March 23

Father was glad for the ale, and the more he drank of it the gladder he was for the company of Gryffyd, and after enough of it Tail-Beard was talking and even the two Franks starting telling stories, gesturing and using what I guess were the few words of English they knew, which Gryffyd tried often and without luck to translate. It was all good-natured. A lot of laughing. I remember listening to the strange sound of the Franks' language and thinking how amazing it was that they understood each other. And I remember Gryffyd and my Father. They were still wary of each other but not in the way they'd been when Gryffyd's had come in the summer or even when they'd greeted each other that afternoon. Somehow, and I don't know how, they'd settled between them that they were equals and could trust each other at arm's length.

The cask lasted until well past dark, and I got my share.

The visitors sprawled on hides on the floor, the dogs among them, and father, my sister and I took to our bed. The hovel was noisy with snoring but it was warm and exciting in a way that kept me awake much of the night. I lay watching the fire glow in the middle of the room and listening to all the breathing in the shadows and thinking how important Father was to have knights of the King of France come to him far out in the Welsh woods and the great Lord Llewellyn sending him silver to coin. Father had an important role in pushing the English out of Welsh lands. I didn't at that time know what "Welsh lands" meant, having lived my entire eight or so years in that one place, but I knew they were important to Father. And Gryffyd. And all the men who brought us silver.

I settled into a deep sleep just before daybreak, and just after daybreak Father woke me. "Three thousand of the King's pennies to strike," he said, shaking me, and we got up and together we fed the fire and then went outside to piss. There was no wind. The winter sun was shining through the trees and on the snow filling the woods. Father stared at the clear path in the snow, leading out of the far woods and straight to our door. He cursed. Then we turned to me.

"We'll have to work inside," he said. "The silver'll cool too fast in this cold air." And we went inside to rouse our visitors and get them to clear a spot large enough for his workbench.