Tuck

"Next time we ride."

"That might be tomorrow," Brocmael pointed out.

Bran nodded. "Then we best make certain everything is ready today."

The two young men glanced at one another. "Do you think the earl will tumble?" Ifor wondered.

"Why not?" replied Bran. "He suspects nothing. If all goes well, we should be far away from here before he learns what has happened…" Regarding the solemn expressions on the faces of his two young comrades, he gave them his slightly twisted smile. "… if he ever learns-and I strongly suspect he never will."

Bran resumed his stroll into the town with Alan at his side, leaving Tuck and the two young lords to reckon what had just been said. "Don't you worry, lads," Tuck said, trying to bank their courage a little higher. "By tomorrow night we'll be well on our way back to Wales with our prize, and beyond the claws and teeth of Wolf d'Avranches."

A short while later they entered a fair-sized market in full cry; merchants shouting for custom, animals bawling, dogs barking. Bran paused and surveyed the comely chaos for a moment. "Good," he said, "there are enough people about that we should not draw undue attention to ourselves. You all know what to do?"

Brocmael and Ifor nodded grimly. Bran opened his purse and fished out a few pennies. "This should be enough," he told them. "We are not clothing him for his coronation, mind."

"We know what to do," said Ifor.

"Then off you go. Return here when you are finished and wait for us."

When they had gone, Bran, Tuck, and Alan commenced their own particular quest. "Have you given any thought to my idea?" asked Bran as they began to stroll among the stalls and booths of the busy market.

"That I have," Tuck replied.

"And?"

"Oh, I think it should work-although I am no dog-handler. It seems a simple enough matter, does it not? We will require a little oil and perhaps an herb or two to mix with it-something strong, but not too offensive. No doubt if Angharad were here she would know better."

"But she is not here, so we look to you now," Bran said. "What do you suggest?"

"Essence of angelica for the oil," Tuck answered after a moment's consideration. "It is light, yet easily stains a cloth. Get it on your skin and it lingers long, even after you wash."

"Excellent! Just the thing," said Bran. He gazed around at the seething crowd of people and animals. "What do you say, Alan? Will we find what we need here?"

"I expect so, my lord. I know of a 'pothecary who comes to market most days."

"And the herbs?" he asked. "What are we looking for?"

"There are several-any one of which will suffice," Tuck mused aloud. "Lavender is strong, but not unpleasant. It is distinctive and not to be mistaken for anything else. There is also thyme, marjoram, or sage. Any of those, I think. Or all of them, come to that."

Bran commended his cleric happily. "Splendid! One day Alan here will laud your native Saxon cunning from one end of this island to the other."

"Lord help us, I don't want to be lauded," Tuck told him. "I'd as soon settle for a month of peace and quiet in my own snug oratory with nary a king or earl in sight." He paused, considering. "I think about that, do I not?" He caught Bran's expression and said, "I do! Sometimes."

Bran shook his head. "Ah, Tuck, my man, you were born for greater things."

"So you say. The world and his wife says different, methinks." The three waded into the busy square and made short work of purchasing the items required. Alan prevailed upon the apothecary to mix the lavender and angelica oil for them, and add in the herbs. This made a fairly sticky concoction with a strong odour which seemed right for the purpose. They also bought a stout hemp bag with a good leather cord to close it, and then wound their way back to meet their two young companions and see how they had fared.

"We bought these," said Brocmael, offering up the bundle of goods they had purchased. "Not new, mind, but good quality." Still looking doubtful, he added, "I would wear them."

"It cost but a penny," Ifor explained. "So we bought a cloak as well." He shook out a hooded cloak and held it up. It was heavy wool of a tight weave, dyed green. It had once been a handsome thing, made perhaps for a nobleman. It was slightly faded now and patched in several places, but well-mended and clean. "No doubt he'd choose a better one," Ifor admitted, looking to Bran for approval, "but needs must, and this is better for hiding."

"He will be glad of it," Bran assured him. "You've done well-both of you. So now"-he looked around with the air of a man about to depart for territories unknown-"I think we are ready at last."

With that, the party began making their way back to the castle. The day had turned fair and bright; the breeze coming inland from the sea was warm and lightly scented with the salt-and-seaweed smell of the bay. They walked along in silence as thoughts turned to the danger of what lay ahead. All at once, Bran stopped and said, "We should not go on this way."

"Which way should we go?" Alan said. "This is the shortest way back to the castle."

"I mean," Bran explained, "it will not do to rouse the wolf in his den."

Tuck puzzled over this a moment, and said, "Dunce that I am, your meaning eludes me, I fear."

"If we return to the caer like this-all long-faced and fretful-it might put the earl on edge. Tonight of all nights we need the wolf to sleep soundly while we work."

"I agree, of course," Tuck replied. "So, pray, what is in your mind?"

"A drink with my friends," Bran said. "Come, Alan, I daresay you know an inn or public house where we can sit together over a jar or two."

"Right you are there, m'lord. I'm the man fer ye!" he declared, lapsing once more into that curious beggar cant he adopted from time to time. "Fret ye not whit nor tiddle, there's ale aplenty in Caer Cestre. Jist pick up yer feet an' follow Alan."

He turned and led the little group back down the street towards the centre of the town. It is a commonplace among settlements of a certain size that the better alehouses will be found fronting the square so as to attract and serve the buyers and sellers on market days. And although the Normans ruled the town of late, it was still Saxon at heart, which meant, if nothing else, that there would be ale and pies.

Alan pointed out two acceptable alehouses, and they decided on the one that had a few little tables and stools set up outside in the sun. There were barrels stacked up to one side of the doorway, forming a low wall to separate the tables from the bustle of the square. They sat down and soon had jars of sweet dark ale in their fists and a plate of pies to share amongst them.

"I would not insult you by repeating your instructions yet again," Bran said, setting his jar aside. "You all know what to do and need no reminding how important it is." He looked each in the eye as he spoke, one after the other as if to see if there might be a weakening of will to be glimpsed there. "But if any of you have any questions about what is to come, ask them now. It will be the last time we are together until we cross the river."

Bran, mindful of the trust he was placing on such young and untried shoulders, wanted to give the two Welshmen a last opportunity to ease their minds of any burdens they might be carrying. But each returned his gaze with studied determination, and it was clear the group was of one accord and each one ready to play his part to the last. Nor did anyone have any questions… save only their guide and interpreter.

"There is something I've been thinking these last few days, m'lord," Alan said after a slight hesitation, "and maybe now is a good time to ask."

"As good a time as any," agreed Bran. "What is in your mind, Alan?"