Tuck (29 page)

Darkness deepened in the greenwood. The Grellon lit pitch torches at the head of each body and began a service for the dead which Tuck led, praying softly through the Psalms and the special prayers for those recently deceased. It was a service he had performed as many times as christenings and weddings combined, and he knew it by heart.

The mourners held vigil through the night. Bran, Scarlet, and Noín kept watch while others came and went silently, or with a few words of comfort and condolence. Twice in the night, Bran was heard to groan, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. The tie that had bound him and Angharad together was strong, and it had been cruelly severed, the wound deep and raw.

Then, at sunrise, the Grellon gathered at the graveside. Tuck said another prayer for the dead and for those who must resume life without them. Noín and Will wept as the dirt was replaced and heaped over the mounds. Bran pressed the small wooden crosses he had made into the graves and then knelt, solemn but dry-eyed, and said a last, silent farewell to the woman who had saved his life. Then, while the rest of the forest-dwellers prepared to abandon Cél Craidd, Tuck went to look in on Tomas. Bran joined him a little later to ask after his injured archer. “My lord,” said Tuck softly, “I fear we have lost a good warrior.”

“No . . .” sighed Bran.

“His wounds were greater than we knew,” the friar explained. “I think he must have died in the night. I am sorry.” He looked sadly at the still body beside him. “If my skill had been greater, I might have saved him.”

“And if there had been no battle and he had not been wounded . . .” Bran shook his head and let the rest go unsaid. He pressed a hand to Tomas’s chest and thanked the dead warrior for his good service, and released him to his rest. Then, bidding Tuck to have the body prepared for burial, he rose and went to dig another grave.

CHAPTER 38

  Caer Rhodl

W
hen were you going to tell me that Friar Tuck had been here?” asked Mérian, her tone deceptively sweet. “Or did you plan to tell me at all, brother mine?”

“I did not think it any of your concern,” answered Garran dismissively. He leaned back in his chair and regarded his sister with suspicion. And then the thought struck him. “But how did
you
know they had come here?”

Mérian offered Garran a superior smile. “Bran has been a visitor to these halls more often than you know. Did you really think he would leave without seeing me?”

The king of Eiwas remained unmoved. “You said you wanted to speak to me. I hope it was not merely to berate me. If so, you are wasting your breath.”

“I did not come to berate you, but to tell you that there is no need to keep me locked up. I will not try to escape, or leave Caer Rhodl without your permission and blessing.”

“Coming to your senses at last, dear sister?” intoned Garran. “May I ask what has brought about this change of heart?”

“I have come to see that there is no point in leaving here without you and your war band to accompany me.” Garran opened his mouth to reject that possibility outright, but Mérian did not give him the chance. “Bran and his people are fighting for their lives in Elfael. We must help them. We must ride at once—”

Garran held up his hand. “We have had this discussion before,” he said, “and I have not changed my mind. Even if I was so inclined to raise the war band for them, the time for that is past, I fear.”

“Past?” inquired Mérian. “Why past?”

“King William has raised his entire army and now occupies Elfael himself. It is said he has more than a thousand knights and men-at-arms encamped in the valley.”

“What of Bran and his people? Is there any word?”

“Only that they fight on—foolishly, it seems to me, since no one has come to their aid.”

“Then that is all the more reason to raise the war band,” Mérian insisted. Clasping her hands before her, she stepped nearer her recalcitrant brother. “You must see that, Garran. We have to help them.”

“Ride against King William and his army?” laughed Garran. “There is no force in all Britain that could defeat him now.”

There came a knock on the door of the king’s chamber, and Luc, the king’s seneschal, entered. “Forgive me, Sire, but Baron Neufmarché has come and would see you most urgently. He says—”

Before the servant could finish, Baron Bernard himself pushed past him and stepped into the room. One glance at Mérian brought him up short. He stared at her as if at a ghost, then collected himself. “I see I am intruding,” he said. “I am sorry. I will come back in—”

“Pray, do not leave, Baron,” said Garran. Mérian noticed her brother’s French had become quite fluent—as had her own since returning to Caer Rhodl. “Stay. This concerns you, too, I think. Mérian here is urging us to raise an army and ride to the defence of Elfael. She thinks we should take arms against the king of England’s forces for the sake of Bran ap Brychan and his pitiful band of rebels.”

The baron raised his eyebrows, but did not condemn the notion. “Does she indeed?” he said, stepping farther into the room. “I would like to hear her reasons.” He made a stiffly formal bow to the young woman. “Please, speak freely, my lady. I assure you no harm will come of it.”

Garran was quick to protest. “With all respect, Baron, my sister’s fancies cannot be seriously entertained.”

“Fancies!” snapped Mérian.

“Please,” replied Neufmarché. He appealed to Mérian. “If you would kindly explain, I would like to hear your reasons.”

Fearing some kind of trap was being laid for her, she replied, “Baron, you have the advantage here. Sending our war band to aid Bran against the king is treason, and if I were to argue such a course before one of the king’s noblemen, it would be to my death—if such a thing were to be reported. In any event, aiding Elfael would go against your own interests, and I cannot think you, or anyone else, would willingly choose such a course.”

“Exactly!” crowed Garran.

“Do not be so hasty,” cautioned the baron. “As it happens, aiding Elfael may sit with my interests very nicely.”

Garran stared at his father-in-law and patron, momentarily lost for words.

“Does this surprise you?” wondered the baron. “So long as we are speaking freely, the king is not always right, you know. William Rufus is not the man his father was. He makes mistakes. One of his early mistakes was to cross the Neufmarchés—but that is not at issue here.”

He began pacing before the young king’s chair, to Mérian’s mind the very image of a man wrestling with an intractable problem. She watched him, hardly daring to hope that something good might come from what he was about to say.

“It comes to this—the king has ordered me to attend him and support him in this war against the rebel cantref. To aid the king is to undo all I have worked for in Wales for the last ten years or more. This I will not do—especially since my own grandchildren, when they arrive, will be Welsh. And yet”—he raised a finger—“to fail to respond to a royal summons is considered treason, and my life and lands are forfeit if I do not ride to the aid of the king.”

The baron regarded Mérian as he concluded. “The king has left me with a very difficult choice, but a clear one.”

Garran did not see it, but Mérian did.

“Which would be?” asked the young king.

“You know it, my lady,” said Neufmarché, holding her in his gaze. “I suspect you’ve known it for some time.”

Mérian nodded. “You must march against the king.”

“Surely not,” complained Garran. “We cannot hope to achieve anything against William and all his men.”

“Perhaps not,” replied Bernard, “but that is my—that is
our
—only choice. If we hope to hold onto what we have, we must defeat the king—or at least hold him off until peace can be reached.”

“A peace,” volunteered Mérian, “that will include justice for Elfael and pardon for all those who have fought for what is right.”

“Amnistie royale, oui,”
replied the baron.

“But we risk everything,” Garran pointed out.

“Our only hope of keeping what we have is to risk it all,” agreed Neufmarché.

Garran fell silent, contemplating the enormous jolt his life and reign as king had just taken.

“And that, I suspect,” continued the baron after a moment, “is why the Welsh noblemen have come.”

“Cymry noblemen?” said Mérian. “Here?”

“Mais, oui,”
Neufmarché assured her, “it is the reason I intruded just now. A number of Welsh noblemen have arrived, and are seeking audience with the king. I asked Luc to bid them wait a little because I wanted to speak with my son-in-law first.” He smiled. “So, you see,
c’est fortuit
.”

“Non,”
corrected Mérian,
“l’est la providence.”
She turned to her brother, freshening her appeal in Welsh. “Don’t you see, Garran? Riding to the aid of Elfael
is
the only way. And with the baron’s help we cannot fail.”

The young king was far from convinced, but as client to the baron, he knew he must do whatever his overlord commanded. Still, he sought to put off his consent a little longer. “Perhaps,” he suggested, “before going any further, we should see who has come, and hear what they have to say.”

“They have been brought to the hall,” said Baron Bernard, “and the serving maids instructed to give them refreshment.” He held out his arm to Mérian who, after a slight hesitation, took it. Garran went ahead of them, and the baron followed with Mérian on his arm. As soon as Garran had left the room, the baron turned to her and whispered, “Lady Mérian,” he said, “hear me—we have not much time. I do most humbly beg your pardon, for I have not always had your best interest at heart. I pray your forgiveness, my lady, and vow that in the days ahead I will make every effort to find a way to make up for my past mistakes.”

“You are forgiven, my lord baron,” replied Mérian nicely. “What is more, your determination to aid Bran and Elfael absolves a great many trespasses. I pray now that we are not too late.”

“So pray we all,” replied the baron.

They followed King Garran and his seneschal into the hall, where they found the benches full of strangers. Some of the king’s men had already gathered to host the visitors, and all rose to their feet when the young king appeared.

“My lord king,” said one of the visitors, stepping forward at once, “in the name of Our Saviour Jesus Christ, I give you good greeting. I am Lord Llewelyn of Aberffraw at your service.” He gave a small bow of deference. “I present to you, my lord, King Gruffydd of Gwynedd”—a tall, lean man stepped forward—“and with him, my lord, King Dafydd ap Owain, lord of Snowdon”—a stern-faced battle chief stepped forward and, putting a hand to the hilt of his sword, gave a nod of his head—“and Iestyn ap Gwrgan, king of Gwent.” The last of the great Welsh noblemen stepped forward and made his obeisance to the young king.

“Peace, and welcome to you all,” said Garran, deeply impressed that such renowned men should have come to beg audience with him. “You honour me with your presence, my lords. Please, be seated again, and fill the cups. I am eager to hear what has brought you to Eiwas and to my hall.”

“Lord Garran, if it please you,” said the lanky nobleman called Gruffydd, “I speak for all of us when I say that we are grateful for your friendship and would like nothing more than to sit with you and drink your health and that of your people.” His eyes shifted to the baron and he hesitated for a moment, then continued, “Unfortunately, we cannot partake of that estimable luxury. Time presses. Do not think me rude, therefore, if I decline your hospitality. We are passing through your lands on our way to Elfael.”

“Elfael,” remarked Garran with a glance at his sister, who was quietly translating for Baron Neufmarché. “It does seem to be a busy place of late.”

“I will be brief,” said Gruffydd. “We go to join forces with Bran ap Brychan to aid him in his fight to reclaim the throne of Elfael from the Ffreinc. As God is my witness, Lord Bran has done me a very great service which I can never hope to repay in full. But I go to do what I can. Moreover, it has been borne upon me with some considerable force”—here he glanced at Lord Llewelyn—“that if any of us would be free in our own land, we must all be free. To that end, I have persuaded these lords to join me.” He put out a hand to his august companions and their commanders, who filled the benches at the board. He stepped before Garran to address him more directly. “I would persuade you, too, my lord.” He regarded the young king steadily. “Join us, Rhi Garran. Help us right a great wrong and win justice for Elfael, and all who call Cymru home, against the Ffreinc and their overreaching king.”

One of the lords stepped near to Gruffydd just then and whispered something in his ear. The king of Gwynedd squared himself, turned, and gazed boldly at the baron. “It seems I have spoken too freely,” Gruffydd said. “I am informed that we have a Ffreinc baron among us. Had I known that he was here—”

“Truly,” said Garran, “there is no harm done.” He turned and beckoned the baron and his sister nearer. “My lords, I present Baron Neufmarché, my liege lord, and with him, my sister Lady Mérian.”

“My lord baron,” said Gruffydd in stiff acknowledgement of Neufmarché. His hand went to the sword at his side and stayed there.

“As the baron is my overlord,” Garran continued, “it is well that he has heard your intentions for himself.”

“How so?” said Gruffydd suspiciously.

“For the fact that this was the very course he himself was urging only moments before we joined you here.”

“Mes seigneurs et mes rois,”
said the baron.
“C’est vrai.”
Mérian translated for the Welsh kings, and explained that the baron had defied Red William’s summons and had come to Eiwas instead, and that he and Garran had just been discussing the need to aid the rebels of Elfael in their struggle against the crown. After a quick consultation with Bernard, she concluded, “Baron Neufmarché wishes you to know that he stands willing to pledge his men to the aid of Elfael, and asks only to be taken at his word.”

This provoked a hasty and heated discussion among the Welsh noblemen. Mérian watched as the debate seemed to roll back and forth. It was swiftly over, and the Welsh lords turned to face the baron with their answer. Gruffydd said, “We have argued your offer, Lord Baron, and it is most unexpected, to be sure—but no less welcome for that. We will accept your pledge and thank you for it.”

The baron expressed his gratitude to the Welsh kings for placing their trust in him, and then, through Mérian, asked, “How soon can you be ready to march?”

“We are already on the march,” replied Gruffydd. “Our men are on their way to Elfael even now.”

“Then,” replied the baron, when he had received Gruffydd’s answer, “we must make haste to overtake them. Among my people, it is counted a very great shame for a commander to lead from the rear.”