoke to Sion, Jouiae was stripped of her apron and dress. She was sat in a chair, and two of her young companions brushed her hair as others scrubbed the dirt from her hands, and dug it from under her fingernails. Suna herself knelt at her lady's feet; and began scrubbing her from thighs to toes with a damp cloth.

“There's no need for all this fuss,” Jouiae complained.

“Of course there is,” Suna said. “You have wolves howling in your hills and Eamon of York is the only hound for sale in a hundred miles.”

“He turned down my offer,” Jouiae reminded her.

“And he offered what help he could in the same breath,” Suna argued. “He can still be persuaded.”

“And you think washing my feet will get him to reconsider?” Jouiae asked petulantly.

“I think a woman who is cleaned up and smelling nice has a better chance of getting what she wants,” Suna said emphatically, and she began scrubbing her lady with lavender.

If Eamon was at all aware of the labors done to beautify Jouiae, or swayed by them, he gave no indication of it. They greeted each other stiffly, and Eamon introduced his squire as Sion of Shrewsbury.

The Welshman bowed to Jouiae as he had been instructed. He was a tall man, lean and good looking, but he seemed too old to be a squire: being of an age with Jouiae. He was clearly a fish out of water. The sword was an alien weight on his hip, and he worried its pommel.

“I'm pleased to meet you sir,” Jouiae assured him. “It's good to see you again Reed,” Jouiae lied to Eamon's foul, drunken servant. “We've placed your master in the same apartment as before, do you remember where it is?”

“I'll manage lady,” Reed mumbled.

“I hope you don't mind,” she continued, turning to Eamon. “But I've made arrangements for your other companions to sleep in the village. I've run out of room within the bailey.”

“So I see,” Eamon said lightly.

When last he had visited Greystone, Jouiae had had only eleven men under arms. On the evening of her combat trial, with hundreds of people from all around the countryside visiting, she had taken the opportunity to recruit. Now, there were nearly twenty strange new faces gathered around: young men and boys, still glowing and puffed up with the pride of their elevation in status. There were still more faces looking down from the towers and gatehouse. Jouiae owed each of these young men a shilling, and she couldn't help but stare longingly at the chest slung over the back of Reed's horse. She waited in trepidation for Eamon to tell her that he had come with Weevil's silver, but she waited in vain. He was too well bred to embarrass a lady by discussing her loan openly before a crowd of her servants and strangers.

“Hal will take your horses,” Jouiae eventually blurted. “And if the rest of you will follow Llewellyn, he'll take you to the house I've set aside for you. There should be ale and food waiting.”

“Go with them,” Eamon told his squire. “Make sure they're settled and then come back up to the castle.”

Jouiae saw a flicker of irritation flash across Sion's face, and she wondered at it, for the order he received was innocuous and reasonable, and Eamon showed him favor by requesting his return. This also served as a subtle request for Jouiae to accommodate him in the keep, and a mere gesture to Suna was enough to command its being seen to. She led Eamon inside, to the side table where cups of cider and water had been set out for her guests. The inane, polite conversation that followed was excruciating. Neither she nor Eamon had any gift for small talk, and they struggled to keep from floundering in awkward silence.

Eamon quickly ran out of compliments for the keep: a remarkably light and airy environment, freshly plastered and tidy everywhere he looked. He ventured to ask about the tapestries adorning the great hall, but these violent depictions of the late lord's scourging of the Welsh did not please Jouiae, or bring her pride, though they were well done, and she had embroidered each and every one of them herself. Similarly she soon ran out of things to say about her doings after Eamon's departure. Her young companion's marriage arrangements and the recruiting of young men was the only news she thought to share.

“We're rather dull I fear,” she said sheepishly.

Eamon was still struggling to summon a polite reassurance to the contrary when his squire rejoined them. The return of Sion was a blessed event. A smile from one of Jouiae's companions was enough to encourage him to volubility, and he was soon boasting to her about how he had saved Eamon's life. His confidence grew with the interest of the others, and he eagerly embellished the tale, transforming himself into a swordsman and downplaying the part Eamon's horse had played shamelessly.

“But how did you come to be there?” Jouiae wanted to know.

“Eamon here, he was doing my cousin a bit of a favor,” Sion declared, and he smiled wolfishly at Eamon. “I was coming to fetch him when I heard the commotion in the stable.”

“And who is your cousin?”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Jouiae found herself charmed by the confident way Sion spoke, his fiendish grin, and the quickness of his wit as he teased the women around him into blushing and tittering. Only Suna seemed immune to the squire's charm. Her pointed glances and hints for her lady to show some attention to the quiet, neglected knight went deliberately unnoticed.

And then Reed came upon them, grumbling and sweating, his master's chest borne between himself and the cheerful but equally belabored Hal. Eamon finally stirred from his silence and quietly asked the lady for the use of her strongroom. Jouiae was confused at first, but as soon as she realized what this meant, she eagerly agreed.

It was with immense relief that she watched the iron-bound box lifted from Eamon's travel chest and placed cautiously on her counting table. As Eamon fished its key from under his mail, Jouiae sent the servants on their way, reminding Hal to stop in the kitchen and get some pottage before Cook put in the onions. Hal hated onions, though Cook said they were good for him, and he told the ungrateful Reed all about it as they carried Eamon's chest up to his apartment.

The strongbox was opened and its contents revealed: neatly packed and stacked columns of silver coins, with a small bag of loose gold on top. Jouiae sighed, and Suna pragmatically began counting without disturbing the columns.

“Thank you for this Eamon,” Jouiae said. “You don't know what a relief it is to have silver on hand again.”

Eamon's only response was a slight bow. Jouiae, who had expected more in the way of sympathy and acknowledgment, frowned. She looked to Suna for guidance and support, but her handmaid was busy lifting out the first layer of silver coins to count those beneath. “It feels foolish to claim poverty, living in a castle and waited on by servants, but it doesn't make me any more able to meet my obligations. And I doubt the weight on one's chest feels any less for being privileged.”

“It is suffocating,” Eamon agreed. “But debt make it worse. It's like a cage, that pins you beneath the weight. I hope your terms with Weevil are to your benefit more than his. He's a man who won't hesitate to press an advantage or seek favors.”

Jouiae digested this slowly. “Are you also in his debt sir? Is that how you came to act as his agent in this?”

“It is. Speaking of favors, he wishes my squire to stay with you for a time. Sion got into some trouble in town.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“He attacked a man. He didn't kill him,” Eamon quickly added. “And wergild has already been paid, but his cousin is concerned that it may be the start of a feud.”

Jouiae's heart sank. The relief she had felt at the sight of the silver was gone: wiped away in an instant and replaced with apprehension and uncertainty. “You're very welcome to stay, of course,” she said as lightly as she could manage. “As long as you like.”

Suna was pleased by the neatness of her lady's response and briefly looked up from her counting to study Eamon, wondering if he took her meaning properly. His face betrayed little of his thoughts however, and not for the first time, Suna wondered if it was because he had few thoughts to betray.

“I thank you,” was all the young knight said.

They fell quiet for a time, and listened to the clink of silver as Suna counted and moved coins about.

“May I ask how you came to need the loan?” Eamon ventured to ask. “When last I saw you, you told me you had money of your own at the Abbey.”

“So I had,” Jouiae said, glad to tell him. “But the Bishop seized it as recompense for years of unpaid tithes.”

“And nobody thought to mention the debt before you left your silver in the Abbot's care.”

“No.”

“I would have warned you against trusting priests,” Eamon said bitterly.

Jouiae hardly knew how to answer such a statement. She began to reply, to admonish Eamon for his sacrilege, but thought better of it as soon as she had drawn breath. “I still can't hardly believe it was done,” she said hesitantly. “It felt -it feels unjust. I'm a good Christian. I would have gladly paid what was owed in time, but the timing could hardly have been worse.”

“You believe the debt is real then?”

Jouiae blinked. “It... hadn't even occurred to me... to... Yes. Yes, I think it's real. My husband wasn't a very religious man. And he was a poor manager of accounts besides. It would have been just like him to neglect to pay the Church's tenth. Surely you don't think the Bishop or Abbot made it up?”

“It would be something of a miracle if they were both honest men.”

Suna chuckled.

“Really Eamon I already have a Muslim under my roof; I can hardly harbor a heretic too,” Jouiae said venturing a smile. Eamon grinned slightly, and she felt some little elation at this little success.

“And where did you learn about Weevil?” he asked.

“Lady fitz William. I called on her after my interview with the abbot. She was very kind. She summoned Weevil to her house before I could object, and negotiated the terms of the interest for us both. They're quite favorable I assure you.”

Lady fitz William was a great ship, sailing on a wind of her own making, and Eamon knew how irresistibly forceful she could be. He was nevertheless surprised to learn that Weevil had been borne down by her.

“Were you hoping for a retainer for your services?” Jouiae asked, as the silence dragged on.

Eamon blinked stupidly, until she gestured to the silver on her table. “No. I thank you,” he said stiffly. “Please excuse me.” He bowed and left.

“It's all here,” Suna announced, once Eamon had gone. She began to sort the silver into piles, according to her lady's various expenses.

“What other kinds of favors will we have to give?”

“There's no telling what that cretin will ask, but you can refuse. At least so long as you don't start missing payments.” Her lady's prospects would turn evanescent if so much as the weather went against her. Her finances now depended on several years of good harvests, good collections, favorable markets and above all: the successful eviction of Bairon. Her independence hung by a thread. Nevertheless, Suna put on a show of confidence. “Don't fret my love. All will be well yet. You'll see.” She smoothed the furrows in Jouiae's brow with a loving stroke of her thumb, ran a finger under her jaw and pinched her chin.

“I should go see to dinner,” Jouiae said.

“I'll do that. I'm almost done here. Go and see to it that your guest is entertained.”

Jouiae sighed and her shoulders sagged. “I don't know how to speak to him Suna.”

“Then go learn.” She smacked Jouiae on her rump when she childishly continued to drag her feet.

Jouiae didn't learn that night. Eamon spoke little at dinner, and excused himself immediately after. He left the castle at dawn, and though his going was done as quietly as it could be, the jingling of his mail roused several, including the lady. She watched from her bedchamber window as he walked his horse through the gate, and wondered at his destination.

“He's gone to look at Millfort,” Reed reported, when he had been found.

“By himself?” Jouiae asked.

“Aye my lady,” Reed said, without looking up from the bed of herbs he weeded. Eamon had commanded him to be of use to the lady in his absence, and he had reluctantly presented himself to Suna some hours later, once he had grown bored of his idleness. Without a moment's hesitation, she had set Reed loose upon the garden. Whether he saved it or finished destroying it utterly, she cared not; her only concern was keeping her lady out of the sun.

“Isn't that dangerous?”

“That was the view I took my lady. He said that's why he wanted to go alone.”

“Why didn't he tell me?” Jouiae asked plaintively. “I could have sent someone to at least show him the way.”

“It might have been a bit awkward bringing it up, considering your offer.”

Suna looked crossly at Reed. His emphasis of the word offer had been derisive. “What about her offer?”

Reed pretended not to have heard.

Jouiae squatted next to him. “You think it's beneath him,” she guessed, when he remained stubbornly silent.

“Eamon has been unlucky. He's poor,” Reed grudgingly admitted. “But his grandfather was Morcar, the Earl of Northumbria. His people were kings of York in their time. He deserves better than a scrap of Welsh wilderness at the arse end of England. And he should swear fealty to no one but a king.”

“Is that why he refused me? He's too proud?” It didn't seem right at first, but the more Jouiae contemplated on Eamon's reserve, the more she wondered.

Reed spared her a look of disdain. “You shouldn't have to ask me that. You should know him well enough yourself by now. A fortnight he was your guest here, and he never had more than five words from you together. Not until after he had won your trial and you wanted something else from him.”

“That's not fair!”

“It's the truth. What has fair to do with it?”

“Really Reed, this impertinence is too much, even for you,” Suna interjected: the ever present guardian of her lady's dignity. “My lady would be within her rights to have you beaten.”

Reed muttered his disbelief. Jouiae wouldn't risk angering Eamon when she was looking to beg him for favors. Typical woman: frigid as a rock in winter, unless she needed something.

The women heard every grumbled word of course. They were meant to, and knowing it, even Jouiae was overwhelmed by a desire to strike Reed for his malignance. She stalked away, fuming, but Suna lingered.

“You'll govern your tongue in my lady's presence, or I'll have you strangled in your sleep,” she promised him

Reed had scoffed at Suna's threat, but it was with pursed lips that he watched the lady's retainers all gather together in the bailey.

There were now thirty three men-at-arms in the lady's employ: all at the edges of old and young, with not a single man anywhere in between. In modest ceremony, she paid the young men each a shilling, and received in return their oaths of service. The sun seemed to shine from the faces of the young as they knelt to take their coin, and rose again to be kissed on their cheeks. Over were their days of serfdom and farming labors. They were castle men now, and they were absurdly proud of their new status. The sun didn't shine on the older men at all however. They took the wages they were owed with embarrassment, knowing their lady couldn't afford it, and they quietly worried about her future, as much for her sake as their own. Without Jouiae, they would have a hard time finding other employment at their age, and only the one of them had a rich daughter to care for him.

With the ceremony complete, these men returned to their duties, and the sounds of drills and mock battles filled the bailey. Jouiae watched them for a time, until she grew aware her presence encouraged the young men to more enthusiasm than sense.

Eamon returned safely after midday. “Well my lord, how did you find Millfort?” Jouiae asked him.

“It's not half the castle I feared,” Eamon rasped. “But it's strong enough to make an assault damned unpleasant. I don't suppose you know how many men Bairon has to defend it?”

“Eighteen men quit Greystone to join him, but I don't know how many Ogier kept under arms, or how many of them now serve Bairon. It can't be very many now though.”

“Why do you think so?” Eamon asked.

“Well, you killed Ogier, and the eight men in the stable.”

“I'm not sure I killed anyone at all,” Eamon told her. “Sion killed one man, and my horse killed another. The rest got away.”

“But Sion said...” Jouiae didn't finish her thought. She hoped Eamon might fill the silence with some explanation that didn't paint his squire out to be a braggart and a liar, but he said nothing. He just stood there and scratched his horse's chin, waiting. “Well, do you have any suggestion on what's to be done?”

“Pay him to go away,” Eamon said flatly. “It's the smart thing to do,” he assured her, when he saw Jouiae veritably choke in surprise. “You'll lose much if you retake your property by force. If you retake it at all. I assume Bairon asked you for money?”

“No. We haven't heard from him at all.”

“I expect the demands will come soon,” Eamon said. “He has men to pay and horses to feed.”

“Suna believes he will turn bandit, and use Millfort as a base to raid and rob the countryside like Ogier used to do.”

“Maybe.”

“You don't think so?”

“I hardly know the man, or those that follow him,” Eamon said cautiously. “But no. Because of the hostilities with the Welsh, anything and everything of value is guarded, and without the law making him a proper lord, he would have to persuade his men to become outlaws. Maybe he could do it, but it would be so much easier to first try his luck with you.

“I hope to meet Bairon's squire, perhaps tomorrow,” Eamon told her. “Maybe he can be persuaded to tell me more about Millfort.”

“How did you arrange this?”

“I- err,” Eamon blushed. “A girl, -that is, I went to see a young woman that Phillip, his squire that is -he's sweet on her. She's uh- she she agreed to get word to him for me. It's really her I'll speak with, at least at first. I don't know that she was able to get word to him.”

“I'll go with you. What?” Jouiae asked, seeing his doubtful look. “Eamon, I appreciate the pains you've undertaken on my behalf, but I hope you don't mind that I prefer to treat with this young man directly, instead of through you.”

“It might be difficult... or rather...”

“What? What is it?”

“Well, she's a whore my lady. I intended to call on her at the brothel where she works.”

“Oh.”