Tuck (20 page)

“We did not know she was going,” Iwan explained. “I would have prevented her, of course. But she told no one of her intentions and left before anyone knew she was gone.”

“
Someone
knew, by the rood,” Bran observed, indicating the worried Noín before him.

“Forgive me, my lord, but she made me promise not to say anything until after she had gone,” Noín said, looking down at her feet. “I did try to persuade her otherwise, but she would not hear it.”

“I was halfway down the trail for going after her,” said Will Scarlet, pushing forward to stand beside his wife. “Would’a gone, too, but by the time we found out, it was too late. Mérian was already home, and if anything was going to happen to her . . .” He paused. “Well, I reckoned it already did.”

Bran took this in, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side. “I leave you in charge, Iwan,” he snarled. “And this is how my trust is repaid? I am—”

“Peace!” said Angharad, speaking from a few steps behind him. Pushing through the gathered throng of welcomers, the Wise Banfáith planted herself in front of him. “This is not seemly, my lord. Your people have given you good greeting and the same would receive from their king.” She fixed him with a commanding stare until Bran remembered himself and, in a somewhat stilted fashion, thanked his champion and others for keeping Cél Craidd in his absence.

Tuck, drawing near, gave Bran a nudge with his elbow and indicated Alan a’Dale standing a short distance apart from the group, ignored and unremarked. So Bran introduced the Grellon to Alan a’Dale and instructed his flock to make the newcomer feel at home among them. Having satisfied courtesy, Bran retreated to his hut, saying he wished to be left in peace to rest after his journey.

“Rest you will have,” said Angharad, following him into the hut.

“But not from you, I see.”

“Not from me—and
not
until you learn that berating those who have given good service is beneath one who would account himself a worthy king. Angry with Mérian you may be—”

“She disobeyed me—”

“She must have had good reason, think you?”

“We discussed it and I told her not to go,” Bran complained, throwing himself into his hide-and-antler chair. “Yet the moment my back is turned, what does she do?”

“Your Lady Mérian is a woman of great determination and resourcefulness; she is not one to be easily dominated by others.” Angharad gazed at him, her eyes alight within their wreath of familiar wrinkles. “It is her own mind she has followed—”

“She has disobeyed me,” Bran said.

“This it is that tears at you?” replied the banfáith. “Or is it that she might have been right to go?” Before Bran could answer, she said, “It matters not, for now there is nothing to be done about it.”

Bran glared at her but knew that pursuing this argument any further would avail him nothing.

“Too late you show the wisdom of silence,” Angharad observed. “So now, if you would put away childish things, tell me what happened in the north.”

Bran frowned and passed a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the memory. He gave a brief account of finding the king of Gwynedd a captive to Earl Hugh and riding into Caer Cestre to free him. “The long and short of it,” he continued, “is that we failed to persuade King Gruffydd to rally the tribes to our support. We cannot count on them for any men.”

The old woman considered this, nodded, but said nothing.

“Not one,” said Bran. “We are worse off than when we began,” he concluded gloomily.

Into the fraught and fretted silence of the hut there drifted a soft, lilting melody sung by a clear and steady voice—a sound not unfamiliar in Cél Craidd, but this one was different. Angharad went to the door of the hut, opened it, and stepped outside. Bran followed and felt his anger and disappointment begin to melt away in the refrains of the tune. There, surrounded by the forest-dwellers, his head lifted high and with a voice to set the glade shimmering, Alan was singing his song about Rhi Bran and the Wolf of Cestre.

CHAPTER 24

W
hen Bran learned that Sheriff de Glanville had returned to Saint Martin’s with a force of fifty soldiers, he said nothing, but took his bow and went alone into the greenwood. Siarles was all for going after him, but Angharad advised against it, saying, “Think yourself a king to bear a king’s burden? His own counsel he must keep, if his own mind he would know.” And, to be sure, Rhi Bran returned that evening with a yearling buck and a battle plan.

First, he determined to do what he could to even the odds against him. The fine, dry summer had given way to a blessedly mild autumn, and the harvest in the valleys had been good. Most of the crops would be gathered in now against the lean seasons to follow. The granaries and storehouses would be bulging. Bran decided to help his people and, at the same time, hit the Ffreinc where it would hurt the most. He would attack in the dead heart of the darkest night of the month.

The moon had been on the wane for several days, and tonight there would be a new one; the darkness would be heavy and would aid his design. Early in the morning, Bran sent spies into the town to see what could be learned of the disposition of the sheriff ’s troops. Noín and Alan had been chosen—much to Will’s displeasure. “I have no objection,” Scarlet complained, “so long as I go along.”

“They know you too well,” Bran reminded him. “I don’t want to see you end up in that pit again—or worse. One glimpse is all the sheriff would need to put your head on a spike.”

“But you don’t mind if my Noín’s sweet face ends up decorating that bloody spike,” he griped.

“Scarlet!” The sound was sharp as a slap. “You go too far.” Angharad shuffled forth, wagging a bony finger. “A proper respect for your king would well become you.”

Will glared at her, his jaw set.

“Now, William Scatlocke!”

“Forgive me, Sire,” offered Will, striving to sound suitably contrite. “If I have spoken above myself, I do most humbly beg your pardon.”

“Pardon granted, Will,” Bran told him. “A man would have a heart of stone who did not care for his wife. But the raids I have in mind succeed or fail on what we learn. We need to know how things sit in the town before we go rushing down there.”

Will nodded and glanced to Noín, who pressed his hand. “I have gone to market before, you know. That’s all it is—just two folk going to market.”

“You had best leave now,” said Bran. “Stay only as long as it takes to find out what we need and then hurry back. We will wait for you at the ford.”

“There and back and no one the wiser, m’lord,” Alan volunteered. “Alan a’Dale will see to it.” To Scarlet, he said, “They’ve never seen me before, and I can talk the legs off a donkey if I have to. We’ll be back safe and sound before you know it.”

Bran commended them to their task, and Angharad spoke a brief blessing of protection over them and the two departed. The rest of the Grellon began preparing for the night’s activities: weapons and ropes were readied, and five riders were sent to the holdings and farms in the valley to warn the folk about King Raven’s plans and to enlist any aid they could find. In the end, there were so many willing volunteers that they chose only the most hale and hearty to help and told them where to go, and when.

Tuck decided that he would best be served by a new staff, so took himself into the wood to find a sturdy branch of ash which he cut to length and then shaped. As he worked, he found great satisfaction in reciting a few of the Psalms that the young Israelite warrior David composed when seeking deliverance from his many enemies.

By the time the sun began its long, slow plunge into the western sea, all was ready. The raiders, eight in all, departed for the ford to meet the spies. Alan and Noín were already waiting at the forest’s edge when they arrived. Will Scarlet was the first to see them and ran to where the two sat beside the stream near the ford. “Is all well?” he asked, and received a brushing kiss by way of answer from his wife.

“No one paid us any heed at all,” Alan told them. “Why would they? We were just two humble folk attending the market, ye ken?”

“Well and good,” said Bran. “So now, what did you discover?”

“It is true the town is full of Ffreinc,” began Alan, “but they trust their numbers a little too much, it seems to me.” He went on to explain that the soldiers were everywhere to be seen—at the entrance to the town square, before the abbey gate, clustered around the guardhouse tower—but almost to a man they appeared bored and lax. “You can see those fellas idling here and there, dicin’ and drinkin’ and what-all. They swagger around like little emperors all, and most of them don’t carry weapons—maybe a dagger only.”

“No doubt they know where to find a ready blade smart enough when pressed to it,” observed Iwan.

“Oh, no doubt,” agreed Alan readily. “But I’m just saying what I saw.”

“What about the sheriff ?” asked Will. “Did you see that rat-faced spoiler?”

“I did not,” answered Alan. “Neither hide nor hair. Plenty of soldiers though, as I say.”

“You found where they keep the supplies?” asked Bran.

“We did, Lord,” answered Alan. Looking to Noín, he nodded. “Noín here did that easy as please and be thanked.”

“I went to the church when they rang the bell for the midday mass,” Noín reported. “There were but a few townsfolk and a merchant or two, so I knelt in the back and waited for the service to finish. Then I followed the monks to the abbey, pretending that I was hungry and in need of food for myself and my poor starving children three.”

“You told them that?” said Scarlet, chagrined at the barest suggestion that he was no fit provider for his family.

“It was only pretence,” she said lightly. “But I have been pared near enough to the bone to know how it feels. To their credit the priests took pity on me and let me inside the abbey walls. I was made to wait in the yard while they fetched a few provisions.”

“And you saw where these were kept?” said Siarles.

“Oh, aye—made sure of it. There is a granary behind the bishop’s house. It looks new to me—wattled and thatched like a barn, but smaller.”

“They brought you food from these stores?” asked Tuck. “You saw this?”

“Aye, they did—brought me some grain and a rind of salt pork,” Noín told him, “and a handful of dried beans. There was plenty more whence that came, believe me.”

“There must be,” mused Iwan, “if they are about giving away food to needy Cymry.”

“At least,” suggested Siarles, “they are not over-worried about running out of provisions anytime soon.”

“They will be running out sooner than they know,” said Bran. “What else?”

The raiding party listened to all that Alan and Noín had to say about the troops and stores. When they finished, Bran praised their good service and sent them on their way back to Cél Craidd, saying, “Tell the others we’re going ahead with the raid. If all goes well, we will return before dawn.”

So Alan and Noín continued on their way, and the raiding party settled down to wait, watching a pale blue velvet dusk settle over the Vale of Elfael below. The stars winked on one by one, and the raiders sat and talked, their voices a low murmur barely audible above the liquid splash of the nearby stream.

It is so beautiful,
thought Tuck, so peaceful.
“Ach, fy enaid,”
he sighed.

“Second thoughts, Friar?” asked Siarles, sliding down beside him.

“Never that, boyo,” replied Tuck. “But it does seem a very shame to violate such tranquillity, does it not?”

“Perhaps, but it will be far more tranquil when the Ffreinc are gone, Friar,” answered Siarles. “Think of that.”

“I pray that it is so.” Tuck sighed again. “It is a beautiful valley, though.”

They talked a little while, and then Tuck closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, to be awakened sometime later by Siarles jostling his shoulder. “Time to be about the devil’s business, Friar.”

Regaining their saddles, the party rode down into the vale, circling around to the north of the town and the abbey fields. They came to the edge of a bean field which lay just beyond the stone walls of the monastery Abbot Hugo had erected. “If I heard it right, the abbot’s storehouse is just the other side of that wall,” Iwan pointed out. The wall, like the abbey and town behind it, was an indistinct mass, black against the deeper, featureless blackness of a moonless night.

“Owain and Rhoddi,” said Bran, “go and rouse the others. Bring them here—and for the love of God and all the angels, tell everyone to keep quiet.” The two warriors turned and rode for the forest’s edge north of town. As soon as they had gone, Bran said, “Tuck, you will stay with the horses and keep order outside the walls. Tomas and Scarlet—go with Iwan. Siarles, you come with me. Once over the wall, meet at the storehouse.” The old sly smile played on his lips as he said, “Time for Rhi Bran y Hud to fly.”

The raiders urged their mounts forward across the leafy field, now black beneath the hooves of their horses. A few paces from the wall, they stopped and dismounted. “God with you,” whispered Tuck as they hefted first one man and then the next up onto the top of the abbey wall. When the last raider disappeared, the friar turned to look for Rhoddi and Owain, but could see nothing in the darkness.

He waited, gazing wide-eyed into the darkness and listening for any stray sounds from the other side of the wall, but saw nothing and heard only the sound of the horses breathing and, once in a while, chafing the ground with an idle hoof. After a time, there came a whispered hiss from somewhere above his head. “Ssssst!” Once, and then again. “Ssssst!”

“Here!” whispered Tuck. “This way—to your right.”

“Get ready,” said the voice. It was Siarles kneeling atop the wall. “We’ll send over the grain sacks first. Ready?”

“I’m the only one here,” Tuck told him.

“Where is everyone?”

“They’re here,” came the reply as Rhoddi appeared silent as a ghost out of the darkness. To his unseen companions, he said, “Owain, line ’em up behind me. Keep out of the way, and stay alert.”

“How many are with you?” Siarles called down softly.

“Ten,” answered Owain “We’re ready, so heave away.”

A moment later another figure joined Siarles on the wall. There was a dry scraping sound followed by a thick thud as the first sack hit the ground at the base of the wall. Three more followed in quick succession. “Get ’em up,” whispered Siarles.

Fumbling in the darkness, the Cymry from the surrounding settlements jostled the bulging sacks of grain onto the shoulders of three of their number, who disappeared into the darkness. “Ready,” Rhoddi called quietly.

There followed a pause, and then, without warning, a large, weighty object thudded to the ground. “What was that?” wondered Tuck, mostly to himself. Four more objects were sent over the wall in quick succession, followed by numerous smaller bundles dropped over the wall to form a growing heap on the ground.

“Clear it out,” whispered Siarles.

“You heard him, men,” said Owain. Again, the waiting Cymry leapt forward and fell upon the bundles, sacks, and casks that had been tossed over the wall. The process was repeated two more times, and each time there were fewer Cymry left to carry the supplies away. Finally, Siarles reappeared atop the wall and said, “There’s people stirring in the abbey. I’m coming over.” Squatting down, he turned, grabbed an edge, and lowered himself lengthwise down the face of the wall.

“The others are clean away,” Tuck told him. “I’ve got the horses ready.”

“We best stir ourselves and get this lot loaded, too,” Siarles said. “Bring ’em up, and let’s have at it.”

The two of them began piling the goods onto the carriers attached to the saddles of the horses. One by one, the remaining raiders joined Tuck and Siarles outside the wall; Bran and Iwan were the last, and all made short work of toting the bundles and casks to the waiting horses. The back-and-forth continued until from somewhere beyond the wall a bell sounded and the raiders halted. The bell tolled three times. “It’s
Lauds
,” said Tuck. “They’ll be going to the chapel for prayer.”

“That’s it, lads,” said Bran. “Time to fly.” He glanced away towards the east, where a dull glow could be seen above the dark line of treetops. “Look, now! It’s beginning to get light, and all this thieving has made me hungry.”

“Luckily, there’s ale for our troubles,” Scarlet said, picking up a cask and shaking it so it sloshed. “And wine, too, if I’m not mistaken.”

The last of the goods were packed and tied into place, and as each horse was ready one of the riders led it away. Bran and Tuck were last to leave, following the others across the broad black expanse of the bean field to the forest edge, where they met with the Cymry who had helped; and a rough division of the spoils was made then and there. “Spread it around to those who need it most,” Bran told them. “But mind to keep it well hid in case any of the Ffreinc come sniffing around after it.”

The rest of the way back to the forest was a long, slow amble through the night-dark vale and up the rise into the greenwood. They moved with the mist along cool forest pathways and arrived back at Cél Craidd as the sun broke fair on another sparkling, crisp autumn day—but a day that Abbot Hugo would remember as dismal indeed, the day his troubles began in earnest.