"Well, it took me long enough," I allowed, "but we got here in time. That is all that matters."
"There's still one thing I wonder," Bran said. "How did you work out the nature of the conspiracy?"
"Well, now," I said, running back over the events of the last days in my mind. "It was all those days talking to Odo and getting an idea how those Normans think-that's what started it. Then, when I learned about the two popes, it seemed to me that the letter was intended as a treaty of sorts-why else write it all down?"
"A treaty," mused Bran. "I never thought of that. You mean Duke Robert and Baron de Braose agreed to support Clement's claim to the throne of Peter, if the pope would support Robert's claim to the throne of England."
"Our William is not well loved," I added. "And, as I know from my old master Aelred, his barons almost succeeded in unseating the king last time they rebelled. I reckoned things have only got worse for them since then. I know William is no lover of the church."
"He uses it as his own treasure store," Bran said. "Helps himself whenever he can."
"Aye, he does-and that's the nub. Our William milks it like a cow, keeping all the cream for himself. But if that was to stop, his throne would begin to totter, if you see what I mean."
"With both the barons and the church against him, the king could not stand," observed Bran. "I got that much from your message."
"A bit o' blind luck, that," I told him, shaking my head at the remarkable string of events that small patch of parchment had set off. "I wasn't sure what you'd make of it, or what you'd be able to do about it. I didn't even dare hope that scrap would reach you. I had only Odo to depend on, mind. He's a Norman, but he gave good service in the end. I'd like to do something for him one day." I paused and looked around the bare room and at our unlikely company. "God's own truth, my lord, I never dreamed it would come to this-squattin' in the palace of the archbishop of Rouen and waitin' for the king of England to decide our fate."
"My lord!" said Siarles, speaking up from his place across the room. "Are we to be expected to sit here all day like moss on a log?"
As if to answer his question, there was a bustle in the corridor and the door to our chamber opened. Canon Laurent strode into the room with two clerics dressed in robes similar to his own; with them were three knights from King William's force. All wore solemn expressions. The knights carried swords at their belts, and two gripped lances. The canon held a scrap of parchment and carried it flat between his hands as if the ink was still wet on the surface of the page. "Peace and grace," said the canon, which I understood. "I have come directly from private council with King William, who expresses his highest regards, and sends this message to you."
Merian stepped beside Bran and slid her hand into his. They stood side by side, an unlikely pair in their disguises. The rest of us drew near, too, taking our places beside our lord and his lady to receive the judgement of the king. Whatever the king's decision might be, whether for good or ill, we would take it standing together as one.
"Hear the king's words," said Laurent, raising the parchment. "Be it known that in gratitude for his good service to our crown and throne, William, by the grace of God, king of England, does hereby bestow the sum of thirty pounds in silver to be used to aid and assist Lord Bran ap Brychan and his company to return home by the way he has come…"
"What?" complained Iwan, when this much had been translated for us. "He's sending us home? What about the return of our lands?"
"Peace, Iwan." Bran held up his hand for silence. He nodded to Jago.
"Pray, continue," Jago said to the canon.
"Further," resumed Laurent, "His Majesty, King William, serves notice that you are commanded to attend him at the royal residence at Winchester on the third day after the Feast of the Archangels, known as Michaelmas. At that appointed place and time you will receive the king's judgement in the matters laid before him this day."
Here Laurent broke off. Looking up from the proclamation, he said, "Do you understand what I have read to you?"
When Jago had finished translating these words, Bran said, "With all respect to the king, we will stay here and await his judgement. It may be that we can help bear witness against the rebels."
"No," answered the cleric, "after today it will be too dangerous for you to remain here, and the king cannot ensure your safety. The king has commanded that you are to be escorted to your ship at once and you are to make your way home by the swiftest means possible. His Majesty the king wishes you a pleasant journey and may God speed you in all safety to your destination."
Steal breath from a baby, we were stunned.
We had come all this way prepared to bargain, plead, fight tooth and nail for the return of our lands only to be tossed lightly onto the midden heap like so much dung. It beggared belief, I can tell you. Though Bran tried to get the canon to see the thing as we did, and though the cleric sympathised in his way, Laurent could do nothing. The king had allowed him no room to wiggle; there was nothing for it but to take the money and go.
Red William is every inch as much a rogue as any of his bloody barons, no mistake. The king's knights escorted us to our horses and accompanied us back down the hill and through the town to the river wharf and our waiting ship. We rode in silence all the way, and my own heart was heavy until we came in sight of the Dame Havik at her mooring-and then I remembered Noin. Suddenly, I cared no longer about the doings of the high and mighty. My sole aim and desire was to see my love and hold her in my arms-and each moment I was prevented from doing that was a moment that chafed and chapped me raw. From the instant I set foot on the deck of that ship to the day I stepped off it and onto solid English earth once more, I was a man with an itch I could not scratch.
When on that fine, sunny day we bade our friend Ruprecht farewell and took our leave a little lighter in the pocket, to be sure-for we paid that Flemish sailor well for his excellent and praiseworthy care-it was all I could do to keep from lashing my poor mount all the way back to Elfael. I counted the quarters of the days until I at last saw the greenwood rising in the distance on the slopes of the ridge beyond the Vale of Wye, and then I counted the steps as I watched that great shaggy pelt bristling beneath a sky of shining blue and my heart beat faster for the sight. S'truth, only the man who has journeyed to far distant lands and returned to his native earth after braving dangers, toil, and hardships aplenty can know how I felt just then. I was seized by joy and flown to dizzy heights of elation only to be dashed to the rocks again with the very next thought. For as glad as I was to be going home, I was that afraid something might yet prevent me reaching the one I loved. All saints bear witness, our little company could not move fast enough for me. I fair wore out the goodwill of my companions long before we reached the blasted oak at the entrance to Cel Craidd.
When I came in sight of that black stump, I threw myself from the saddle and was halfway to the lightning-riven oak as through heaven's own gate before I noticed someone standing there.
"Noin?" I could scarce believe my eyes. She was there waiting for me!
"Is that you, Will Scarlet?" Her voice held a quiver. Surprise? Uncertainty? But she made no move toward me.
I stepped nearer, my heart beating high up in my throat, and put out a hand to her. "It is…," I replied, unable to speak above a whisper just then. "It is Will come home."
She regarded me with an almost stern expression, her eyes dry. "Have you, Will? Have you come home at last?"