Tuck

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?"

Of course, everyone stood with him then-as who would not?- and raised their cups, shouting, "Attente! Attente!"

The Spanish count tipped down a great draught of wine, wiped his mouth, and said, speaking loudly and with some little passion, "My friends and I have enjoyed our sojourn here in your realm, my lord earl. Your hospitality is as expansive as your girth-"

The earl looked puzzled as this was spoken, and Alan quickly corrected the count's meaning, saying, "-generosity… as expansive as your generosity, my lord. Please excuse my poor translation. He means your hospitality is as great as your generosity."

"It is nothing," replied Earl Hugh grandly. "Nothing at all!"

"I must beg your pardon, my good earl," replied Count Rexindo a little blearily, "but it is not nothing to me. In Spain, where all the virtues are accorded great regard, none sits higher in our esteem than the welcome given to kin and countrymen, and the strangers in our midst." His words came across a little slurred through the wine, though Alan cleaned them up. "As one who knows something of this, I can say with all confidence that your hospitality is worthy of its great renown." He lifted his cup once more. "I drink to you, most worthy and esti… estimable lord."

"To Earl Hugh!" came the chorused acclaim.

All drank, and everyone sat down again and made to resume the meal, but Count Rexindo was not finished yet. "Alas, the time has come for us to leave. Tomorrow's hunt will be my last, but it will be memorable…" He paused to allow these words to penetrate the haze of drink and food befogging his listeners' heads. "Indeed, all the more if our exalted earl will allow me to suggest a certain refinement to tomorrow's ride."

"Of course! Of course!" cried the earl, his spirits lofty, goodwill overflowing like the wine sloshing over the rim of his cup. "Anything you desire," he said with an airy wave of his hand. "Anything at all." He smiled, his ruddy face beaming with pride at the way he'd been feted and flattered by the young count in the presence of his visiting noblemen.

"How very gracious of you, my lord. In truth, I expected nothing less from one whose largesse is legendary," Count Rexindo replied, beaming happily.

"Come, man!" bellowed the earl, thumping the table with his hand. "What is it that you want? Name it and it is done."

Count Rexindo, all smiles and benevolence, gave a little bow and said, "In my country, when a lord wishes to make a special hunt in honour of his guests he releases a prisoner into the wild. I can assure you that it is sport second to none."

Ah, there it is, thought Tuck. Our Bran has remembered his Bible story at last.

It took a moment for the earl and the others to work out what had just been suggested. "Hunt a man?" said the earl, his smile growing stiff.

"Yes, my lord," agreed the count, still standing, still commanding the proceedings. "A criminal or some other prisoner-someone of no account. It makes for a very good chase."

"But…" began the earl, glancing around the table quickly. He saw his other guests looking to him expectantly. Tuck saw the hesitation and, instantly, the distress that followed, and knew the earl was well and truly caught in Bran's trap. "Surely, that is unworthy of your attention," Hugh replied lamely. "Why not choose something else?"

"I see I have overreached myself," the count said, sitting down at last. "I understand if you have no appetite for such rich sport…"

"No, no," Earl Hugh said quickly, seeing the frowns appear on the faces of his gathered noblemen. Having accepted the count's effusive praise for his untethered largesse, how could he now refuse to grant Rexindo's wish? He had no wish to appear tightfisted and mean before his noblemen. So, like a ferret trapped in a snare, squirm though he might he could not get free without gnawing off one of his own legs. "Did I say no? I am intrigued by your suggestion," he offered, "and would be eager to try it myself. It is just that I keep no criminals here. As it is, I have only one captive in my keep…"

"And he is too valuable," concluded Count Rexindo, his disappointment barely contained. "I understand."

The earl glanced around at his noblemen as if to explain, saw their frowns growing and his own reputation diminishing in their eyes, and hastily reconsidered. "However, it seems to me that this prisoner would be well worthy of our sport-a king in his own country who has enjoyed my hospitality far too long already."

"Splendido!" cried the count. Through Alan, he continued, "It will give me a chance to try the hounds I am buying."

Again, a slight hint of a grimace crossed the earl's face. He did not like the idea of using valuable dogs for such dangerous sport-especially, considered Tuck, dogs that had not yet been purchased. This required a small conference, whereuponBut, rising to the bait, the earl shrugged off his misgivings. "Why not?" he roared, stirring the feast to life once more. "Why not, I say! Here! Let us drink to the count, and to tomorrow's sport!"

Thus, the trap was set and sprung, and the prey neatly captured. Tuck waited until the festivity slowly resumed, and when the music and drink were once again in full spate, he rose. Bowing to their host, who had recovered his good cheer, he approached the earl's chair and, with Alan's help, declared, "This game you propose sits ill with me, I do confess, my lord."

"Does it?" he replied lazily. "Does it indeed? How so, pray?"

"The hunting of men is an abomination before the throne of God." Before the earl could reply, he added, "True, it is a custom long honoured in Spain and elsewhere, but one that the church does not endorse."

This rocked the old wolf back a step or two. He frowned and swirled the wine in his cup. "If I told you that this rogue of a prisoner has earned his death ten times over, would that make it sit more comfortably with you?"

"Perhaps," Tuck allowed. "Though I would still wish to give the wretch the benefit of absolution. By your leave, Earl, I will hear his confession and shrive him now. Then he will be ready to face his ordeal with a clear mind and clean soul."

Seeing that Bishop Balthus was determined, and he equally anxious to maintain his top-lofty dignity in the eyes of his guests, Earl Hugh agreed. "Then do so," he said, as if it had been his own idea all along. He put his nose in his cup once more. "Do so by all means, if it pleases you. One of my men will take you down to him."

Tuck thanked him, begged his dinner companions to excuse his absence, and then departed. In the company of the earl's seneschal, who was standing at the door, the friar made his way down and down into the low-vaulted under-castle, to the hostage pit, to see for the first time the man they had come to free. Leaving the hall and its uproar behind, they passed along a dark, narrow corridor to an even darker, more narrow passage through the castle inner wall to a round chamber below what must have been the guardhouse. "Attendre ici, s'il vous plait," said the seneschal, who disappeared up the steps to the room above, returning a few moments later with a dishevelled man who had very obviously been drug from his bed. Yawning, the guard applied a key to an iron grate that covered a hole in the floor, unlocked it, and pulled back the grate. He took up a torch from a basket on the floor, lit it from the candle in the seneschal's hand, and beckoned Bishop Balthus to follow. A short flight of spiral steps led them to another passage, at the end of which stood another iron grate which formed the door of a cell. Upon reaching the door, the guard thrust his torch closer, and in the fitful light of it Tuck saw the prisoner slumped against the wall with his head down, legs splayed before him, hands limp at his sides, palms upward. With his thick and matted tangle of hair and beard, he looked more like a bear dressed up in filthy rags than a man.

Once again, the guard plied the key, and after a few moments huffing and puffing, the lock gave and the door swung open, squealing on its rusted hinges like a tortured rat. The prisoner started at the sound, then looked around slowly, hardly raising his head. But he made no other move or sound.

Stepping past the gaoler, Tuck pushed the door open farther and, relieving the porter of his torch, entered the cell. It was a small, square room of unfinished stone with a wooden stool, a three-legged table, and a pile of rancid rushes in one corner for a bed. Although it stank of the slop bucket standing open beside the door, and vermin crawled in the mildewed rushes, the room was dry enough. Two bars of solid iron covered a square window near the top of one wall, and an iron ring was set into the opposite wall. To this ring was attached a heavy chain which was, in turn, clamped to the prisoner's leg.

"I will shrive him now," Tuck said to the guard.

The fellow settled himself to wait, leaning against the corridor wall. He picked his teeth and waited for the bishop to begin.

"You are welcome to stay, of course," said Tuck, speaking as the bishop. "Kneel down. I will shrive you too."

Understanding came slowly to the guard, but when it did he opened his mouth to protest.

"Come!" insisted the smiling bishop. "We all need shriving from time to time. Kneel down," he directed. "Or leave us in peace."

The gaoler regarded the prisoner, shrugged, and departed, taking the key with him. Tuck waited, and when he could no longer hear the man's footsteps on the stairs outside, he knelt down before the prisoner and declared in a loud voice, sure to be overheard, "Pax vobiscum"

The prisoner made no reply, nor gave any sign that he had heard.

"Lord Gruffydd, can you hear me? Are you well?" Tuck asked, his voice hushed.

At the sound of these words spoken in his own language by a priest, the king raised his head a little and, in a voice grown creaky from disuse, asked, "Who are you?"

"Friar Aethelfrith," Tuck replied softly. "I am with some others, and we have come to free you."

Gruffydd stared at him as if he could not make sense of what he had been told. "Free me?"

"Yes."

The captive king pondered this a moment, then asked, "How many are with you?"

"Three," Tuck said.

"It cannot be done," Gruffydd replied. His head sank down again. "Not with three hundred, much less three."

"Take heart," Tuck told him. "Do as I say and you will soon gain your freedom. Rouse yourself, and pay me heed now. I must tell you what to do, and we do not have much time."