Scarlet

CHAPTER 45

Noin and I spent the rest of the summer luxuriating in one another's love, and talking, talking, talking. Like two blackbirds sitting on a fence we filled the air morning to night with our chatter. She told me all the greenwood gossip-all the doings large and small that filled the days we were apart. I told her of my captivity and passing the time with Odo scribbling down my ramblings. "I should like to read that," Noin said, then smiled. "That alone would make it worth learning to read."

"Odo tells me that reading is not so difficult," I explained, "but the only things written are either for lawyers or priests, and not at all of interest to plain folk like you and me."

"I should like it all the same," Noin insisted.

As the days passed, I considered making good on my promise to build my wife and daughter a new house. I found a nice spot on a bit of higher ground at one end of Cel Craidd, and marked out the dimensions on the ground with sticks. I then went to our Lord Bran to beg his permission to clear the ground and cut a few limbs of stout oak for the roof beam, lintel, and corner posts.

"Why build a house?" he asked, holding his head to one side as if he couldn't understand. Before I could point out that I had promised it to my bride, and that her own small hut was a bit too snug for three or more he added, "We will be gone from here come Michaelmas."

"I know, but I promised Noin-" I began.

"Come hunting with us instead," Bran said. "We've missed you on the trails."

My broken fingers were slowly healing, but as my usefulness with a bow was still limited, I served mainly to beat the bushes for game. "Don't worry," Siarles told me after that first time we went out. "You'll be drawing like a champion again in no time. Rest those fingers while you can."

In this, he was a prophet, no mistake. I did not know it then, but would have cause to remember his words in times to come.

Thus, the summer slowly dwindled down and golden autumn arrived. I began counting the days to Michaelmas and the time of leaving we called the Day of Judgement. Bran and Angharad held close counsel and determined that we would go with as many of the Grellon as could be spared, leaving behind only those who could not make the journey and a few men to protect them. We would go to Caer Wintan-known to the English as Winchester-and receive the king's decision on the return of our lands. "The king must see the people who depend on his judgement for their lives," Angharad said. "We must travel together and stand before him together."

"What if he will not see us all in a herd?" wondered Iwan when he learned this.

"He will speak to all, or none," Bran replied, "for then he will judge what is right and for the good of all, and not for me only."

The next day, Bran sent Siarles with an extra horse to Saint Dyfrig's Abbey to fetch Brother Jago, and twelve days before the Feast of Saint Michael, we set off. It is no easy thing to keep so many people moving, I can tell you. We were thirty folk in all, counting young ones. We went on foot, for the most part; the horses were used to carry provisions and supplies. None of us rode save Angharad, for whom the walk would have been far too demanding. Her old bones would not have lasted the journey, I believe, for it is a fair distance to Caer Wintan from Elfael.

The weather stayed good-warm days, nights cool and dry. We camped wherever we would; with that many people and enough of them bearing longbows, we had no great fear of being harassed by Englishmen or Normans either one. The only real danger was that we would not reach Caer Wintan in time, for as the days of travel drew on, the miles began to tell and the people grew weary and had to rest more often. We moved more slowly than Bran had reckoned. "Do not worry," counselled Friar Tuck. "You can always take a few with you and ride ahead, can you not? You will get there in time, never fear."

Bran rejected this notion outright. We would arrive together each and every last one, he said, or we would not arrive at all. It was for the people we were doing this, he said, so the king must look into the eyes of those for whom his judgement is life or death. There was nothing for it but that we would simply have to travel more quickly.

That night he gathered us all and told us again why we were going to see the king and what it meant. He explained how it was of vital importance that we should arrive in good time, saying, "King William must have no grievance against us, nor any cause to change his mind. We must endure the hardships of the road, my friends, for what we do we do not for ourselves alone, but for the sake of all those in Elfael who cannot join us. We do it for the farmers who have been driven from their fields, and families from their homes; for the widows who have lost their men, and those who stood in the shadow of the gallows. We do it for all who have been made to labour on the baron's hateful strongholds and town, for those who have fled into bleak and friendless exile. We do it for those who will come after us to help shoulder the burden of reclaiming that which we have lost to the enemy. Yes, and for all who have gone before us we do this, theirs the sacrifice, ours the gain." He gazed at all of those clustered around him, holding their eyes with his. "We do not do this for ourselves alone, but for all who have suffered under the oppression of the Ffreinc."

Thus he braced our flagging spirits, speaking words of encouragement and hope. The next day, he became tireless in urging each and every one of us to hasten our steps; and when anyone was seen to be dragging behind, he hurried to help that one. Sometimes he seemed to be everywhere at once-now at the front of the long line of travellers, now at the rear among the stragglers. He did all this with endless good humour, telling one and all to think what it would be like to be free in our own lands and secure in our own homes once more.

The next day he did the same, and the next. He coaxed and cajoled until he grew hoarse, and then Friar Tuck took over, leading our footsore flock in songs. When we ran out of those, he started in on hymns, and little by little, all the urging and singing finally took hold. We walked easier and with lighter hearts. The miles fell behind us at a quicker pace until at last we reached the low, lumpy hills of the southlands.

Caer Wintan was a thriving market town, helped, no doubt, by the presence of the royal residence nearby. Not wishing to risk trouble, we skirted the town and did not draw attention to ourselves beyond sending Tuck and a few men to buy fresh provisions.

We arrived with a day to spare and camped within sight of the king's stronghold-an old English hunting lodge that had once belonged to an earl or duke, I suppose. It was the place where Red William spent those few days he was not racing here or there to shore up his sagging kingdom in one place or another. It reminded me of Aelred's manor, my old earl's house, but with two long wings enclosing a bare dirt yard in front of the black-and-white half-timbered hall. The only defence for the place was a wooden palisade with a porter's hut beside the timber gate.

With a day to spare, we spent it washing our clothes and bathing, ridding ourselves of the road and making ourselves ready to attend the king. At sunrise on the third day after Saint Michael's Day, we rose and broke fast; then, laundered and brushed, washed and combed, we walked to the king's house with Bran in the lead, followed by Angharad leaning on her staff and, beside her, Iwan, holding his bow and a sheaf of arrows at his belt. Siarles and Merian came next, and then the rest of us in a long double rank. I carried Nia and walked with Noin; as we passed through the gate, I felt her slip her hand into mine and give it a squeeze. "I am glad to be here today," she murmured. "I will remember it always."

"Me, too," I whispered. "It is a great day, this, and right worthy to be remembered."

We assembled in the king's yard, and Bran had just asked Brother Jago to inform the king's porter that we had come in answer to the king's summons as commanded and were awaiting his pleasure, when who should appear but Count Falkes de Braose and Abbot Hugo, accompanied by Marshal Guy de Gysburne and no fewer than fifteen knights. They swept in through the gates, heedless of our folk, who had to scatter to let them through.

One look at our straggled lot, and the Ffreinc drew their swords. Our own men set arrows on their strings and took a mark. We all stared at one another, eyes hard, faces grim, until Count Falkes broke the silence. "Bran ap Brychan," intoned the count in his high nasal voice, "Et tous vos compatriotes foule. Qu'une surprise desagreable!"

Brother Jago, taking his place at Bran's shoulder, whispered the count's greeting in our lord's ear. I needed no translation to know that he had insulted Bran by calling us all "filthy countrymen" and a "disagreeable surprise."

"Count Falkes, your arrival is as untimely as it is unwelcome," replied Bran lightly. "What are you doing here?"

"One could ask the same of you," countered Falkes. "I thought you were dead."

"I am as you see me," returned Bran. "But it would seem you still irk the earth with your presence. I asked why you have come."

Marshal Gysburne muttered an oath at this reply when Jago had delivered it, and several other knights spat at us. I saw a flicker of anger flit across the count's face, but his reply was restrained. "We are obeying the king's summons. I cannot think you are here by accident."

"We likewise have been summoned," returned Bran. "Therefore, let us resolve to hold the peace between us for at least as long as we must stand before the king."

With some reluctance, it seemed to me, Count Falkes agreed, although he really had no better choice. Starting a battle in the king's yard would have gained him little and cost him much. "Very well," he said at last. "We will keep the peace insofar as you keep your rabble subdued."

I could not tell how much the count knew about our Bran and his busy doings-very little, I guessed, for his remark about Bran having been killed seemed to signify that Falkes did not recognise Bran as Father Dominic, or as King Raven, either. I thought the whole contest would be over once he recognised me, though, but after bandying words with Bran, he feigned disinterest in us and turned his face away, as if we were beneath his regard. I suppose I appeared just a married man with a child in his arms and a wife by his side.

So now, an uneasy truce was established-but it was that thin, I can tell you, a single lance point or arrow tip could have pierced it anywhere along the line. We waited there in the yard, wary and watching one another. Noin, bless her, stood with her head high and shoulders straight, returning the glare of the marshal and his hard-eyed knights, and little Nia found a pile of pebbles to keep her busy, moving them from one place to another and singing to them all the while.

When it seemed that we must all snap under the strain, the great oak-and-iron door of the king's royal residence opened and out stepped the king's man, accompanied by two other household servants. "His Majesty the king has been informed of your arrival," he announced in good English. "He begs the boon of your patience and will give audience as soon as may be." Taking in the horde of Welshmen standing with Bran in the yard, he added, "It will not be possible for all of you to enter. The hall is not large enough. You must choose representatives to attend you; the rest will wait here."

When Jago had relayed these words to our lord, Bran replied, "With respect, as the king's judgement will serve all my people, we will hear it together. Perhaps the king will not mind delivering his decision to us here as we wait so patiently."

The fella made no answer, but simply bent his head, turned on his heel, and scuttled back inside. "All stand together," sneered Count Falkes. "How very Welsh." The word was a slur in his mouth.

"All hang together, too," observed Abbot Hugo. His eye fell on me just then, and recognition came to him. His ruddy face froze. "You there!" he shouted. "Hold up your hands."

"Don't do it, Will," warned Bran, glancing quickly over his shoulder. "He may suspect, but we need not feed his suspicion."

I stood my ground, silently returning his gaze, but I kept my hands well out of the Black Abbot's sight. It was then I saw Odo, sitting most uncomfortably on the back of a brown mare. He saw me, too, knew me, and-bless him-held his tongue. He would not betray me to his masters.

"I say!" cried the abbot, growing angry. "Order your man to show me his hands."

"As he is my man," said Bran, "he is mine to command. I will make no such demand."

"By the Virgin, it is him," insisted the abbot.

"What are you talking about?" wondered Count Falkes.

"The prisoner!" cried Hugo, jabbing his finger at me. "Scatlocke-the one they called Scarlet. That is him, I tell you!"

Count Falkes turned his gaze my way and studied me for a moment. "No," he decided. "That is not the man." No doubt my haircut and shave, and change of clothes and fleshing out a little on my wife's good cooking, had changed me enough to make them just that little uncertain.

"It is him," put in Gysburne. He looked at Bran and concluded, "And the last time we saw that one, he gave his name as Father Dominic. I would swear to it." He gazed at the rest of us, his eyes passing back and forth along the ranks. "By the rood, they're all here!" He pointed at Iwan. "I know I've seen that one before. I know it."

"You are imagining things," remarked the count. "They all look alike anyway, these Welsh."

"Say nothing," advised Angharad, speaking mostly to Bran, but to the rest of us as well. "Let them think what they will-it no longer matters what they say. Let them rail. We will not stoop to satisfy their accusations."

So Bran ignored the Ffreinc taunts and finger-pointing which continued to be cast at him and some of the rest of us; instead, he and Angharad turned their faces to the ironbound door and waited. The sun rose slowly higher, and still we waited, growing warm beneath the bright autumn rays. Some of the Ffreinc grew tired of waiting in the saddle and, sheathing their weapons, climbed down from their horses. Others led their mounts away to water them. Most, however, remained to glare and frown and mutter curses at us. But that is the worst of what they did, and we braved it in silence without giving them cause for greater anger.

Then, as the sun climbed toward midday, the door to the royal residence opened once more and the king's man appeared with the two servants. "Hear! Hear!" he called. "His Majesty William, King of England!"

Out from the house came the Red King and five attendants: one of them a priest of some exalted kind, robed in red satin with a gold chain and cross around his neck, and another the young Lord Leicester we had met in Rouen; the rest were knights carrying lances. The king himself, surrounded by his bodyguard, seemed smaller than I remembered him; his stocky form was wrapped in a blue tunic that stretched tight across his bulging stomach; his short legs were stuffed into dark brown trousers and tall riding boots. His flame-coloured hair glowed with bright fire in the sunlight, but he seemed tired to me, almost haggard, and there were chapped patches on his cheeks. In his hand, he carried a rolled parchment.

"Which one is the king? Is it the one in red?" whispered Noin, and I realised that, like most people, she'd never set eyes to the king of England before and had no idea how William or any other king might appear when not tricked out in their regal frippery.

"No, the fat one with orange hair," I told her. "That's our William Rufus."

This information was repeated down the ranks, along with other pungent observations. De Braose and his lot, seeking an advantage somehow, called out greetings to the king, who ran his eye quickly over them but did not respond to their bald attempt at flattery. After this had gone on for a time, the king gestured to his man, who cut short the speeches and called for silence.

With a somewhat distracted air, the king held the parchment roll out to the priest. "Cardinal Ranulf of Bayeux will read out the royal judgement proclamation at this time," he declared. Brother Jago relayed these words to the Welsh speakers.

The cardinal known as Flambard stepped forward and, with a short bow, received the scroll from William's hand. He took his time untying it and unrolling it. Holding it high, he stepped forward and began to read it out. It was Latin, of course, and I could make nothing of it. Fortunately, I was standing near enough to Brother Jago to catch most of what he said as he translated the words for Bran and Angharad. Tuck was close by to offer his understanding as well.

"I,William, by the grace of God, king of England, greets his subjects with all respect and honour according to their rank and station. Be it known that this day, the third day after the Feast of Saint Michael, this judgement was made public by the reading hereof in the presence of the same king and those persons summoned by the crown to attend him. Owing to the perfidious nature of certain noblemen known to the king, and because of dissensions and discords which have arisen between the king and the lord king's brother, Duke Robert of Normandie, and a company of rebellious barons of the kingdom concerning William's lawful right to occupy the throne and to rule unimpeded by the slanders and allegations of traitorous dissenters, this recognition has been made before the Chief Justiciar of England, and Henry, Earl of Warwick, and other great men of the kingdom, and has been signed and sealed in their presence."

Here the cardinal paused to allow the crowd to unravel the mean ing of this address. We were by no means the only ones struggling to keep up; the Ffreinc in Count de Braose's camp were having their own difficulties with all that high-flown Latin and were being aided by Abbot Hugo, who was interpreting for the count and others.

When Cardinal Flambard decided that all had caught up with him, he continued, "Accordingly, I,William, under authority of Heaven, do hereby set forth my disposition in the matters arising from the recent attempt by those rebellious subjects aforementioned to remove His Majesty from his throne and the rightful rule of his realm and subjects. Be it known that William de Braose, Baron of Bramber, for his part in the rebellion has forfeited his lands and title to the crown and is henceforth prohibited from returning to England under ban of condemnation for treason and the penalty thereof. Regarding his son, the Earl Philip de Braose, and his nephew the Count Falkes de Braose, being found to have no part in the wicked rebellion against their lawful king, but owing to their familial proximity to the traitors, it is deemed prudent to extend the ban to them and their households; therefore, they are to follow the baron into exile to whatever lands will receive them."

The Ffreinc moaned and gnashed their teeth at this, while at the same time it was all we could do to keep from cheering. Oh, it was all we'd hoped for-Baron de Braose was banished, and his noxious nephew exiled with him. The throne of Elfael was freed from the Normans, and victory was sweet in our mouths.

But, as the Good Lord giveth with his right hand, and taketh with his left-so with kings.

"Further," continued the cardinal, "it pleases His Majesty to assume those lands now vacated to be placed under Forest Law as a Protectorate of Royal Privilege, to be administered for the crown by a regent chosen to serve the interests of the crown, namely Abbot Hugo de Rainault. As our regent and an officer of the crown, he will exercise all authority necessary to hold, maintain, and prosper those lands and estates, and with the aid of our sheriff, Richard de Glanville, to more firmly establish the realm in the fealty due its rightful monarch."

Here the cardinal broke off to allow the translators to catch up. While we were struggling to work out what had just happened, Cardinal Flambard concluded, saying, "All others professing grievance in this matter, having been rewarded according to their service, are herewith disposed. No further action in regard to this judgement shall be countenanced. Under the sign and seal of William, King of England."

Owing to the slight murkiness of courtly Latin, it took us a while to get to grips with the outrage that had just been revealed in our hearing. Tuck and Jago held close council with Bran and Angharad. Count Falkes de Braose, astonished beyond words, stared at the king as if at the devil's own manservant; Abbot Hugo and Marshal Guy put their heads together, already preparing to seed more mischief. In both camps, Ffreinc and British, there were dire mutterings and grumblings. Along with many another, I pressed forward to hear what the clerics among us were saying, and caught part of the discussion. "So, it comes to this," Tuck said, "Baron de Braose and all his kith and kin have been banished, never to return to English soil on pain of death-well and good…"

"But, see here," pointed out Jago, "Abbot Hugo is made regent and remains in possession of the lands granted to de Braose by the king."

"But the bloody abbot keeps Elfael!" growled Tuck dangerously.

A dull, damp sickness descended over me. Some of those around me swore and called down curses on the head of the English king. "What does it mean?" said Noin, pressing close beside me.

"It means we have been used and cast aside," I spat. "It means that red-haired rogue has gutted us like rabbits and thrown us to the dogs."

"That cannot be," said Bran, already starting forth. "Heaven will not allow it!" He stepped forward three long paces and halted, calling upon the king to hear him. "My lord king," he said, with Jago's help, "am I to understand that you have allowed Abbot Hugo to keep our lands in Elfael?"

"The king has decreed that the abbot will serve as his regent," replied Cardinal Ranulf. His eyes narrowed as he gazed at Bran. "I remember you right well," he said, "and I warn you against trying any such foolishness as you attempted last time we met."

"Then pray remind the king that I was promised the return of our lands and the rule of our people," Bran countered, speaking through Jago. "This I was promised by the king himself in recognition of our part in exposing the traitors."

The king heard this, of course, but glanced away, a pained expression on his face.

"I cannot answer for any promises which might or might not have been made in the past," responded the cardinal, making it sound as if this had all taken place untold years ago and could have no part in the judgement now. "After a suitable season of reflection, the king has determined that it does not serve the interests of the crown to return Elfael to Welsh rule at this time."

"What is to become of us?" cried Bran, growing visibly angry. "That is our land-our home! We were promised justice."

"Justice," replied the silk-robed cardinal coolly, "you have received. Your king has decreed; his word is law."

Bran, holding tight to the reins of his rage, argued his case. "I would remind His Majesty that it was from within the abbot's own stronghold that we learned of the conspiracy against him! Your regent is as guilty of treason as those you have already condemned and punished."

"So you say," countered the cardinal smoothly. "There has been no proof of this, and therefore the right practice of justice decrees no guilt shall be laid at the abbot's feet."

"Call it what you will, my lord, but do not call it justice," said Bran, his voice shaking with fury. Sweet Jesus, I had never seen him so angry. His face was white, his eyes flashing quick fire. "This is an offence against heaven. The people of Elfael will not rest until we have gained the justice promised to us."

"You and your people will conform yourself to the regent's rule," Flambard declared. "As regent, Abbot Hugo is charged with your care and protection. Henceforth, he will provide you with the comfort and solace of the king's law."

"With all respect, Cardinal," Bran called, fighting to keep his rage from devouring his reason, "we cannot accept this judgement."

"The king has spoken," concluded Cardinal Bayeux. "The continued prosecution of this dispute has no merit. The matter is herewith concluded."

King William, impervious to our lord's anger, nodded once and turned away. He and his soldiers and confidants walked back to the house and went inside. The cardinal rolled up the parchment and turned to follow his monarch.

With that, our Day of Judgement was over.

As the door closed on the backs of the royal party, a wide double door opened at the far end of the yard, and soldiers who had been awaiting this moment streamed out to encircle us. Weapons ready, they formed a wall, shoulder-to-shoulder around the perimeter of the yard.

"We must leave here at once," said Angharad. "Bran!"

He was no longer listening. "We will not be denied!" he shouted, starting forth. "This is not the end. Do you hear?"

She pulled Bran's sleeve, restraining him. Shaking off her grasp, he started after the swiftly retreating cardinal. "Iwan! Siarles!" she snapped, "See to your lord!"

The two leapt forward and took hold of Bran, one on either side. "Come away, my lord," said Iwan. "Don't make things worse. They only want half a reason to attack us."

"You do well to drag him away," called Marshal Guy, laughing. "Drag the beaten dog away!"

Gysburne was the only one to find amusement in this disaster, mind-he and a few of the less astute-looking soldiers with him. The rest appeared suitably grim, realising that this was no good news for them, either. Count Falkes looked like a man who has had his bones removed, and it was all he could do to remain in the saddle. His pale countenance was more ghastly still, and his lips trembled, no doubt in contemplation of his ruin.

Iwan and Siarles were able to haul Bran back. Merian rushed to his side to help calm him. Meanwhile, Tuck and Angharad, fearful of what the Ffreinc might do next, moved quickly to turn everyone and march them from the yard before bloodshed could turn the disaster into a catastrophe.

Obeying cooler heads, we turned and started slowly away under the narrowed eyes and naked weapons of the king's soldiers. As we passed Count de Braose's company, I looked up and saw Odo, his round, owlish face stricken. On impulse, I raised my hand and beckoned him to join us. "Come, monk," I told him. "If you would quit the devil and stand on the side of the angels, you are welcome here."

To my surprise, he lifted the reins and moved out from the Ffreinc ranks. Some of those around him tried to prevent him, but he pulled away from their grasp; the abbot, sneering down his long nose, told them to let the craven Judas go. "Let him leave if he will," said Marshal Gysburne, snatching the bridle strap and halting Odo's mount, "but he goes without the horse."

So my dear dull scribe took his life in his hands, plucked up his small courage, and slid down from the saddle to take his place among the Grellon.

As we marched from the yard, the soldiers tightened the circle and drew in behind us to make certain we would depart without causing any trouble. Abbot Hugo called out one last threat. "Do not think to return to Elfael," he said, his voice ringing loud in the yard. "We have marked you, and we will kill you on sight should you or any of your rabble ever set foot in Elfael again."

When Jago translated the abbot's challenge for us, I saw Bran stiffen. Turning to address the abbot, he said in Latin, "Enjoy this day, vile priest-it is the last peace you will know. From this day hence, it is war."

Abbot Hugo shouted something in reply, and the Ffreinc soldiers made as if they might mount an attack. They drew swords and lowered their shields, preparing to charge. But Bran snatched up a bow, and quick as a blink, planted an arrow between the abbot's legs, pinning the hem of his robe to the hard ground. "The next arrow finds your black heart, Abbot," Bran called. "Tell the soldiers to put up their weapons." Hugo heeded the warning and wisely called for the king's men to hold and let us depart. Slowly, Bran lowered the bow, turned, and led his people from the king's stronghold.

Heads held high, we strode out through the gate and into our blood-tinged fate.