"The Ffreinc would trust the baron," Merian said.
"They might, but could we?" wondered Scarlet.
"Have you forgotten Neufmarche tried to kill me last time I went to him for help?" said Bran. "If it is all the same to you, I'd rather not give him another chance."
Merian frowned. "That was unfortunate."
"Unfortunate!" cried Bran. "Woman, the man is a two-faced Judas. He betrayed me outright. Indeed, he betrayed us both. Your own life was none too secure, if you'll recall."
"What you say is true," she conceded. "I'll not argue. Still, he is a Ffreinc nobleman and if-together with my father, of course-we could convince him that it was in his own best interest to help us, I know he'd agree."
"Oh, he'd agree," Bran retorted, "agree to help empty Elfael of his rivals so he could have it all to himself. We'd just be exchanging one tyrant for an even bigger, more powerful tyrant." Bran gave a sharp chop of his hand, dismissing the suggestion. "No. If the Ffreinc require assurance that we will hold to our word, we will appeal to Abbot Daffyd to swear for us and they will have to accept that." He sat back down. "Now then, what do we want Tuck to tell them?"
They fell to discussing the substance of the message and soon hammered out a simple, straightforward appeal to meet and discuss the proposed offer of peace. By the time Siarles came to say that the horse was ready, the Ffreinc scribe, Odo, had schooled and corrected Tuck's creaky Latin so there would be no mistake. "I have some of the Norman tongue too," Tuck pointed out in French. "Picked up a fair bit in my years in Hereford."
"Not enough, God knows," snipped Odo.
"I understand far more than I can speak," said Tuck.
"Even so," allowed the scribe, "it is not what you understand that will lead you to difficulty, but what you are likely to say."
"Perhaps you should come with me, then," suggested Tuck. "To keep a poor friar from stumbling over the rocky places."
The colour drained from the already pasty face of the young cleric.
"I thought not," replied Tuck. "'Tis better I go alone."
"Ah!" said Odo. "I will write it down for you so the abbot can read it for himself if you go astray." He bustled off to find his writing utensils and a scrap of something to carry the ink.
"All is well?" asked Bran, seeing the scribe depart on the run.
"Right as rain in merry May," replied Tuck. "Odo is going to write it for me so if all else fails I have something to push under the abbot's nose."
"Scarlet is right-this is dangerous. Hugo could seize you and have you hung, or worse. You don't have to go. We can find another way to get a message through."
"The Lord is my shield and defender," replied Tuck. "Of whom shall I be afraid?"
"Well then," Bran concluded, "God with you, Tuck. Siarles and I will see you to the edge of the forest at least."
A short while later, the would-be peacemakers paused at the place where the King's Road crossed the ford and started down into the valley. Bran and Siarles were each armed with a bow and bag of arrows, and Tuck carried a new-made quarterstaff. In the distance they could see Caer Cadarn on its hump of rock, guarding the Vale of Elfael. "I do not expect the abbot will have let the fortress stand abandoned for long," Bran surmised. "He would have moved men into it as soon as Count Falkes had gone."
"If any should see me, they will only see a poor fat friar on a skinny horse making for town-nothing to alarm anyone."
"And if they should take exception and stop you?" asked Siarles.
"I will tell them I bring a word of greeting and hope to Abbot Hugo," replied Tuck. "And that is God's own truth."
"Then off with you," said Bran, "and hurry back. We'll wait for you here."
It took Tuck longer to reach the town than he had reckoned, and the sun was already beginning its descent as he entered the market square-all but empty, with only a few folk about and no soldiers that he could see. Always before there had been soldiers. Indeed, the town had a tired, deserted air about it. He tied his mount to an iron ring set in a wall, drew a deep breath, hitched up his robe, and strode boldly across the square to stand before the whitewashed walls of the abbey. He pounded on the timber door with the flat of his hand and waited. A few moments later, the door opened, and the white-haired old porter peered out.
"Nous avons un message pour l'abbe," Tuck intoned politely. "Prier, l'amene tout de suite."
Brother porter ducked his head respectfully and hurried away.
"Thank you, Lord," said Tuck, breathing a sigh of relief to have passed the first test.
Tuck waited, growing more and more uneasy with each passing moment. Finally, the door in the abbey gate opened once more and the porter beckoned him to come inside, where he was led across the yard to the abbot's lodge. A few of the monks stopped to stare as he passed-perhaps, thought Tuck, recognizing him from their previous encounter in King William's yard not too many days ago.
Once inside, he was conducted through a dark corridor and brought to stand before a panelled door. The porter knocked and received the summons to enter. He pushed open the door and indicated that Tuck should go in.
The abbot was standing over a table on which was spread a simple supper. He was spearing a piece of cheese with a long fork as Tuck entered. Glancing up, Hugo stopped, his mouth agape. Then, collecting himself, he said in a low voice, "Vous devez etre fou. Venir ici comme ceci. Que voulez-vous?"
Tuck understood this to mean that the abbot thought he must be insane to come there, and demanded to know what he wanted.
At this, Tuck, speaking in measured tones and with many haltings as he searched for the words, began his prepared speech. He appealed to Abbot Hugo as a brother in their common calling as priests of the church, and thanked the abbot for allowing him to speak. He then said that he had come with an offer of peace from the forest-dwellers. When words began to fail, he took out the little scrap of parchment Odo had prepared for him, listing the central stipulations of the plan. The abbot's face grew red as he listened, but he held his tongue. Tuck concluded, saying, "You have until midday tomorrow to give your answer. If you accept Bran's offer, you will ring the abbey bell nine times-three peals of three. Then, come to the edge of the forest, where you will be told what to do next. Do you understand?"
To which the abbot replied, "I do not know which offends me the more-your uncouth speech or the crudeness of your appearance." He waved a hand in front of his nose. "You smell worse than a stable hound."
Tuck bore the insult with a smile. He'd not expected an easy ride through enemy territory. "But you understand what I am saying?"
"Oh, I understand," confirmed Hugo. "However, I fail to see why I should dignify this ridiculous idea of sharing the governance of Elfael with a vile outlaw and rebel."
"Bran ap Brychan is neither outlaw nor rebel," Tuck replied evenly, hoping he had got the words right. "In truth, his family has ruled this realm for a hundred years or more. If you agree, you would be sharing the dominion of the cantref with the rightful heir to the throne of Elfael, who-no fault of his own-has been deprived of his kingship."
"And if I do not agree?"
"Then there will be a bloody price to pay."
"Is that supposed to frighten me?" asked Hugo, arching an eyebrow. "If so, forgive me if I refuse to take this threat of retribution seriously. It seems to me that if your Lord Bran could take this town by force, he would have done so long ere now, no?"
"He is giving you one last chance," said Tuck.
"One last chance."
"Yes, Abbot-this is the last and best chance you will receive."
"So, I am supposed to simply abandon the town and fortress to the outlaws and imprison myself in the abbey here-is that it?"
"You would not be held captive," said Tuck, struggling to make himself understood. "Bran would rule the realm as a liegeman of the king, and you would support him in this and… ah, confine… your activities to the work of the abbey."
"Non!" roared the abbot, throwing down the long
-handled fork. "C'est impossible! The king has given me Elfael to rule as I see fit. I will in no wise share the governance of this realm with a low brigand." Hugo leaned on the table with his fists, his anger mounting. "I may not have enough men to drive your King Raven from his forest perch, but if he has the might to defeat me, then let him try."
Tuck stared at the abbot, his mind whirling as he tried to decipher this last outburst. "But you will consider the offer?"
"I think our talk is finished." The abbot made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "You may go, but if you ever come here again I will have you arrested to stand trial as a traitor to the crown. You can tell your friends that if I ever catch you or any of them your lives are forfeit."
Tuck stiffened at the insult. "I came here in good faith, Abbot, as a Christian priest. Even so, I don't expect you'll see me again."
"Out!"
"I am going," Tuck said, stepping towards the door. "But I urge you to seriously consider the offer of peace-pray, discuss it with your marshal and the sheriff. You have until midday tomorrow to decide, and if you accept-"
"Porter!" shouted the abbot. "Take this man away!"
Outside once more, Tuck returned to his mount, untied it, and heaved himself up into the saddle. As he lifted the reins he cast a backward look at the abbey and saw a monk flitting along the front of the church towards the guard tower.
He did not linger, but departed quickly lest the abbot betray his word and arrest him. He urged his mount to a trot and left the town, hastening back to the forest with the curious sensation that he had been given a valuable prize but could not remember what it was-something Abbot Hugo had said… but what?
In any event, he was satisfied that, as a priest of the church, he had done his duty. "Blessed are the peacemakers," he murmured to himself. "And the Good Lord help us all."
CHAPTER 6
Saint Martin's
As long as those outlaws hold the King's Road,"complained Marshal Guy, swirling the wine in his cup, "nothing enters or leaves the forest without their notice. We lost good men in that ill-advised attack at Winchester and-"
"You need not whip that dead horse any longer, Marshal,"growled Abbot Hugo, slamming down the pewter jar. Wine splashed out and spattered the table linen, leaving a deep crimson stain. "I am only too aware of the price we are paying to maintain this accursed realm."
"My point, Abbot, was that without hope of raising any more soldiers, the cantref is lost already. Sooner or later, the rogues will discover how few men we have, and when they do, they will attack and we will not be able to repel them. That, or they will simply wear us down. Either way, they win."
"Possibly." Hugo shook the wine from his hand, raised his cup, and drank.
"Their Raven King has made us an offer of peace-take it, I say, and let us be done with this godforsaken realm. I wish to heaven I'd never heard of it."
"Be that as it may," Hugo said, staring into his cup, "King William has given the governance of the realm to me, and I will not suffer that ridiculous King Raven and his scabrous minions to hold sway over it. They will be defeated."
"Have you heard a single word I've said?"
"I heard, Marshal, but I do not think you understand the depth of my resolve. For I propose we root out King Raven and his brood for once and all."
"Then just you tell me how do you propose we do that?" Guy de Gysburne glared at the abbot, daring him to put up something that could not be knocked down with a single blow. "As many times as we have gone against them, we have been forced to retreat. Swords and spears are no use against those infernal longbows because we cannot get close enough to use them. Pitched battle is no good: they will not stand and fight. They hide in the woods where our horses cannot go. They know the land hereabouts far better than we do, so they can sit back and slaughter us at will."
Abbot Hugo was in no mood to listen to yet another litany of Guy's complaints. They never advanced the cause and always fell back on the tired observation that unless they found a powerful patron to supply men and weapons, and provisions, the realm would fall. The battle in the grove had cost them more than either one of them cared to contemplate-though Guy had not allowed anyone within hearing distance to forget it. Of the thirty-three knights and men-at-arms left to them after the departure of the exiled Baron de Braose, only twenty-one remained. And Elfael, nestled in its valley and surrounded by forest on three sides, was far too vulnerable to the predation of Bran and his outlaw band, who had proven time and again that they could come and go as they pleased.
"If we cannot get to them," replied Hugo, adopting a more conciliatory air, "then we will bring the so-called Raven and his flock to us."
"Easier said than done," muttered Guy. "Our Raven is a canny bird. Not easy to trick, not easy to catch."
"Nor am I an adversary easily defeated." Hugo raised his cup to his mouth and took a deep draught before continuing. "Simply put, we will entice them, draw them out into the open where they cannot attack us from behind trees and such. Their bows will be no good to them at close quarters."
Guy stared at the abbot in amazement and shook his head. "The forest is their fortress. They will not leave it-not for any enticement you might offer."
"But I need offer nothing," the abbot remarked. "Don't you see?
They have outwitted themselves this time. Under pretence of accepting the peace, we will lure them into the open. Once they have shown themselves, we will slice them to ribbons."
"Just like that?" scoffed the marshal, shaking his head.
"If you have a better plan, let us hear it," snapped the abbot.
Growing weary of arguing with Gysburne at every turn, he decided to end the discussion. "Count Falkes was no match for the Welsh, as we all know. He paid the price for his mistakes and he is gone. I rule here now, and our enemies will find in me a more ruthless and cunning adversary than that de Braose ninny."
Clearly, they had reached an impasse, and Marshal Guy could think of nothing more to say. So he simply dashed the wine from his cup and took his leave.
"If all goes well, Marshal," said the abbot as Guy reached the door, "we will have that viper's nest cleaned out in three days' time."
How very optimistic," observed Sheriff de Glanville when the marshal told him what the abbot had said. "So far, in all our encounters with these brigands, we've always come off the worse-while they get away with neither scratch nor scrape."
"Putting more men in the field only gives them more targets for their accursed arrows," Guy pointed out.
"Precisely," granted the sheriff. He removed the leather hood from his falcon and blew gently on the bird's sleek head. With his free hand he picked up a gobbet of raw meat from a bowl on the table and flipped it to the keen-eyed bird on his glove. "Still, the abbot has a point-we might fare better if we could lure the outlaws from the wood. Have you any idea what the abbot has planned?"
"The outlaws have sent a message offering a truce of some kind."
"Have they indeed?"
"They have," confirmed Gysburne, "and the abbot thinks to use that to draw them out. He didn't say how it would be done."
The sheriff lifted a finger and gently stroked the falcon's head. "Well, I suppose there is no point in trying to guess what goes on in our devious abbot's mind. I have no doubt he'll tell us as soon as he is ready."
They did not have long to wait. At sundown, just after compline, the abbot summoned his two commanders to his private chambers, where he put forth his plan to rid the realm of King Raven and his flock.
"When the abbey bell goes," Abbot Hugo explained for the third time. "I want everyone in place. We don't know-"
"We don't know how many will come, so we must be ready for anything," grumbled Marshal Gysburne irritably. "For the love of Peter, there is no need to hammer us over the head with it."
The abbot arched an eyebrow. "If I desire to lay stress upon the readiness-or lack of it-of your men," he replied tartly, "be assured that I think it necessary."
Marshal Guy flinched at the insinuation. "You weren't there, Sheriff. Were you? Were you there?"
"You know very well that I was not."
"Then I will thank you to shut your stinking mouth. You don't know a thing about what happened that day."
"Au contraire, mon ami," answered de Glanville with a cold, superior smile. "I know that you left eight good knights in that grove, and four more along the way. Twelve men died as a result, and we are no closer to ridding ourselves of these outlaws than we ever were."
The marshal regarded the sheriff from beneath lowered brows. "You smug swine," he muttered. "You dare sit in judgement of me?"
"Judge you?" inquired de Glanville innocently. "I merely state a fact. If that stings, then perhaps-"
"Enough!" said Abbot Hugo, slapping the arm of his chair with his palm. "Save your spite for the enemy."
Sheriff de Glanville gave the abbot a curt nod and said, "Forgive me, Abbot. As I was about to say, we will never have a better chance to take the enemy unawares. If the outlaws escape into the forest, it will be just like the massacre in the grove. We cannot allow that to happen. This is, I fear, our last best chance to take them. We must succeed this time, or all is lost."
"I agree, of course," replied the abbot. "That goes without saying."
"I beg your pardon, Abbot," remarked the sheriff, "but in matters of war, nothing ever goes without saying."
"Well then," sniffed Gysburne, "we have no worries there. You've seen to that-most abundantly."
"Get out of here-both of you," said the abbot. Rising abruptly, he flapped his hands at them as if driving away bothersome birds. "Go on. Just remember, I want you to have your men ready to attack the moment I draw the rogues out of hiding. And strike swiftly. I will not be made to stand waiting out there alone."
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