Scarlet

CHAPTER 24

What did she say?" demands Brother Odo as he bustles breathless into my cell. He is that much like an overgrown puppy-all feet and foolish fervour-it makes me smile.

It seems to me that my dull but amiable scribe is as much a prisoner of Abbot Hugo's devices as Will Scarlet ever was. Here he sits most days, scribbling away in this dim, dank pit with its mud and mildew, the reek of piss and stagnant water in his nostrils, dutifully fulfilling his office, never complaining. What an odd friendship has grown between us. I wonder what it can hold, yes, and how much it can bear.

"God with you this morning, Odo," I reply.

He settles himself in his place, the short plank balanced on his knees, and begins paring a new quill. "What did she say?"

"Who?"

"Merian!" he shrieks, impatience making his soft voice shrill as an old fishwife's. "You remember-do not pretend otherwise. We were talking about King Raven's council."

"Soup and sausages," I sigh, shaking my head in weary dismay. "Are you certain that's what we were talking about? I must have slept the memory right out of my head. I have no recollection of it at all."

"I remember!" he cries. "Lord Bran called a council, and Merian volunteered a plan she had devised."

"Yes? Go on," I urge him. "What next?"

"But that's all I know," he cries. He is that close to throwing his inkhorn at me. "That is where you stopped. You must remember what happened next."

"Peace, Odo," I say, trying to placate him. "All is not lost. Remind me of what you have written, and we'll see soon enough if that stirs the pot."

Odo busies himself with unrolling his scrap of parchment and unstopping his inkhorn.

"Read it out," I say, as he smoothes the sheepskin beneath his podgy palms. "Perhaps that will help me remember."

He begins, and I hear once again how he nips and crimps my words, giving them all a monkish cast. He bleeds them dry, and makes them all grey and damp like the greenwood in the grip of November. Still and all, he gets the gist of it, and renders my ramblings rather more agreeable than many would find them.

What his high-nosed infernal majesty Abbot Hugo makes of all this, I cannot say.

"… the captive Lady Merian begged leave to reveal a plan she had made. The rebels fell silent to hear what she would say…" He stops here and looks up expectantly. "That is where we ended for the night."

"If you say," I tell him, shaking my head slowly. It is all I can do to keep from laughing. "But my head is a cup scoured clean this morning."

Odo makes a face and grinds his teeth in frustration. "Well, then, what do you remember?"

"I remember something…" I pause and reflect a little. Ah, yes, how well I remember. "See now, monk, when the council finished I returned to Noin's hut," I tell him, and we go on… Noin was not in her hut when I returned, nor was Nia. The council had taken the whole of the morning, and they had gone out to do some chores; so I went along to find them and lend a hand. The snow still lay deep over our ragtag little settlement, and the day, though bright, was cold. Many of King Raven's rag-feathered flock were at work chopping and splitting wood for the many hearth fires needed to keep warm. I could hear their voices sharp in the crisp air, chirping like birds as they toiled to fill their baskets and drag bundles of cut wood back to their huts. I saw this now, as I had seen such work countless times since coming to Cel Craidd, but this time something had changed.

Maybe it was only ol' Will Scarlet himself, but I did see the place in a different way, and did not much like what I saw. It put me in an edgy, uneasy mood, and I did not know why. Perhaps it was only to do with the bad news I had just now to deliver.

Oh, it was that, to be sure, but perhaps there was something else as well.

Even so, thinking to make the bitter draught a little easier to swallow, I put a big smile on my face and tried to take cheer in the sight of my beloved. But my heart was weighty and cold as a stone in a mountain stream. I saw Noin bending low to pick up a split branch, and thought how I would love nothing more than to carry her away this instant to leave this place and its demands and duties, to flee far away from the bastard Normans and their overbearing ways. Alas, there was no longer such a place in all Britain. It made me sad and angry and disappointed and frustrated all at the same time, because I did not know what to do about it and feared nothing could be done.

I gathered my thoughts and, swallowing my disappointment, strode to where Noin was working. "Here, my love," I said, "let me carry that basket for you. Heap it high now, so you won't have to fetch any more today."

She stood and turned with a smile. "Ah, Will," she began, then saw something in my face I was not able to hide. "What is it, love?"

She looked at me with such tender concern, how could I tell her?

"The council has decided…," I said, hearing my voice as from the bottom of a well. "We have come to a decision."

Noin's smile faded; she grew sombre. "Well, what is it,Will? Speak it out."

I bent my head. "I have to leave again."

"Is that all?" She fairly shouted with relief. "Mother Mary, I was afraid it was serious."

"I thought you would be unhappy."

"Oh, I am right enough," she replied, balling her fist on her hip. "But I would be more unhappy if I thought you had changed your mind about marrying."

"But I do want to marry you, Noin. I do."

"Then all is well between us." She turned as if to go back to her work, but paused. "When do you go?"

"As soon as all can be made ready," I said.

"Go, then and help them see it through. We will fare as best we can while you are away," she said, lifting a hand to my face, "and count the days until your return."

"I will bring our friar back with me if I have to carry him on my back, and we will be wed the day I return." This I told her, kissing the palm of her hand. We talked about our wedding day and the plans I had to build her a new house on my return-with a big bed, a table, and two chairs.

So it was, the five of us were set to leave the next morning: Friar Tuck and myself; Bran, of course; Iwan, because we could use another pair of hands and eyes on the road; Merian because the plan was her idea entire, and she would in no wise stay behind in any event.

However, this notion was not without difficulties of its own and, though I was loath to do it, the chore fell to me to point this out. "Forgive me, my lord, if I speak above myself," I began, "but is it wise for a hostage-begging your pardon, my lady-to… well, to be allowed to enter into affairs of such delicacy?"

"You doubt my loyalty?" challenged Merian, dark eyes all akindle with quick anger. "I thought I knew you better, William Scatlocke."

"I do heartily beg your pardon, Lady," I said, raising my hands as if to fend off blows of her fists. "I only meant-"

"Here's the pot calling the kettle black!" she fumed. "That is rich indeed, my friend!"

Siarles smiled to see me handed my head so skilfully. But Bran waded into the clash. "Merian, peace. Will is right."

"Right!" she snapped. "He is a fool, and so are you if you believe for even one heartbeat that I would ever do anything to endanger-"

"Peace, woman!" Bran said, shouting down her objection. "If you would listen for a moment, you would consider that Will has raised a fair point."

"It is not," she sniffed. "It is silly and insulting-I don't know which the more."

"No, it is neither." Bran shook his head. "It goes to the heart of things between us. The time has come for you to decide, Merian Fair."

"Decide what?" she asked, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Are you a hostage, or are you one of us?"

She frowned. "You tell me, Bran ap Brychan. What am I to you?"

"You know that right well. I would call you queen if you would but hear it."

Her frown deepened, and a crease appeared between her brows. She was caught on the thorns this time, no mistake-and she knew it. "See here!" she snapped. "Do not think to make this about that."

"Say what you will, my lady. It comes 'round to the same place in the end-either you stand with us, join us in heart and spirit or…"

"Or?" she replied, haughty in her indignation. "Or what will you do?"

"Or you must stay here like a good little hostage," Bran replied, "while we enact your plan."

"That I will not do," she snipped.

"Then?"

Those of us who stood 'round about found other places to look just then, so as not to be drawn into what had become the latest clash in a royal battle of tempers and wills.

Merian glared at Bran. She did not like having her loyalty questioned, but even she could see the problem now.

"What will you do?" Bran pressed. "We are waiting."

"Oh, very well!" she fumed, giving in. "I will forswear my captivity and pledge fealty to you, Bran ap Brychan-but I'll not marry you." She smiled with sour sweetness at the rest of us. "There! Are we all happy now?"

"I accept your pledge," replied Bran, "and release you from your captivity."

"Then I can go with you?" inquired Merian, just to make sure.

"My lady, you are a free woman," granted Bran gently, and I could see how much the words cost him. "You can go with us, or you can simply go. Should you choose to stay, you will be in danger-as you already know."

"I am not afraid," she declared. "It is my plan, remember, and I will not have any clod-footed men mucking it up."

She was not finished yet, for as we gathered to depart, Merian spied a woman named Cinnia, a slender, dark-eyed young widow a few years older than herself, Merian's favourite amongst the forest dwellers-another of the Norman-widowed brides of which there were so many. My lady asked Cinnia to join us. She would serve as a companion for Merian, who explained, "A woman of rank would never travel alone in the company of men. The Ffreinc understand this. Cinnia will be my handmaid."

We loaded our supplies and weapons-longbows and sheaves of arrows rolled in deer hides-onto two packhorses. When we were at last ready to depart, Tuck said a prayer for the success of our journey, although he could have no idea what he was praying. Thus blessed, we took our leave. Angharad was still gone, so Tomas and Rhoddi were charged with keeping watch over Cel Craidd and Elfael while Lord Bran was away, and to reach us with a warning if the sheriff got up to anything nasty.

Thus, on a splendid winter's day, we rode out to beard the sleeping lion in his den. What is that, Odo? I have not told what we planned to do?" My weak-eyed scribe thinks I have skipped too lightly over this important detail. "All in good time," I tell him. "Patience is also a virtue, impetuous monk. You should try it."

He moans and sighs, rolls his eyes and dips his pen, and we go on…