As the news about what had happened spread throughout the Vale of Elfael, everyone who heard about the theft and fire of the previous nights knew what it meant: King Raven's war with the Ffreinc had entered a new, more desperate stage. Burning the abbey's storehouse and granary would provoke Abbot Hugo and the sheriff to a swift and terrible reaction. If an army cannot eat, it cannot fight, and the abbot's army had just lost its supper.
"Sheriff de Glanville won't be dainty about taking what he needs from the poor Cymry round about," Scarlet pointed out after hearing an account of the previous night's raid. "He'll make a right fuss, no mistake."
"I expect he will," Bran agreed. "I'd be disappointed otherwise."
"Will's got a fair point," Siarles affirmed. "De Glanville will steal from the farm folk. It's always them he turns to."
"Yes, and when he does, he'll find King Raven waiting for him," said Bran.
Bran's reply stunned his listeners-not what he said-the words themselves were reasonable enough. It was the way he said them; there was a coldness in his tone that chilled all who heard it. There wasn't a man among them who did not recognize that something had changed in their king since his return from the north. If he had been determined before, he was that much more determined now. But it was more than simple purpose-there was a dark, implacable hardness to it, as if somehow his customary resolve had been chastened and hardened in a forge. There was an edge to it, keen and lethal as stropped steel. Scarlet put it best when he said, "God bless me, Brother Tuck, but talking to Rhi Bran now is like talking to the blade of a spear." He turned wondering eyes on the little priest. "Just what did you two get up to in the north that's made him so?"
"It's never the north that's made him this way," replied the friar, "although that maybe tipped the load into the muck. But it's coming back home and seeing how things are here-all this time passing, and the abbot is ruling the roost and the sheriff cutting up rough and all. The Ffreinc are still here and nothing's changed-nothing for the better, at least."
Scarlet nodded in commiseration. "It may be as you say, Friar, but I say that little jaunt up north changed him," he insisted. "I'll bet my back teeth on't."
"Perhaps," allowed Tuck. "Oh, you should have seen him, Scarlet. The way he peeled that hard-boiled earl-it was a gladsome sight." The friar went on to describe the elaborate deception he'd witnessed and in which he'd taken part-the clothes, the hunting, Alan's tireless translating, the young Welshmen and their willing and industrious participation, the breathless escape, and all the rest. "We were Count Rexindo and his merry band, as Alan says-albeit, his song makes it sound like a frolic of larks, but it was grim dire, I can tell you. We were tiptoeing in the wolf 's den with fresh meat in our hands, but Bran never put a foot wrong. Why, it would have made you proud, it truly would."
"And yet it all came to nothing in the end."
"Saints bear witness, Scarlet, that's the naked bleeding heart of it, is it not? We dared much and risked more to save King Gruffydd's worthless neck," Tuck said, his voice rising with the force of his indignation. "And we succeeded! Beyond all hope of success, we succeeded. But that selfish sot refused to help. After we saved his life, by Peter's beard, that rascal of a king would not lend so much as a single sausage to our aid." He shook his head in weary commiseration. "Poor Bran… that his own kinsman would use him so ill-it's a wicked betrayal, that's what it is."
"Raw as a wound from a rusty blade." He considered this for a moment. "So that's the grit in his gizzard-our Bran knows we're on our own now," concluded Scarlet gloomily. "Aye, we're alone in this, and that's shame and pity enough to make man, woman, horse, or dog weep."
"Never say it," Tuck rebuked gently. "We are not alone-for the Lord of Hosts is on our side and stretches out His mighty arm against our enemies." The little friar smiled, his round face beaming simple good pleasure at the thought. "If the Almighty stands with us, who can stand against us, aye?" Tuck prodded Scarlet in the chest with a stubby finger. "Just you answer me that, boyo. Who can stand against us?"
The friar had a point, Scarlet confessed, that no one could stand against God-then added, "But there does seem no end o' folk that'll try."
The Grellon resumed the task of accumulating what provisions they could-meat from the hunt, grain and beans from the raid, tending the turnips in the field, making cheese from the milk of their two cows-preserving all they could and storing it up against the days of want that were surely coming.
Bran turned his attention to the other matter weighing on his mind. With everyone else already occupied, he called Scarlet and Tuck to him and announced, "Put on your riding boots. We're going to find Merian-and while we're at it, we'll see if we can convince King Cadwgan to lend some of his men to aid us."
"This is what Merian has been arguing all this while," Tuck pointed out.
"Aye, it is," Bran conceded. "I was against it at first, I confess, but our feet are in the flame now and we have no other choice. Maybe Merian is right-maybe her family will help where mine would not. Lord Cadwgan holds no kindly feelings towards me, God knows, but she's had a few days with him; I have to know whether she's been able to soften her father's opinion and persuade him. Pray she has, friends-it's our last hope." He spun on his heel and started away at once. "Ready the horses," he called over his shoulder. "We have only this day."
"It seems his disappointment has passed," said Scarlet. "And we're for a ride through lands filled with vengeful Ffreinc."
"Lord have mercy." Tuck sighed. "The last thing I need is to spend more time jouncing around on horseback. Still, if we can convince Cadwgan to help us, it will be worth another saddle sore."
"So now, if the Ffreinc catch us rambling abroad in plain daylight," warned Scarlet, "saddle sores will be least of all your earthly worries, friend friar."
CHAPTER 26
Arriving just after midday, the three riders paused to observe King Cadwgan's stronghold from a distance. All appeared peaceable and quiet on the low hill and surrounding countryside. There were folk working in the fields to the west and south of the fortress, and a few men and dogs moving cattle to another pasture for grazing. "Seems friendly enough from here," remarked Scarlet. "Any Ffreinc around, d'you reckon?"
"Possibly," answered Bran. "You never can tell-Cadwgan is client king to Baron Neufmarche."
"Same as tried to kill you?" wondered Scarlet.
"One and the same. I made the mistake of asking Neufmarche for help, and thought he might behave honourably," replied Bran. "It is not a mistake I shall make a second time."
"A bad business, that," mused Tuck. "It is a very miracle Cadwgan has survived this long under the baron's heavy thumb."
"You know him?" asked Scarlet.
"Aye, I do-we're not the best of friends, mind, but I know him when I see him-for all I've lived in the shadow of Hereford castle for many years."
"That is why I am sending you on ahead," said Bran.
"Me!"
"I dare not show my face within those walls until you have seen how things sit with the king."
"You want me to go in there alone?" Tuck said.
"Who better to spy out the lay of the land?" said Bran. "No one up there has ever seen you," he pointed out. "To the good folk of Caer Rhodl you will simply be who you are-a wandering mendicant priest. You've nothing to fear."