“And what happens,” Geraint asked, “to the farmers who are driven off their land when they cannot afford the rents? They have to become laborers? They are employed on my own lands? Foolishly it is a question I have not yet asked Harley.”
“Perhaps it is he you should ask, then, Ger,” Aled said.
Geraint nodded. But he had a sudden thought. “You know a family by the name of Parry?” he asked. “They live up on the moors, I believe.”
“Yes,” Aled said, his jawline tightening. “I know them.”
“It is a last resort, moving up there,” Geraint said, “as I know from experience. What happened to them?”
He was afraid that he knew the answer. He almost wished he had not asked.
“Not all of them find work as your laborers,” Aled said dryly.
Geraint closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists at his sides. “I will do something,” he said after a few moments of silence. “Before rent day comes along there will be some changes. I am very much the enemy, aren’t I?”
“The numbers of those who were prepared to give you a chance has dwindled since the incident with Glyn Bevan,” Aled said. “It was not well done, Ger. He has little ones.”
“Glyn Bevan?” Geraint asked with some dread.
“A farmer cannot last very long when his horses and his cattle are taken from him,” Aled said, “and all in the name of a church he does not even attend.”
Tithes? But Geraint would not even ask what had happened. Obviously it was something that must have occurred since his own return to Tegfan, and therefore it was something he ought to know about. It seemed that his estate was running very well without him. He was almost superfluous—as he had set out to be two years ago, of course, when he had realized he was the owner of land he had poached on as a child. Land that brought back memories he did not want to harbor.
Yes, there were going to have to be some changes.
“Aled,” he asked, “what do you know about the, er, accidents that have been happening during the past week?”
“Accidents?” Aled looked instantly wary.
“Sheep grazing on the lawn before Tegfan,” Geraint said. “Coal tipped all over the driveway. Milk spilled all over the terrace. Mice in the dining room during dinner and the cat just happening to have escaped from the kitchen.”
“I imagine they are just that,” Aled said. “Accidents, man. They happen—even to peers of the realm.”
“I have the feeling,” Geraint said, “that the list is going to get longer as the days go on.”
His friend shrugged and Geraint nodded.
“At least,” he said, “whoever is organizing them appears to have a sense of humor. At least no hayricks have been burned yet. Rebecca does not roam these parts, Aled?”
His friend looked startled. “Rebecca?” he said. “Who is she?”
“If I did not know you,” Geraint said, “I would be under the impression that you are remarkably stupid, Aled. But I do know you. I would say conditions are ripe in these parts for her visits. Would you not agree?”
But Aled was tight-lipped again.
“Perhaps she has some justification too,” Geraint said. “But I would not take kindly to her visits. Perhaps you know someone to whom to pass along that message, Aled.”
“No,” his friend said. “I don’t.”
“If I were not who I am,” Geraint said, his voice brooding, “I might even follow her myself. Make myself into one of her daughters, perhaps. It is just the sort of thing I would have done as a boy, isn’t it? No, not quite. When I was a boy it would have been more like me to be Rebecca herself. With you as one of my daughters.” He grinned, but Aled was not amused. His face had paled.
“It is no joking matter,” he said. “Anyone who dares to be Rebecca has an instant price on his head. He is in danger of capture by the law and of betrayal by his followers. But yes, it is just the sort of thing you would have done. Thank goodness it is impossible.”
Geraint laughed. “You sound as if you care, Aled,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder. And is it impossible? Maybe that is just what this whole impossible situation needs, someone from my side to come over to your side—it is your side, isn’t it?—and force the issue a bit.”
“You are mad.” Aled bent down, scooped up a clump of soft earth, and threw it at his friend. It hit his shoulder and scattered down the front of his coat.
“Man,” Geraint said, brushing at himself and making the mess worse, “I should have you arrested for assaulting a peer of the realm. Or perhaps I should merely let my valet loose on you. I had better let you go home for your dinner. You are not quite comfortable with me, are you? But you are too loyal to an old friend to give me the cold shoulder.” He grinned. “So you give me a slightly muddy one instead.”
