Having favoured the hounds, they mounted their horses and all rode out to spend the day working the runs-to be followed by a night's drinking and roister in the hall. By the fourth day, Earl Hugh's nightly feasting began to tell on them all-everyone except Bran. Somehow Bran seemed to bear up under the strain of these all-night revels, awaking the next morning none the worse for his excesses. Indeed, Tuck began to think him blessed with the fortitude of Samson himself until he noticed the trick. Friar Tuck-himself an enthusiastic consumer of the earl's good wine and fortifying meat-happened to discover Bran's secret the second night. Bran quaffed as readily as the next man; however, the instant their host's attention wandered elsewhere, quick as a blink Bran's cup dipped below the board and the contents were dashed onto the soiled rushes under their feet. Thereafter, he drank from an empty vessel until it was filled again, and the process was repeated.
From then on, Tuck did the same himself even though it pained him to throw away good drink.
Wolf Hugh himself was ragged and mean of a morning, soreheaded, stinking of stale wine and urine, his eyes red and his nose running as he shuffled from his chambers bellowing for food and drink to drive the demons from head and belly. Still he seemed to possess unusual powers of recovery, and by the time the sun had breached the castle walls, the earl was ready to ride to his hounds once more, steady as a stone and keen for the chase. On the third day, Tuck freely complained that the nightly debauch was too much for him, and begged Bran to let him observe the hunt from the rails of his bed; but Bran insisted that they must go on as they had started. Ifor and Brocmael had youth on their side, and tolerated the revelry, but were increasingly reticent participants. Alan a'Dale fared less well and was laid low of a morning.
On the fourth day, the earl decided to rest the horses and hounds. He had business to attend to with some of his nobles, leaving his guests free to take their ease and amuse themselves as they would. Bran let it be known that he wanted to go into the town and attend the market, and so they did. A hundred paces beyond sight of the castle gate, he gathered his crew around him and said, "You are doing very well, lads. I beg but a little more patience and we are done. We will not abide here much longer."
"How much longer?" asked Alan a'Dale.
"Next time we ride."
"That might be tomorrow," Brocmael pointed out.
Bran nodded. "Then we best make certain everything is ready today."
The two young men glanced at one another. "Do you think the earl will tumble?" Ifor wondered.
"Why not?" replied Bran. "He suspects nothing. If all goes well, we should be far away from here before he learns what has happened…" Regarding the solemn expressions on the faces of his two young comrades, he gave them his slightly twisted smile. "… if he ever learns-and I strongly suspect he never will."
Bran resumed his stroll into the town with Alan at his side, leaving Tuck and the two young lords to reckon what had just been said. "Don't you worry, lads," Tuck said, trying to bank their courage a little higher. "By tomorrow night we'll be well on our way back to Wales with our prize, and beyond the claws and teeth of Wolf d'Avranches."
A short while later they entered a fair-sized market in full cry; merchants shouting for custom, animals bawling, dogs barking. Bran paused and surveyed the comely chaos for a moment. "Good," he said, "there are enough people about that we should not draw undue attention to ourselves. You all know what to do?"
Brocmael and Ifor nodded grimly. Bran opened his purse and fished out a few pennies. "This should be enough," he told them. "We are not clothing him for his coronation, mind."
"We know what to do," said Ifor.
"Then off you go. Return here when you are finished and wait for us."
When they had gone, Bran, Tuck, and Alan commenced their own particular quest. "Have you given any thought to my idea?" asked Bran as they began to stroll among the stalls and booths of the busy market.
"That I have," Tuck replied.
"And?"
"Oh, I think it should work-although I am no dog-handler. It seems a simple enough matter, does it not? We will require a little oil and perhaps an herb or two to mix with it-something strong, but not too offensive. No doubt if Angharad were here she would know better."
"But she is not here, so we look to you now," Bran said. "What do you suggest?"
"Essence of angelica for the oil," Tuck answered after a moment's consideration. "It is light, yet easily stains a cloth. Get it on your skin and it lingers long, even after you wash."
"Excellent! Just the thing," said Bran. He gazed around at the seething crowd of people and animals. "What do you say, Alan? Will we find what we need here?"
"I expect so, my lord. I know of a 'pothecary who comes to market most days."
"And the herbs?" he asked. "What are we looking for?"
"There are several-any one of which will suffice," Tuck mused aloud. "Lavender is strong, but not unpleasant. It is distinctive and not to be mistaken for anything else. There is also thyme, marjoram, or sage. Any of those, I think. Or all of them, come to that."
Bran commended his cleric happily. "Splendid! One day Alan here will laud your native Saxon cunning from one end of this island to the other."
"Lord help us, I don't want to be lauded," Tuck told him. "I'd as soon settle for a month of peace and quiet in my own snug oratory with nary a king or earl in sight." He paused, considering. "I think about that, do I not?" He caught Bran's expression and said, "I do! Sometimes."
Bran shook his head. "Ah, Tuck, my man, you were born for greater things."
"So you say. The world and his wife says different, methinks." The three waded into the busy square and made short work of purchasing the items required. Alan prevailed upon the apothecary to mix the lavender and angelica oil for them, and add in the herbs. This made a fairly sticky concoction with a strong odour which seemed right for the purpose. They also bought a stout hemp bag with a good leather cord to close it, and then wound their way back to meet their two young companions and see how they had fared.
"We bought these," said Brocmael, offering up the bundle of goods they had purchased. "Not new, mind, but good quality." Still looking doubtful, he added, "I would wear them."
"It cost but a penny," Ifor explained. "So we bought a cloak as well." He shook out a hooded cloak and held it up. It was heavy wool of a tight weave, dyed green. It had once been a handsome thing, made perhaps for a nobleman. It was slightly faded now and patched in several places, but well-mended and clean. "No doubt he'd choose a better one," Ifor admitted, looking to Bran for approval, "but needs must, and this is better for hiding."
"He will be glad of it," Bran assured him. "You've done well-both of you. So now"-he looked around with the air of a man about to depart for territories unknown-"I think we are ready at last."
With that, the party began making their way back to the castle. The day had turned fair and bright; the breeze coming inland from the sea was warm and lightly scented with the salt-and-seaweed smell of the bay. They walked along in silence as thoughts turned to the danger of what lay ahead. All at once, Bran stopped and said, "We should not go on this way."
"Which way should we go?" Alan said. "This is the shortest way back to the castle."
"I mean," Bran explained, "it will not do to rouse the wolf in his den."
Tuck puzzled over this a moment, and said, "Dunce that I am, your meaning eludes me, I fear."
"If we return to the caer like this-all long-faced and fretful-it might put the earl on edge. Tonight of all nights we need the wolf to sleep soundly while we work."
"I agree, of course," Tuck replied. "So, pray, what is in your mind?"
"A drink with my friends," Bran said. "Come, Alan, I daresay you know an inn or public house where we can sit together over a jar or two."
"Right you are there, m'lord. I'm the man fer ye!" he declared, lapsing once more into that curious beggar cant he adopted from time to time. "Fret ye not whit nor tiddle, there's ale apl
enty in Caer Cestre. Jist pick up yer feet an' follow Alan."
He turned and led the little group back down the street towards the centre of the town. It is a commonplace among settlements of a certain size that the better alehouses will be found fronting the square so as to attract and serve the buyers and sellers on market days. And although the Normans ruled the town of late, it was still Saxon at heart, which meant, if nothing else, that there would be ale and pies.
Alan pointed out two acceptable alehouses, and they decided on the one that had a few little tables and stools set up outside in the sun. There were barrels stacked up to one side of the doorway, forming a low wall to separate the tables from the bustle of the square. They sat down and soon had jars of sweet dark ale in their fists and a plate of pies to share amongst them.
"I would not insult you by repeating your instructions yet again," Bran said, setting his jar aside. "You all know what to do and need no reminding how important it is." He looked each in the eye as he spoke, one after the other as if to see if there might be a weakening of will to be glimpsed there. "But if any of you have any questions about what is to come, ask them now. It will be the last time we are together until we cross the river."
Bran, mindful of the trust he was placing on such young and untried shoulders, wanted to give the two Welshmen a last opportunity to ease their minds of any burdens they might be carrying. But each returned his gaze with studied determination, and it was clear the group was of one accord and each one ready to play his part to the last. Nor did anyone have any questions… save only their guide and interpreter.
"There is something I've been thinking these last few days, m'lord," Alan said after a slight hesitation, "and maybe now is a good time to ask."
"As good a time as any," agreed Bran. "What is in your mind, Alan?"
"It is this," he said, lowering his eyes to the table as if suddenly embarrassed to speak, "when you leave this place, will you take me with you?"
Bran was silent, watching the man across the table from him. He broke off a bit of crust from a pie and popped it into his mouth. "You want to come with us?" Bran said, keeping his voice light.
"That I do," Alan said. "I know I'm not a fighting man, and of no great account by any books-"
"Who would say a thing like that?" teased Bran.
"I know what I know," insisted Alan seriously. "But I can read and write, and I know good French and English, some Welsh, and a little Latin. I can make myself useful-as I think I've been useful to you till now. I may not be all-"
"If that is what you want," said Bran, breaking into Alan's carefully prepared speech. "You've served us well, Alan, and we could not have come this far without you. If we succeed, we will have you to thank." Bran reached out his hand. "Yes, we'll take you with us when we leave."
Alan stared at Bran's offered hand for a moment, then seized it in his own and shook it vigorously. "You will not be sorry, m'lord. I am your man."
So, the five sat for a while in peace, enjoying the ale and the warmth of the day, talking of this and that-but not another word of what was to come. When they rose a little later to resume their walk back to Castle d'Avranches, it was with lighter hearts than when they had sat down.
They slipped back into the castle and went to their separate quarters to prepare for the next day's activities. That night at supper, Bran baited and set the snare to catch Wolf Hugh.
CHAPTER 18
Ah, there you are!" cried Earl Hugh as his Spanish guests trooped into the hall. With him at the table were several of his courtiers, six or seven of the women he kept, and, new to the proceedings, five Ffreinc noblemen the others had not seen before-large looming, well-fleshed Normans of dour demeanour. Judging from the cut and weave of their short red woollen cloaks, white linen tunics and fine leather boots, curled hair and clean-shaven faces, they were more than likely fresh off the boat from France. Their smiles were tight-almost grimaces-and their eyes kept roaming around the hall as if they could not quite credit their surroundings. Indeed, they gave every appearance of men who had awakened from a pleasant dream to find themselves not in paradise, but in perdition.
"Here's trouble," whispered Bran through his smile. "Not one Norman to fleece, but five more as well. We may have to hold off for tonight."
"No doubt you know best," Tuck said softly; and even as he spoke, an idea sprang full-bloomed into his round Saxon head. "Yet, here may be a godsend staring us dead in the eye."
"What do you see?" Bran said, still smiling at the Ffreinc, who were watching from their places at the board. He motioned Alan and the others to continue on, saying, "Keep your wits about you, everyone-especially you, Alan. Remember, this is why we came." Turning once more to Tuck, he said, "Speak it out, and be quick. What is it?"
"It just came to me that this is like John the Baptiser in Herod's pit."
Bran's mouth turned down in an expression of exasperated incomprehension. "We don't have time for a sermon just now, Friar. If you have something to say-"
"King Gruffydd is John," Tuck whispered. "And Earl Hugh is Herod."
"And who am I, then?"
"It is obvious, is it not?"
"Not to me," Bran muttered. He gestured to the earl as if to beg a moment's grace so that he might confer a little longer.
"Lord bless you." Tuck sighed. "Do you never pay attention when the Holy Writ is read out? Still, I'd have thought some smattering of the tale would have stuck by you."
"Tuck! Tell me quick or shut up," Bran rasped in a strained whisper. "We're being watched."
"You're Solome, of course."
"Refresh my memory."
"The dancing girl!"
Bran gave him a frustrated glare and turned away once more. "Just you be on your guard."
The two approached the board where the earl and his noble visitors were waiting. Alan, standing ready, smiled broadly for the Normans and made an elaborate bow. "My lords, I give you greetings in the name of Count Rexindo of Spain"-he paused so that Bran might make his own gesture of greeting to the assembled lords-"and with him, Lord Galindo and Lord Ramiero"-he paused again as the two young Welshmen bowed-"and Father Balthus, Bishop of Pamplona." Tuck stepped forward and, thinking it appropriate, made the sign of the cross over the table.
"Welcome, friends!" bellowed Earl Hugh, already deeply into his cups. "Sit! Sit and drink with us. Tonight, we are celebrating my good fortune! My lords here"-he gestured vaguely at the five newcomers-"bring word from Normandie, that my brother has died and his estates have passed to me. I am to be a baron. Baron d'Avranches-think of that, eh!"
"My sympathies for the loss of your brother," replied the count.
"He was a rascal and won't be missed or mourned," sniffed the earl. "But he leaves me the family estates, for which I am grateful."
"A fine excuse for a drink, then," remarked Count Rexindo through his able interpreter. "I can think of none better than sudden and unexpected wealth." Bran sent up a silent prayer that none of the earl's new guests could speak Spanish and took his place on the nearest bench; the rest of his company filled in around him. Two of the women-one of whom had been openly preening for the count's attention ever since he stepped across the threshold-brought a jar and some cups. She placed these before Bran, and then bent near to fill them-bending lower and nearer than strictly necessary. The count smiled at her obvious attentions, and gave her a wink for her effort. Such blatant flirtation was shameless as it was bold. But then, Tuck reflected, shame was certainly an oddity in Earl Hugh d'Avranches's court, and quite possibly unknown. Nevertheless, as Bishop Balthus, Tuck felt he should give the brazen woman a stiff frown to show his clerical displeasure; he did so and marked that it did nothing to chasten her. Nor did it prevent her from insinuating herself between him and the handsome count. Oh well, thought Tuck as he slid aside to make room for her, with a toothsome prize in sight folk are blind to all they should beware of-and that has been true since Adam first tasted apple juice.
The jars went round
and round, filling cups and bowls and goblets, and then filling them again. Earl Hugh, in a high and happy mood, called a feast to be laid for this impromptu celebration of his windfall of good fortune. His musicians were summoned, and as the kitchen servants began laying a meal of roast venison on the haunch, loaves of bread, rounds of cheese, and bowls of boiled greens, a gang of rowdy minstrels entered the hall and commenced perpetrating the most awful screech and clatter, pushing an already boisterous gathering into a barely restrained chaos. Tuck viewed the convivial tumult as a very godsend, for it offered a mighty distraction to lull suspicious minds. He glanced around the board at his nearest companions: Alan seemed to be watching the roister in an agony of want as jar after jar passed him by. Yet, Lord bless him, he resisted the temptation to down as many as might be poured, and contented himself with coddling his one small cup; Ifor and Brocmael, true to their duty, resisted the temptation to indulge and passed the jars along without adding anything to their cups.
Bran, as Count Rexindo, on the other hand became more expansive and jolly as the evening drew on. He not only filled his own cup liberally, but was seen to fill others' as well-including those of the earl and the hovering women. Engaging the visiting Norman lords in loud conversation about hunting and fighting and the like-with the aid of Alan's ready tongue-he drew them out of their stony shells and coaxed a laugh a time or two. Therefore, no one was the least surprised when he rose from his seat and hoisted his cup high and announced, again through Alan, "I drink to our esteemed and honoured host! Who is with me?"
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