Tuck

CHAPTER 8

Two riders picked their way carefully along the rock-lined riverbed, one in front of the other, silent, vigilant. Dressed in drab, faces hidden beneath wide-brimmed, shapeless hats, they might have been hunters hoping to raise some game along the river or, more likely, a party of merchants making for a distant market. Strange merchants, however-they shunned the nearby town, going out of their way to avoid it.

It was Bran's idea to appear as wayfarers simply passing through, in the hopes of attracting as little notice as possible. He watched the hilltops and ridgeways on either side of the valley, while Tuck remained alert to anyone approaching from the rear. Overhead, a brown buzzard soared through the empty air, its shadow rippling over the smooth, cloud-dappled slopes. Ahead the river forked into two branches: one wide and shallow, one little more than a rill snaking through a narrow, brush-choked defile. Upon reaching the place where the two streams divided, Bran paused.

"Which way?" Tuck said, reining in beside him. Odo halted a few paces behind.

"You ask me that?" replied Bran with a grin. "And still you call yourself a priest?"

"I am a priest," affirmed Tuck, "and I do ask you-for, all evidence to the contrary, I cannot read the minds of men, only their hearts." He regarded the two courses. "Which way do we go?"

"The narrow way, of course," answered Bran. "'Narrow is the way and hard the road that leads to salvation…' Isn't that the way it goes?"

"'Straight is the gate and narrow the way that leadeth to life, and there be few that find it,'" the friar corrected. "You should pay better attention when the Holy Script is read."

"We'll have to walk from here," Bran said, climbing down from the saddle. "But when we reach the end, we will be beyond the borders of Elfael and out of reach of de Glanville's soldiers." He glanced at Odo. The young priest had maintained a gloomy silence since climbing into the saddle. "Do either of you want to rest a little before we move on?"

"My thanks, but no-a chance to quit this saddle is all I need just now," Tuck said, easing himself down from the saddle. "Come, Odo. A change is as good as a rest, is it not?" He wiped the sweat from his face. "Although, to be sure, a jar of ale would not go amiss."

"When day is done," said Bran, starting into the gorge. "This way, you two."

They had left the forest before dawn, crossing the open ground to the south of the caer while it was still dark, quickly losing themselves in the seamed valleys of Elfael. They proceeded ever north ward, keeping out of sight of the fortress and town until both were well behind them-and even then Bran continued with all caution. A chance encounter with a wayward Ffreinc party was to be avoided at all costs.

Leading the horses, they resumed their trek, picking their way along the stream. It was slow going because rocks, brush, and nettles filled the defile, making each step a small ordeal. The bowlegged priest struggled to keep up with his long-legged companions, scrambling over the rocks and dodging thorny branches, all the while ruing the turn of events that had made this journey necessary.

They had left the forest before dawn, crossing the open ground to the south of the caer while it was still dark, quickly losing themselves in the seamed valleys of Elfael, keeping out of sight of the fortress and town until both were well behind them-and even then Bran continued with all caution. A chance encounter with a wayward Ffreinc party was to be avoided at all costs.

"We acted in good faith," Bran had declared in the council following the abbot's misguided ambush. "But Hugo sought to betray us-once again. It is only by God's favour that Odo and I escaped unharmed and none of our men were killed or wounded."

Bran and his archers had just returned from their encounter with the Ffreinc, and one glance at their scowling faces gave everyone to know that all was not well.

Tuck, with Merian a close step behind, was there to meet the returning peace party. "God love you, Iwan, what happened?" Tuck asked, snagging hold of the big man's arm as he came through the blasted oak. "Did they fail to ring the bell?"

"Nay, Friar," answered the champion, shaking his head slowly."They rang the bell for all to hear-but then attacked us anyway."

"They were lying in wait for us," said Siarles, joining them. "Hiding in the forest."

"Gysburne and his men showed themselves for the black devils they are," said Scarlet.

"Aye, and the sheriff too," added Siarles. "Dressed up as monks, some of 'em."

"Even so, we honoured our part," said Iwan. "We did not draw on them until they attacked Bran."

"Was anyone hurt?" Tuck glanced quickly at the other archers trooping into the settlement. There was no blood showing; all seemed to be in ruddy good health.

"No hurt to anyone but themselves," Scarlet pointed out. "A fella'd a thought they'd have learnt a little respect for a Welsh bowman by now. Seems they are a thick lot, these Ffreinc, say what you will."

The friar heard these words, and his heart fell like a stone dropped into a bottomless well. The slender hope that the abbot would accept the offered peace sank instantly, swallowed in the knowledge that Abbot Hugo would never be appeased. In light of this new outrage, he felt the fool for even imagining such a thing possible.

"You did what Christian duty required, and it will be accounted to your credit," Tuck assured them lamely. "God will yet reward you for remaining true to your part."

"No doubt, Friar," replied Siarles. "The same way he helps them who help themselves, methinks."

"I do not blame you for being disappointed," Tuck said, "but you should not place the failure at the Almighty's feet, when it-"

"Spare us, Tuck," snapped Bran. He and Odo, the last to arrive, passed the others as they stood talking. "I am not of a mind to hear it." Addressing the men, he said, "Get something to eat, all of you. Then I want my advisors to come to me and we will hold council again-this time it is a council of war."

The six archers moved off to find some food, leaving Tuck, Merian, and the others looking on in dismay.

"I feared this might happen," said Merian. "Still, we had to try." She looked to the friar for assurance. "We did have to try."

"We did," confirmed the priest. "And we were right." He glanced at the young woman beside him. How lovely she was; how noble of face and form. And how determined. A pang of regret pierced him to see her once-fine clothes now stained and growing threadbare from their hard use in the greenwood. She was made for finer things, to be sure, but had cast her lot with the outlaw band; and her fate, like all who called the forest home, was that of a fugitive.

"Ah, my soul," he sighed, feeling the weight of their failure settle upon him. "So much hardship and sadness could have been avoided if only that blasted abbot had agreed."

"I had my hopes, too, Friar," offered Merian. "My father has ruled under Baron Neufmarche these many years-to the benefit of both, I think. It can be done-I know it can. But Hugo de Rainault is a wicked man, and there is no reasoning with him. He will never leave, never surrender an inch of ground until he is dead."

"Alas, I fear you've struck to the heart of it," confessed Tuck, shaking his head sadly. "No doubt that is where the trouble lies."

"Where, Friar?"

"In the hearts of ever-sinful men, my lady," he told her. "In the all-too-wicked human heart."

After the men had eaten, those who were counted among King Raven's advisors joined their lord in his hut. As they took their places around the fire ring, Bran said, "We need more men, and I am going to-"

More men, thought Tuck, and remembered what it was that he had learned from the abbot. "Good Lord!" he cried, starting up at the memory. "Forgive me," he said quickly as all eyes turned towards him, "but I have just remembered something that might be useful."

Bran regarded him, waiting for him to continue.

"It is just that-" Glancing around, he said to Iwan, "How many soldiers did you say the abbot and sheriff had with them?"

"No more'n twenty," replied the champion.

"At most," confirmed Siarles.

"Then that is all they have," said Tuck. "Twenty men-that is all that are left to them following the two attacks." He went on to explain about meeting with the abbot, and how Hugo had let slip that he no longer had enough men to defend the town. "So, unless I am much mistaken, those who attacked you are all that remain of the troops Baron de Braose left here."

"And there are fewer now," Siarles pointed out. "Maybe by four or five. He can have no more than fifteen or sixteen under his command." He turned wondering eyes towards Bran. "My lord, we can defeat them. We can drive them out."

"We can take back control of the cantref," echoed Iwan. "One more battle and it would be ours."

They fell to arguing how this might be accomplished, then, but arrived always at the same place where the discussion had begun.

"Gysburne may have only sixteen left," Bran pointed out. "But you can believe he won't be drawn into open battle with us. Nor can we take the town or the fortress, for all we are only six able-bodied bowmen. So, it comes to this: we need more men, and I am going to raise them." He paused. "First things first. Iwan, I want you and Owain and Rhoddi to watch the road-day and night. Nothing is to pass through the forest without our leave. All travellers are to be stopped. Any goods or weapons they carry will be taken from them."

"And if they refuse?" asked the champion.

"Use whatever force you deem necessary," Bran replied. "But only that and no more. All who comply willingly are to be sent on their way in peace."

"Nothing will get past us, my lord. I know what to do."

"Siarles," said Bran, "you and Tomas are to begin making arrows. We'll need as many as we can get-and we'll need bows too."

"And where will we be getting the wood for all these bows and arrows?" asked Siarles.

"Wood for bows, I know, and where to find it," Angharad said, speaking up from her place behind Bran's chair. "We will bring all you need, Gwion Bach and I."

Bran nodded. "The rest of the Grellon are to be trained to the longbow."

"Women too?" asked Merian.

"Yes," confirmed Bran. "Women too." He turned to Will Scarlet.

"Until your hand is healed, you will teach others what you know about the bow."

"That much is easily done," said Scarlet. "It's the trainin' that takes the time."

"Then start at once. Today."

Owain, one of the newer members of the council, asked, "You said you meant to raise more men. What is in your mind, my lord, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I have kinsmen among my mother's people in Gwynedd," replied Bran. "I mean to start there. Once the word spreads that we are gathering a force to overthrow the Ffreinc, I have no doubt we'll soon get all the warriors we need."

"There are warriors nearby that are yours for the asking," Merian pointed out. "I have but to go to my father and-"

"No," said Bran firmly.

"The fact is, my father-"

"Your father is a vassal of Baron Neufmarche," Bran said in a pained tone, "a fact you seem determined to ignore."

Merian opened her mouth to object, but Bran cut her off, saying, "That is the end of it."

Merian glared at him from under lowered brows, but gave in without another word.

"Well then," said Bran, declaring himself satisfied with the preparations. "Be about your work, everyone. If all goes well, Tuck and I will return with a war band large enough to conquer the Ffreinc and force their surrender." As the others shuffled out, Bran called Tuck to him. "I will see to the horses, and you take care of the provisions-enough for four days, I make it."

The friar spent the rest of the day assembling the necessary provisions for their journey. While he was scraping together the few items they would need for making camp, Scarlet came to him. "I am worried about Odo," he said, sitting down on a nearby stump. "That scrape this morning has pitched the poor fella into the stew."

"Oh? I am sorry to hear it," replied Tuck. "Has he said anything?"

"Not so much," said Will. "He wouldn't. But if there was ever a creature ill fashioned for the wildwood, that's Odo through and through."

Tuck paused, considering what Scarlet was telling him. "What do you think we should do?"

"Well, seeing as you are heading north, I was wondering if it might be best for everyone if you took Odo along."

"To Gwynedd?"

"Aye," said Scarlet, "but only as far as that monastery with the old bishop."

"Saint Tewdrig's."

"That's the one. I know he'd fare better there, and no doubt the way things are with the folk so hard-pressed everywhere hereabouts, he'd be a better help there than here, if you see what I mean."

"He's suffering, you say."

"I've seen whipped dogs more cheerful."

"Well then," said Tuck. "I'll speak to Bran and see what we can do." He paused, then asked, "Why did you bring this to me?"

"I deemed it a priest thing-like confession," replied Scarlet, rising. "And Odo would never be able to lift his head again if he thought Bran reckoned him a coward."

Tuck smiled. "You're a good friend,William Scatlocke. Consider it done, and Bran will think no ill of Brother Odo."

The travellers spent a last night in the forest, departing early enough to cross the Vale of Elfael before dawn.

Only Angharad was awake to see them off, which she did in her peculiar fashion. Raising her staff, she held it aloft, and blessed them with a prayer that put Tuck in mind of those he had heard as a child in the north country.

The three climbed into their saddles-Bran swinging up easily, Odo taking a bit more effort, and Tuck with the aid of a stump for a mounting block-and with a final farewell, quickly disappeared into the gloaming. By the time the sun was showing above the horizon, the riders had passed the Ffreinc-held Saint Martin's and were well on their way. Now, as the sun sailed high over head, they eked their way over bare rocks along the edge of the rill and, a little while later, passed beyond the borders of Elfael and into the neighbouring cantref of Builth.

It was well past midday when they came within sight of the monastery, and in a little while stood in the yard of Saint Tewdrig's introducing the young Ffreinc priest to Bishop Asaph, who professed himself overjoyed to receive an extra pair of hands. "As you see," he told them, "we are run off our feet day and night caring for the souls who come to us. We will put him to work straightaway, never fear." He fixed Bran with a look of deepest concern. "What is this I am hearing about you declaring war on Abbot Hugo?"

"It is true," Bran allowed, and explained how the English king had reneged on his promise to restore Bran's throne, appointing the abbot and sheriff as his regents instead. "We are on our way north to rally the tribes."

The ageing bishop shook his head sadly. "Is there no other way?"

"If there was," Bran conceded, "we are beyond recalling it now." He went on to tell how the Black Abbot had rebuffed his offer of peace. "That was Tuck's idea."

"We had to try," offered the friar. "For Jesus' sake we had to try."

"Indeed," sighed the bishop.

They stayed with the monks that night, and bidding Odo farewell, they departed early the next morning. They rode easily, passing the morning in a companionable silence until they came to a shady spot under a large outcrop of stone, where Bran decided to stop to rest and water the horses, and have a bite to eat before moving on once more. The going was slow, and the sun was disappearing beyond the hill line to the west when they at last began to search for a good place to make camp for the night-finding a secluded hollow beside a brook where an apple tree grew; the apples were green still, and tart, but hard to resist, and there was good water for the horses. While Bran gathered wood for the fire, Tuck tethered the animals so they could graze in the long grass around the tree, and then set about preparing a meal.

"We should reach Arwysteli tomorrow," Bran said, biting into a small green apple. The two had finished a supper of pork belly and beans, and were stretched out beneath the boughs bending with fruit. "And Powys the day after."

"Oh?" Tuck queried. "We are not stopping?"

"Perhaps on the way back," Bran said. "I am that keen to get on to Bangor. I know no one in these cantrefs, and it might be easier to get men if on our return we are accompanied by a sizeable host already."

This sounded reasonable to the friar. "How long has it been since you've seen your mother's people?" he asked.

Bran gnawed on his sour apple for a moment, then said, "Quite a long time-a year or two after my mother died, it must have been. My father wanted to return some of her things to her kinfolk, so we went up and I met them then."

"You were-what? Eight, nine years old?" Tuck ventured.

"Something like that," he allowed. "But it will make no difference. Once they have heard what we intend, they will join us, never fear."

They spent a quiet night and moved on at dawn, passing through Builth without seeing another living soul, and pressing quickly on into Arwysteli and Powys, where they stopped for the night in a settlement called Llanfawydden. Tuck was happy to see that the hamlet had a fine wooden church and a stone monk's cell set in a grove of beeches, though the village consisted of nothing more than a ring of wattle-and-mud houses encircling a common grazing area. After a brief word from the local priest, the chief of the village took them in and fed them at his table, and gave them a bed for the night. The chieftain and his wife and three sons slept on the floor beside the hearth.

The travellers found the family amiable enough. They fed them well, entertained them with news of local doings, and asked no questions about who their guests were, or what their business might be. However, when they were preparing to leave the next morning, one of the younger lads-upon learning that they had travelled from Elfael-could not help asking whether they knew anything about King Raven.

"I might have heard a tale or two," Bran allowed, smiling.

The boy persisted in his questions despite the frowns from his mother and brothers. "Is it true what they say? Is he a very bad creature?"

"Bad for the Ffreinc, it would seem," Bran said. "By all accounts King Raven does seem a most mysterious bird. Do you know him hereabouts?"

"Nay," replied the middle lad, shaking his head sadly. "Only what folk say."

One of his older brothers spoke up. "We heard he has killed more'n two hundred Ffreinc-"

"Swoops on 'em from the sky and spears 'em with his beak," added the one who had raised the subject in the first place.

"Boys!" said the mother, embarrassed by her sons' forthright enthusiasm. "You have said enough."

"No harm," chuckled Bran, much amused by this. "I don't know about spearing knights with his beak, but at least the Ffreinc are afraid of him-and that's good enough for me."

"They say he helps the Cymry," continued the younger one. "Gives 'em all the treasure."

"That he does," Tuck agreed. "Or, so I've heard."

The travellers took their leave of their hosts shortly after that, resuming their journey northward. The day was bright and fair, the breeze warm out of the south, and the track good. Bran and Tuck rode easily along, talking of this and that.

"Your fame is spreading," Tuck observed. "If they know King Raven here, they'll soon enough know him everywhere."

Bran dismissed the comment with a shrug. "Children are readily persuaded."

"Not at all," the friar insisted. "Where do children hear these things except from their elders? People know about King Raven. They are talking about him."

"For all the good it does," Bran pointed out. "King Raven may be better liked than William the Red, but it is the Red King's foot on our neck all the same. The Ffreinc may be wary of the Phantom of the Wood, but it hasn't changed a blessed thing."

"Perhaps not," Tuck granted, "but I was not thinking of the Ffreinc just now. I was thinking of the Cymry."

Bran gave an indifferent shrug.

"King Raven has given them hope," insisted Tuck. "He has shown them that the invaders can be resisted. You must be proud of your feathered creation."

"He had his uses," Bran admitted. "But, like all things, that usefulness has reached its end."

"Truly?"

"King Raven has done what he can do. Now it is time to take up bows and strap on swords, and join battle with the enemy openly, in the clear light of day."

"Perhaps," Tuck granted, "but do not think to hang up your feathered cloak and long-beaked mask just yet."

"There will be no more skulking around the greenwood like a ghost," Bran declared. "That is over."

"Certain of that, are you?" Tuck said. "Just you mark my words, Bran ap Brychan, King Raven will fly again before our cause is won."