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to go on about his freeman farmers, his relationship with the grain merchants and his contributions to King Ballah’s coffers. Finally they reached a group of large stone buildings arranged around a junction in the road. One of the
structures was still being built, although it was nearing completion. An army of workers swarmed over it, putting the finishing touches to the roof, fitting freshly made shutters into the high windows. On seeing them approach, a tall man broke off from his work and hurried over.
    ‘Your lordship, it’s good to see you.’
    ‘And you, Cerrin. How goes the work?’
    ‘Very well, sir. We should be finished in a day or two. Well before the first harvest.’
    ‘Splendid. Well, I’d better not keep you. I just thought I’d show our guest from the capital our new grain stores. Should quadruple our storage capacity, Errol.’
    ‘Nothing like it in the whole of the northlands.’ The tall man tugged his forelock, glanced at Errol and then ran off back to his work. A few of the other labourers had stopped briefly to look at the visitors, but they all turned back and resumed their tasks.
    ‘Cerrin’s father was the most skilled mason I’ve ever known.’ Lord Gremmil walked his horse on past the unfinished building towards one of the completed three. ‘It was his idea to build centralized storage for the barley. Before that it was kept on individual farms. The big merchants wouldn’t come near us. It wasn’t worth their while having to drag those huge carts around a dozen different farmsteads until they were full.’
    Errol listened to his host drone on about farming practices and the importance of good logistics as he was shown the inside of one of the grain stores. Empty, it was a vast space, their footsteps echoing on the smooth stone floor. It had been built so that there were no pillars or buttresses inside, just smooth walls and wide doors at either
end to make loading and unloading easy. As he listened to yet more of Lord Gremmil’s enthusing, Errol realized that the noble was showing off his efficient demesne because he believed that Errol had the ear of the king and would put in a good word for him once he returned to Tynhelyg.
    ‘So, Errol, do you like the horse?’ Lord Gremmil swung up into his own saddle and they set off back to the town at a gentle trot.
    ‘It’s a fine beast, yes.’
    ‘Then he’s my gift to you. Along with the saddle and harness. No, don’t argue. And we’ll have to see about getting you some provisions for the journey. Oh, and here.’ He put his hand in his saddlebag, pulling out something and throwing it to Errol, who caught it before he could see what it was. ‘You’ll probably need that too.’
    Errol shook what he had caught and nearly dropped it in surprise. It was a leather bag that clinked with the unmistakable sound of coin, and judging by its weight there was enough to keep him going for months.
    ‘Lord Gremmil, I can’t—’
    ‘Say nothing more of it. Let’s return to the castle and make preparations. No doubt you’ll want to leave in the morning. You’ll dine with Isobel and me in the main hall tonight.’ And, so saying, he kicked his horse into a canter and then a gallop. Errol stared at the bag of money, then at his fast-disappearing host and finally back the way they had come, the road to Tynhelyg. There was nothing to stop him heading off straight away; he had more already than he had arrived with, and every hour he spent here was an hour longer it would take him to track down the
circus. And then what? Someone had overpowered Benfro, and they had not thought twice about leaving Errol for dead. What could he hope to do? Perhaps it was better to stay here, at least for another night. It was hard to maintain his deception, but he could always plead a headache and retire early, take a bit of time to try and work out what he was going to do.
    Stowing his newly found wealth in his newly acquired saddlebag, Errol kicked his horse into