Inwardly, she shrank from this dread vision, and half turned away. Instantly, another image sprang into her mind: a broad-beamed ship tossed high on stormy waves, and a rain-battered coastline of a low, dark country away to the east. There were British horses aboard the ship, and they tossed their heads in terror at the wildly rocking deck. This image faded in its turn and was replaced by another: Bran, bow in hand, fleeing to the wood on the back of a stolen horse. She could feel his rage and fear; it seared across the distance like a flame. He had killed; there was blood behind him and a swiftly closing darkness she could not penetrate—but it had a vague, animal shape, and she sensed a towering, primitive, and savage exultation.
The image so shocked her that she opened her eyes.
The cave was dark. The fire had burned out. She turned towards the cave entrance to see that it was dark outside. The whole day had passed, maybe more than one day. She rose and began pulling on her dry clothes, dressing to go out. She wished she had thought to prepare something to eat; but she had rested somewhat, and that would have to keep her until she reached Cél Craidd.
If she left at once and walked through the night, she could be there before nightfall tomorrow. Knowing she was already too late to prevent whatever had taken place—something terrible, she could feel it like a knife in her gut—she nevertheless had to go now, if only to tend the wounded and gather up the broken pieces.
CHAPTER 31
Well, here I was twixt hammer and anvil, no mistake. I had little choice but to carry on as best I could, hoping all the while that when we reached the meeting place in the forest I might alert Bran to the disaster before the trap was sprung. Our plan to capture the sheriff when he arrived to escort the merchant’s wagons depended wholly on de Glanville’s eagerness to catch King Raven. Not one of us had foreseen the possibility that he would choose to stay home.
As I led those knights and soldiers into the wood on that clear bright day, I felt as if I was leading them to my own funeral . . .
Odo thinks this is funny. He stifles a chuckle, but I see his sly smirk. “Tell me, monk,” says I, “since you know so much—which is funnier, a man about to die speaking of funerals? Or a priest laughing at death while the devil tugs at his elbow?”
“Sorry, my lor—” He catches himself again, and amends his words. “Sorry, Will, I didn’t mean anything. I thought it amusing, is all.”
“Well, we live to entertain our betters,” I tell him. “The condemned must be a constant source of pleasure for you and your bloody Abbot Hugo.”
“Hugo is not my abbot.” This he says in stark defiance of the plain facts. “He is a disgrace to the cloth.”
How now! There is a small wound a-festering, and I poke it a little, hoping to open it more.
“Odo,” I say, shaking my head, “is that any way to talk about your spiritual superior?”
“Abbot Hugo is not my spiritual superior,” he sniffs. “Even the lowest dog in the pack is superior to him.”
This is the first time I’d ever heard him dishonour the abbot, and I cannot help but wonder what has happened to turn this dutiful pup against his master. Was it something I said?
“I do believe you are peevish, my friend,” I say. “What has happened to set your teeth on edge?”
Odo sighs and rolls his eyes. “It is nothing,” he grunts, and refuses to say more. I coax but, stubborn stump that he is, Odo will not budge. So, we go on . . .
We followed the King’s Road up from the Vale of Elfael and into the bare winter wood. Bailiff Antoin was more than wary. He was not a fool, mind. He knew only too well what awaited him if King Raven should appear out of the shadows. Yet, give him his due, he showed courage and good humour riding into the forest to offer protection to the merchants. All the soldiers did, mind, and most were eager to take arms against the phantom.
I was the Judas goat leading these trusting sheep to the slaughter.
True, I did not know what Bran would do when he saw that the sheriff was not with us. The bailiff noticed my fretful manner and tried to reassure me. “You’re worrying for nothing,” he said. “The raven creature will not attack in daylight. He only comes out at night.”
Where he had picked up this notion, I have no idea. “You would know best, Sire,” I replied, trying to smile.
The road rose up the long slope into the wood, eventually following the crest a short distance before beginning the long descent into the Valley of the Wye. The soldiers maintained an admirable wariness; they talked little and kept their eyes moving. They were learning: if not to fear the wood and its black phantom, then at least to show a crumb of respect.
The road is old and descends below deep banks for much of the way; here and there it crosses streams and brooks that come tumbling out of the greenwood. Little humps of snow still occupied the shadows and places untouched by the sun. The going is slow at the best of times, and on that winter day, with the weak sunlight spattered and splayed through bare branches, little puffs of mist rising from the rocks or roots warmed by the sun, eternity seemed to pass with every dragging step. The men grew more quiet the deeper into the wood we went. I was thinking that we must be near to meeting the wagons when I heard the low bellow of an ox and the creaking of wooden wheels. I raised myself in the saddle to listen.
A moment later, the first wagon hove into view. I saw Iwan walking beside the lead ox, holding a long goad. In his merchant’s clothing—a long wool cloak, tall boots, and a broad belt to which a fat purse was attached—he seemed only slightly more tame than usual. He was shaved, and his hair had been trimmed to make him appear more like a merchant, or the guard of a travelling trader. The other wagon was some distance behind, and I could only just make it out as it lumbered toward us, bumping along the rutted road.
I did not wait for Bailiff Antoin to make the first move. “There they are!” I called. “This way!”
With a slap of the reins, I rode on ahead, leaving the Ffreinc to come on at their own pace. I wanted a word with Bran before they arrived.
Rhi Bran was sitting in the second wagon, which was being led by Siarles. I rode directly to Bran. He smiled when he saw me and raised his hand in greeting, but the smile quickly faded. “Trouble?”
“De Glanville is not with us,” I said. “He would not come, and sent his bailiff instead.”
Bran’s eyes narrowed as his mind began to work on the problem. Iwan joined us just then, and I explained what I had just told Bran. “Do you think he suspected a trap?”
I shook my head. “He is sick, I think—maybe from the wound he took on Twelfth Night. He would not leave his chamber.”
Iwan cast a glance at the advancing soldiers. We had but a moment more before a decision would be needed.
Siarles said, “We cannot send them back, I suppose.”
Said I, “Maybe you could go explain to them that they are no longer needed.” Siarles frowned and gave a snort of derision, then turned to Bran to see what he would say.
We were all looking at Bran by then. It was time to decide.
“Well, my lord?” I asked. “What will you do?”
“We will go on.” Bran smiled and raised his hand as the bailiff came riding up. “Come back and speak to me when we reach the town.”
“All is well,” I told Antoin in my broken French. “They say there has been no sign of the phantom of the wood.”
“We will not see that black coward today,” the bailiff declared, but I noticed he cast a hasty glance ’round about just to make certain he had not spoken too soon. He called a command for some of his men to fall in behind the last wagon and guard the rear. “If you are ready,” he said, wheeling his horse, “we will move along. We must hurry if we are to reach Saint Martin’s by nightfall.”
“Lead the way, my lord,” I said, and accompanied him to the front of the train.
“Only two wagons?” asked Antoin as we began the return journey.
“Only two,” I confirmed. “Why do you ask?”
He sh
rugged. “I thought it would be more. Where are they from?” he asked.
“From the north country,” I told him. The southern Ffreinc knew little about anything beyond the Great Ouse. “It is a hard winter up there. Trading is easier in the south this time of year.”
Antoin nodded as if this were well known, and we made our way up the slope to the crest of the ridge once more, the wagons rumbling slowly behind us. Every now and then the bailiff would ride off to one side and look back to reassure himself that all was as it should be. As we started down into the Vale of Elfael, I wondered what Bran was thinking, and how we would make good the deception. We might have posed as the traders we professed to be, but we had no goods to trade; we had a few pelts and some other odds and ends, but that was only for show. Once we reached the market square, we would be discovered for the rascals we were.
Now and again I found a chance to look back, but Bran was too far behind and I could not see him. I tried slowing down so as to drop back to speak to him, but the bailiff kept everyone moving, saying, “Step up! Step up! Don’t fall behind. We want to reach the town before dark.”
Indeed, the sun was well down by the time we left the forest. Clouds were drifting in from the west, and the wind was picking up—a wild night in the offing. We came to the fording place where the road crossed the stream that cuts through the floor of the valley. “The animals need water,” I called. Before the bailiff could say otherwise, I slid down from the saddle and gave my horse to drink. One by one, the others joined us at the ford. While the oxen drank, I sidled over to where Bran was standing.
“What are we to do?” I asked, smiling and nodding as though we talked of nothing more consequential than the weather.
“It will be almost dark by the time we reach the square,” he said. “So much the better. Tell the bailiff we mean to make camp for the night behind the church, and that we will set out our wares in the morning. I’ll explain the rest when they’ve left us alone.”
I nodded to show I understood, and then felt his hand on my shoulder. “Nothing to fear,Will,” he said. “We’ll just have a little further to ride when we snatch de Glanville—nothing more. All will be well.”
I nodded again, and then walked back to my mount.
Bailiff Antoin called to his men to move the wagons on, and we were soon rolling again: down and down, into the valley, leaving the protection of the forest behind. The clouds thickened and the wind sharpened. The sun set as the first wagon passed Castle Truan, the old caer, Bran’s former home. Though we were that close we could almost reach out and touch the wooden palisade, Bran gave no sign that he knew the place. As we passed, one of Count De Braose’s men came out to meet us on the road, and I feared he might make trouble. He and Antoin exchanged a brief word and he rode back up to the fortress; we continued on to the town, which we could see in the near distance.
The wind fell away as we rounded the foot of the fortress mount. A silvery pall of smoke hung over the town. Folk were expecting a cold night and had already built their fires high. I could well imagine the warmth of those flames burning brightly on the hearth and longed to stretch my cold bones beneath a tight roof. The soldiers, seeing we were within sight of the town and there were no bandits lurking on the hilltops, asked to be relieved of duty. The bailiff turned to me and said, “The town is just there. You are safe now.”
I thanked him for his good care and said, “We will make camp behind the church and offer trade tomorrow. Pray, do not trouble yourself any longer on our account.”
“Then I will bid you good night,” said Antoin. He made no move to leave until I dipped my fingers into the leather purse at my belt and drew out some silver. I dropped the coins into his palm and his fist closed over them. Without a word, he signalled to the others; his men put spurs to their mounts and they all galloped for home.
I wheeled my mount and hurried back to the second wagon. “They’re away home,” I told Iwan in the first wagon as I passed him. “Keep moving.” Reining in beside Bran, I said, “They’ve gone on ahead to town.
I thanked them and explained that we’d make camp behind the church.
I don’t think they suspect anything.”
“Good,” said Bran. “We should have some time to work.” Rising in his seat, he turned and looked back the way we’d come. I thought he was looking at the fortress, but he said, “Now where did those other soldiers get to?”
“Other soldiers?” I asked. “They all returned to Saint Martin’s.”
“All but three,” said Bran. “There were five behind us, and only two rode on.”
Now I looked back along the trail to see if I might catch sight of the missing three. I saw nothing but a dull grey mist rising with the oncoming night. “I don’t see anyone.”
“It would be good to know what happened to them.”
“Could they have stopped at the caer?” I wondered.
Bran shrugged. “More likely stopped to pee.” He turned around again, and said, “Lead on, Will. Let’s get to the church.”
It was well and truly dark by the time we reached the little town square. No one was about. The mud underfoot had hardened with the cold and crunched under the heavy wagon wheels. A single torch burned outside the guardhouse, and it fluttered in the rising wind. Of our escort of soldiers, there was no sign. No doubt, they had already stabled their horses and gone in to their supper. The thought of a hot meal brought the water to my mouth and made my stomach gurgle.
As we passed the stone keep of the guardhouse, a burst of laughter escaped into the square. It was the sound of soldiers at their drink—a fella has only to hear that once to know it whenever he hears it again. Crossing the square, we passed the church and made our way to the little grove behind. We put the wagons in the grove, unhitched the oxen, and led them to the wall of the church, where they might get some shelter from the wind. We tethered them so they might graze, and left them. “Gather round,” said Bran, and we formed a tight circle around him as he explained how we were to proceed. “But before we go any further, we must get some horses,” he concluded.
“Leave that to me,” said Iwan. “Siarles and I will get them.”
Bran nodded. “Then Will—you and I will fetch the sheriff. Tomas,” he said, turning to the young Welshman, “you wait here and ready our weapons. Pray, all of you, that we don’t need them.”
We all crept to the corner of the church and looked across to the stables. “God with you,” said Bran.
“And you,” said Iwan; then he and Siarles moved out into the square. They walked quickly, but without seeming to hurry.
A half-moon sailed high overhead, shining down through rents in the low clouds. They reached the stables and let themselves in. Bran turned to me, his smile dark and sinister. “Ready, Will?”
I nodded, and told him what to expect inside the sheriff ’s house. “Maybe I should lead the way.”
We hurried along the wall of the church and then passed in front of the entrance. I thought I could hear the monks praying inside as we moved off towards the sheriff ’s house. We paused at the door, and as I put my hand to the latch, Bran eased the sword from where it had been hidden beneath his cloak. “Sick or not, I do expect de Glanville to come along quietly,” he said. “But I would prefer not to kill him.”
“It may come to that,” I said. Pushing open the door, we began to climb the stairs to the upper floor as quietly as we could. Even so, de Glanville heard us. “Cela vous, Antoin?” he called out in Ffreinc, his words slurred in his mouth.
I hesitated and glanced at Bran. “Answer him,” he whispered.
“Antoin?” the sheriff called again.
“Oui, c’est,” I replied, speaking low, trying to make my voice sound as much like the bailiff ’s as I could—easier to do, I discovered, in Ffreinc than Saxon.
“Venir,” he said, “le vin de boisson avec moi.”
“Un moment,” I called. To Bran, I whispered, “I think he wants us to come drink with him.”
“Right friendly of him,” whispered Bran. “Let us not keep him waiting.”
We started up the stairs; I let my feet fall heavily on the wooden treads to cover the sound of Bran’s lighter steps behind me.
We entered together, pausing in the doorway to take in the room, which was deep in shadow; the only light came from the fire in the hearth, which had burned low. The sheriff was still sitting wrapped in his deerskin robe before the hearth; the remains of a meal lay scattered over the nearby table.
“Remettre votre manteau, Antoin,” said de Glanville, “et dessiner une chaise près du feu.”
“Take him now!” whispered Bran in my ear. I felt his hand on my back urging me forward as he sprang past me into the room.
De Glanville sensed the sudden surge towards him, but made no move to prevent us or call out. He simply turned his head as we rushed to his chair, Bran on one side and myself on the other. He did not seem especially surprised to see us, but when he languidly raised his hand as if to fend us off with backward flick of his wrist, I saw that he understood something of the danger descending upon him.
“Drunk as a bishop,” I said. “He’s probably been sucking the bottle all day.”
A lazy smile spread across the sheriff ’s narrow rat face. “Vous n’êtes pas Antoin,” he said, the wine rank on his breath. “Où est Antoin?”
“Look at him,” I said, shaking my head with disgust. “Doesn’t even know who we are.”
“Good,” replied Bran. “It makes our chore that much easier.” Taking de Glanville’s arm, he pulled the sheriff to his feet, where he stood swaying like a willow wand in a gale.
“He can’t walk,” I said. “We’ll have to carry him.”
“Take his feet.” Bran allowed the sheriff to topple gently backwards and caught him under the arms. Stooping, I grabbed his ankles, and together we slung him between us and started hauling him down the stairs and out the door. De Glanville, unresisting, allowed himself to be rough handled all the way to the bottom. He revived somewhat as we stepped outside and the cold air hit him. He moaned and rolled his head from side to side.