"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."
CHAPTER 9
Long before Rome turned its eyes toward the Isle of the Mighty, Bangor, in the far north of Gwynedd, was an ancient and revered capital of kings. There, among the heavy overhanging boughs of venerable oaks, the druids taught their varied and subtle arts, establishing the first schools in the west. That was long ago. The druids were gone, but the schools remained; and now those aged trees sheltered one of the oldest monasteries in Britain, and for all anyone knew, all of Christendom. Indeed, the proud tribes of Gwynedd had sent a bishop and some priests to Emperor Constantine's great council half a world away in Nicea-as the inhabitants of north Wales never tired of boasting.
When Bran's father-Brychan ap Tewdwr, a prince of the south-found himself in want of a wife, it was to Gwynedd that he had come looking. And in Bangor he had discovered his queen: Rhian, a much-loved princess of her tribe. While she had lived, ties between the two kingdoms north and south had remained strong. Thus, Bran expected to find a hearty welcome among his mother's kinsmen.
After three days on the road, the two travellers drew near the town and the pathways multiplied and diverged. So they stopped to ask directions from the first person they met-a squint-eyed shepherd sitting under a beech tree at the foot of a grassy hill.
"You'll be wanting to see your folk, I expect," observed the shepherd.
"It is the reason we came," Bran told him, a hint of exasperation colouring his tone. Having already explained that his mother had been the daughter of a local chieftain, he had asked if the fellow knew where any of her people might be found.
"Well," replied the shepherd. He craned his neck around to observe his sheep grazing on the hillside behind him, "you won't find any of 'em in town yonder."
"No?" wondered Bran. "Why not?"
"They en't there!" hooted the man, whistling through his few snaggled teeth.
"And why would that be?" wondered Bran. "If you know, perhaps I could persuade you to tell me."
"No mystery there, Brother," replied the shepherd. "They've all gone over to Aberffraw, en't they."
"Have they indeed," said Bran. "And why is that?"
"It's all to do with that Ffreinc earl, 'n' tryin' to stay out o' his reach, d'ye ken?"
"I think so," replied Bran doubtfully. "And where might this Aberffraw be?"