Turning around in the saddle, Bran saw the bandy-legged friar running after them. Thinking they had forgotten something, he pulled up.
"I'm coming with you," Aethelfrith declared.
Bran regarded the man's disgraceful robe, bare feet, ragged tonsure, and untidy beard. He glanced at Ffreol and shook his head.
"Your offer is thoughtful, to be sure," replied Brother Ffreol, "but we would not burden you with our affairs."
"Maybe not," he allowed, "but God wants me to go."
"God wants you to go," Iwan scoffed lightly. "You speak for God now, do you?"
"No," the priest allowed, "but I know he wants me to go."
"And how, pray, do you know this?"
Aethelfrith offered a diffident smile. "He told me,"
"Well," replied the battlechief lightly, "until he tells nie, I say you stay here and guard the wine cask."
Ffreol lifted a hand in farewell, and the three started off again, but after only a few dozen paces, Bran looked around again to see the plump priest hurrying after them, robes lifted high, his bowed legs churning. "Go back!" he called, not bothering to stop.
"I cannot," replied Aethelfrith. "It is not your voice I heed, but God's. I am compelled to come with you."
"I think we should take him," Brother Ffreol said.
"He is too slow afoot," Bran pointed out. "He could never keep pace.
"True," agreed Ffreol as the priest came puffing up. Reaching down his hand, he said, "You can ride with me, Tuck." Aethelfrith took the offered hand and began wriggling labouriously up onto the back of the horse.
"What?" said Iwan. Indicating Bran and himself, he said, "Are we not to have a say in this?"
"Say whatever you like," Aethelfrith replied. "I am certain God is willing to listen."
Iwan grumbled, but Bran laughed. "Stung you," he chuckled, "eh, Little John?"
For five days they journeyed on, following the road as it bent its way south and east over the broad lowland hills from whose tops could be seen a land of green and golden fields strewn with the smudgy brown blots of innumerable settlements. They travelled more slowly with four; owing to the extra weight, they had to stop and rest the horses more frequently. But what he cost them in time, Tuck made up in songs and rhymes and stories about the saints-and this made the journey more enjoyable.
The countryside became ever more densely populated-roads, lanes, and trackways seamed the valleys, and the cross-topped steeples of churches adorned every hilltop. Over all hung the odour of the dung heap, pungent and heavy in the sultry air. By the time the sprawl of Lundein appeared beyond the wide gleaming sweep of the Thames, Bran was heartily sick of England and already longing to return to Elfael. Ordinarily, he would not have endured such a misery in silence, but the sight of the city brought the reason for their sojourn fresh to mind, and his soul sank beneath the weight of an infinitely greater grief. He merely bit his lip and passed through the wretched realm, his gaze level, his face hard.
On its way into the city, the road widened to resemble a broad, bare, wheel-rutted expanse hemmed in on each side by row upon row of houses, many flanked by narrow yards out of which merchants and craftsmen pursued their various trades. Carters, carpenters, and wheelwrights bartered with customers ankle deep in wood shavings; blacksmiths hammered glowing rods on anvils to produce andirons, fire grates, ploughshares, door bands and hinges, chains, and horseshoes; corders sat in their doorways, winding jute into hanks that rose in mounded coils at their feet; potters ferried planks lined with sun-dried pitchers, jars, and bowls to their nearby kilns. Everywhere Bran looked, people seemed to be intensely busy, but he saw no place that looked at all friendly to strangers.
They rode on and soon came to a low house fronting the river. Several dozen barrels were lined up outside the entrance beside the road. Some of the barrels were topped with boards, behind which a young woman with hair the colour of spun gold and a bright red kerchief across her bare shoulders dispensed jars of ale to a small gathering of thirsty travellers. Without a second thought, Bran turned aside, dismounted, and walked to the board.
"Pax vobiscum," he said, dusting off his Latin.
She gave him a nod and patted the board with her hand-a sign he took to mean she wanted to see his money first. As Bran dug out his purse and searched for a suitable coin, the others joined him.
"Allow me," said Aethelfrith, pushing up beside him. He brought out an English penny. "Coin of the realm," he said, holding the small silver disc between thumb and forefinger. "And for this we should eat like kings as well, should we not?" He handed the money to the alewife. "Four jars, good woman," he said in English. "And fill them full to overflowing."
"There is food, too?" asked Bran as the woman poured out three large jars from a nearby pitcher.
"Inside the house," replied the cleric. Following Bran's gaze, he added, "but we'll not be going in there."
"Why not? It seems a good enough place." He could smell the aroma of roast pork and onions on the light evening breeze.
"Oh, aye, a good enough place to practise iniquity, perhaps, or lose your purse-if not your life." He shook his head at the implied depravity. "But we have a bed waiting for us where we will not be set upon by anything more onerous than a psalm."
"You know of such a place?" asked Ffreol.
"There is a monastery just across the river," Friar Aethelfrith informed them. "The Abbey of Saint Mary the Virgin. I have stayed there before. They will give us a bowl and bed for the night."
Aethelfrith's silver penny held good for four more jars and half a loaf of bread, sliced and smeared with pork drippings, which only served to rouse their appetites. Halfway through the second jar, Bran had begun to feel as if Lundein might not be as bad as his first impression had led him to believe. He became more certain when he caught the young alewife watching him; she offered him a saucy smile and gave a little toss of her head, indicating that he should follow. With a nod and a wink, she disappeared around the back of the house, with Bran a few steps behind her. As Bran came near, she lifted her skirt a little and extended her leg to reveal a shapely ankle.
"It is a lovely river, is it not?" observed Aethelfrith, falling into step beside him.
"It is not the river I am looking at," said Bran. "Go back and finish your ale, and I will join you when I've finished here."
"Oh," replied the friar, "I think you've had enough already." Waving to the young woman, he took Bran by the arm and steered him back the way they had come. "Evening is upon us," he observed. "We'll be going on.,,
"I'm hungry," said Bran. Glancing back at the alewife, he saw that she had gone inside. "We should eat something."
"Aye, we will," agreed Tuck, "but not here." They rejoined the others, and Bran returned to his jar, avoiding the stern glance of Brother Ffreol, "Drink up, my friends," ordered Tuck. "It is time we were moving along."
With a last look toward the inn, Bran drained his cup and reluctantly followed the others back to their mounts and climbed back into the saddle. "How many times have you been to Lundein?" he asked as they continued their slow plod into the city.
"Oh, a fair few," Aethelfrith replied. "Four or five times, I think, though the last time was when old King William was on the throne." He paused to consider. "Seven years ago, perhaps."
At King's Bridge they stopped in the road. Bran had never seen a bridge so wide and long, and despite the crowds now hurrying to their homes on the other side of the river, he was not certain he wanted to venture out too far. He was on the point of dismounting to lead his horse across when Aethelfrith saw his hesitation. "Five hundred men on horseback cross this bridge every day," he called, "and oxcarts by the score. It will yet bear a few more."