Once again, the guard plied the key, and after a few moments huffing and puffing, the lock gave and the door swung open, squealing on its rusted hinges like a tortured rat. The prisoner started at the sound, then looked around slowly, hardly raising his head. But he made no other move or sound.
Stepping past the gaoler, Tuck pushed the door open farther and, relieving the porter of his torch, entered the cell. It was a small, square room of unfinished stone with a wooden stool, a three-legged table, and a pile of rancid rushes in one corner for a bed. Although it stank of the slop bucket standing open beside the door, and vermin crawled in the mildewed rushes, the room was dry enough. Two bars of solid iron covered a square window near the top of one wall, and an iron ring was set into the opposite wall. To this ring was attached a heavy chain which was, in turn, clamped to the prisoner's leg.
"I will shrive him now," Tuck said to the guard.
The fellow settled himself to wait, leaning against the corridor wall. He picked his teeth and waited for the bishop to begin.
"You are welcome to stay, of course," said Tuck, speaking as the bishop. "Kneel down. I will shrive you too."
Understanding came slowly to the guard, but when it did he opened his mouth to protest.
"Come!" insisted the smiling bishop. "We all need shriving from time to time. Kneel down," he directed. "Or leave us in peace."
The gaoler regarded the prisoner, shrugged, and departed, taking the key with him. Tuck waited, and when he could no longer hear the man's footsteps on the stairs outside, he knelt down before the prisoner and declared in a loud voice, sure to be overheard, "Pax vobiscum"
The prisoner made no reply, nor gave any sign that he had heard.
"Lord Gruffydd, can you hear me? Are you well?" Tuck asked, his voice hushed.
At the sound of these words spoken in his own language by a priest, the king raised his head a little and, in a voice grown creaky from disuse, asked, "Who are you?"
"Friar Aethelfrith," Tuck replied softly. "I am with some others, and we have come to free you."
Gruffydd stared at him as if he could not make sense of what he had been told. "Free me?"
"Yes."
The captive king pondered this a moment, then asked, "How many are with you?"
"Three," Tuck said.
"It cannot be done," Gruffydd replied. His head sank down again. "Not with three hundred, much less three."
"Take heart," Tuck told him. "Do as I say and you will soon gain your freedom. Rouse yourself, and pay me heed now. I must tell you what to do, and we do not have much time."
CHAPTER 19
Count Rexindo and his entourage assembled in the yard to await the appearance of the earl and his men. The stable-hands and idlers in the yard-many who had been in the hall the night before-watched them with an interest they had not shown in several days. Word of the day's unusual sport had spread throughout the castle, and those who could had come to observe the spectacle for themselves. Under the gaze of the earl's court, Bran gathered his company at a mounting block near the stables and traced out the steps of his plan one last time. All listened intently, keenly aware of the grave importance of what lay before them. When he finished, Bran asked, "You gave Lord Gruffydd the oil, Tuck?"
"I did," the friar answered, "and Brocmael here has the clothes we bought."
Bran glanced at the young man, who patted a bulge beneath his cloak.
"Alan, you know what to say?" he asked, placing his hand on the fellow's shoulder and searching his face with his eyes.
"That I do, my lord. Come what may, I am ready. Never let it be said Alan a'Dale was ever at a loss for words."
"Well then," Bran said, gazing around the ring of faces. "It's going to be a long and dangerous day, God knows. But with the Good Lord's help we'll come through it none the worse."
"And the hounds?" asked Ifor.
"Leave them to me," answered Bran. There was a noise in the yard as the earl and his company-including the five Ffreinc noblemen they had feasted with the previous night-emerged from the doorway across the yard. He gave Brocmael and Ifor an encouraging slap on the back and sent them on their way. "To the horses, lads. See you keep your wits about you and all will be well."
As the two young Welshmen moved off to fetch their mounts, Bran composed himself as Count Rexindo; then, straightening himself, he turned, smiled, and offered a good-natured salute to Earl Hugh. Out of the side of his mouth, he said, "Pray for all you're worth, good friar. I would have God's aid and comfort on this day."
"Hey now," Tuck replied, "it's potent prayers I'm praying since first light this morning, am I not? Trust in the Lord. Our cause is just and we cannot fail."
The earl and his company came into earshot then, and the count, piping up, said, "Pax vobiscum, mes ami." Alan added his greeting and gave the earl a low bow he did not in any way deserve.
"Pax," said Hugh. He rubbed his fat hands and glanced quickly around the yard, looking for his hounds and handlers. The lately arrived Ffreinc noblemen stood a little apart, stiff-legged and yawning; with faces unshaven and eyes rimmed red, they appeared ill rested and queasy in the soft morning light. Clearly, they were not accustomed to the roister and revel such as took place in Castle Cestre of an evening. The earl shouted across the empty yard, his voice echoing off the stone walls. In response to his call, a narrow door opened at the far end of the stable block and the porter entered the yard, pulling a very reluctant prisoner at the end of a chain behind him. "Here! Here!" said Hugh.
A moment later, from a door at the other end of the stables, the hounds and their handlers entered the yard. The hounds, seeing the horses and men assembled and waiting, began yapping with eager anticipation of the trail as hounds will. Count Rexindo, however, took one look at the chained captive and began shaking his head gravely.
"This is very bad," he said, speaking through Alan, who made a sour face as he spoke-so as to emphasize the count's displeasure. "No good at all."
In truth, it was very bad. Years of captivity had reduced the Welsh king to little more than a rank sack of hair and bone. His limbs, wasted through disuse, were but spindles, and his skin dull and grey with the pallor of the prison cell. The bright morning light made him squint, and his eyes watered. Although he was so hunched he could hardly hold himself erect, Gruffydd nevertheless attempted to display what scraps of dignity he still possessed. This served only to make him appear all the more pathetic.
"My lord the count says that this prisoner will not serve," Alan informed the earl.
"Why not?" wondered Hugh. "What is wrong with him?"
The Spanish count flicked a dismissive hand at the shambling, ragged baggage before him and conferred with his interpreter, who said, "This man is in such wretched condition, the count fears it will be poor sport for us. The hunt will be over before it has begun." The count shook his head haughtily. "Please, get another prisoner."
"But this is the only one I have, God love you!" retorted the earl, although he too peered at the captive doubtfully.
Tuck wondered wonder how long it had been since the earl had last laid eyes on the Welsh lord-several months at least, he reckoned, perhaps years.
"I say he will serve," Hugh said stiffly. "In any event, he must, for there is no other."
Alan and Count Rexindo held a short consultation, whereupon Alan turned and said, "Begging your pardon, Lord Earl, but the man is clearly unwell. If he cannot give good chase there is little point in pursuing him. We regret that the hunt must be abandoned. With your permission, we will bid you farewell and prepare instead to take our leave."