Tuck

"Leave them," said Bran. "If all goes well, we will own not only the wagons but all the rest of Elfael before nightfall."

The graves had been dug outside the abbey walls and the first bodies were being laid to rest under the solemn gaze of Captain Aloin and the chanting of Psalms from some of Saint Martin's monks when one of the gravediggers glanced up and saw, in the crimson light of a fading sunset, a body of men on horseback riding towards them from the direction of the forest. At first thought, he assumed it must be Sheriff de Glanville and his men returning at last from their part in the day's events, so he said nothing. But as the riders came closer, a trickle of doubt began to erode his assumption.

Captain Aloin, bruised and battered by his first encounter with King Raven and the lethal Welsh longbows, had determined to raise the issue of what he considered Marshal Guy's murderous incompetence with both the abbot and the sheriff at first opportunity. Clearly, Gysburne had to go. Aloin was thinking how best to put his case before the abbot and did not hear the monk speaking to him. He felt a touch on his arm and glanced up.

"Mon seigneur, regarder… " said the monk.

Aloin shifted his eyes from the corpse being lowered into the grave and looked where the monk was pointing. The approaching horsemen were near enough now to make out their faces, and what he saw was not the sheriff and his men, but strangers riding Ffreinc horses. "Qui dans les flames!"

"C'est le gallois…"

"Que?"

"The one they call King Raven," said the monk.

"Blind them! They have Sheriff de Glanville!"

Instantly terrified, the monks and soldiers scattered, running for the safety of the abbey walls. Within moments, the abbey bells were signalling alarm. The few remaining knights who were not seriously wounded scurried to arm themselves and meet the attack. What they met instead were seven outlaws surrounding a red-faced, sullen Sheriff Richard de Glanville bound with his own belt.

The town square had been given over to the wounded from the day's earlier skirmishes; they had been laid on pallets in the open air to have their injuries tended by the monks, who moved among the rows of pallets, bathing and bandaging the injuries and offering what comfort they could to the dying. The outlaws rode to the entrance of the square, and one of them-in good plain French-called aloud for Abbot Hugo. The abbot, heeding the warning of King Raven's approach, had hidden himself in the guard tower to be defended by the eight knights still able to fight. These had arrayed themselves before the tower, weapons levelled, ready for the attack.

When the abbot failed to present himself, the French-speaking outlaw called, "Marshal Guy de Gysburne! Show yourself!"

There was a movement at the foot of the tower. "I am Guy," said the marshal, shoving through the knot of men. "What is this?"

"This," replied Alan, putting out a hand to the sheriff, "is all that is left of the company sent out to plunder the countryside this morning. The battle is over, and we have come to negotiate the terms of surrender."

"Surrender!" scoffed Gysburne. "Your surrender, I expect."

"No, my lord," replied Alan a'Dale. "The surrender of Abbot Hugo and yourself, and those of your men still alive. You will bring the abbot now so that we can begin."

A knight moved to take his place beside the marshal. "You must be insane," he charged, "coming here like this." He flung an accusing finger at the outlaw band. "Come down off your horses, you filthy dogs. We will settle this here and now!"

Bran leaned near his interpreter and spoke a few words, which Alan passed on, speaking to Gysburne. "Who is this man? My lord wishes to know."

"I am Captain Aloin, by the blood! Come down here and-"

"Hear me, Marshal Gysburne," interrupted Alan, "you will tell your man to hold his tongue. We have nothing to say to him."

"You arrogant dog!" sneered Guy. He spat on the ground in a show of contempt. "There will be no talk of surrender."

Alan paused to confer with Bran, then nodded and continued, "Rhi Bran urges you to take a good, long look around you, Marshal," he said. "Unless you wish to join your men here in the square-or out in the ground behind the abbey-you will do well to reconsider."

Gysburne and Aloin exchanged a word, and the marshal replied, "We hold this realm by order of King William-"

"You have gone against my lord's longbows twice today and have been beaten both times. Do you truly wish to try again? If so, be assured that you and the sheriff will be the first to die-and then what is left of your men will join you." Alan paused to allow this to sink in among all those listening. Then, in a plaintive tone, he added, "Think, man. There has been enough killing today. Bring the abbot and let him surrender and put an end to the bloodshed."

Bran lifted the sword in his hand and, from their saddles, the archers on either flank bent the bellies of their longbows.

Guy hesitated a moment more, then called out, "Sergeant Jeremias, do as he says. Fetch the abbot."

"Prudence is a virtue," Tuck muttered under his breath as he watched the sergeant dart up the stone steps of the tower, "and wisdom is gained through trials of many kinds."

"Most always too late," added Scarlet.

There followed a tense and uneasy interval in which both sides glared across the square at one another. Captain Aloin, seeing that there were but six Cymry archers, one ragged monk, and an unarmed translator, was for rushing them on the chance that his few healthy knights might overwhelm them. "We can take them," Aloin whispered. "At most they'll only get an arrow or two off before we cut them down."

"Yes, and it's the first arrow that kills you," replied Marshal Guy. "Have you already forgotten what happened at the farm?"

"It is madness to deal with them."

"That is as may be," granted Gysburne. "But do you really want to add another slaughter to your tally today? It is the abbot they want. So, we let him decide."

At last the abbot appeared, and owing to the look of stunned horror on his face he hardly seemed the same man. Clearly, the last thing he expected of this day was to find his enemy standing in the town square delivering demands of capitulation. But that was how things stood.

"Bouchers!" he snarled as he came striding up, trying to rouse his innate defiance. "Les meurtres!"

"Pax l'abbe!" shouted Bran across the yard. "Your life and those of your men is in our hands. Be quiet and listen if you want that life to continue another breath longer."

Alan relayed these words to the abbot, who subsided. "Ask him what he wants-my head on a silver platter, I suppose?"

Bran smiled when he heard this, and replied, "No, Abbot. Your head is worth less than the trouble it would take to carve it from your scabby shoulders. But here is what I want: you are to lay down your arms and leave Elfael-you and all your men, and any of the townsfolk who choose to go with you."

Alan translated Bran's demand, and the abbot's face darkened.

"See here!" he protested. "You have no ri-"

"You sent soldiers against me today, and the issue has been decided. I claim the victor's right to the spoils. If you would keep your life, you must leave this place and never return."

"Allow me a moment to confer with my commander," said the abbot when Alan had finished. Without waiting for a reply, he turned to Marshal Gysburne. "Idiot, do something-you just stand there. Attack! Kill them."

"The first man to advance against them is dead where he stands, my lord abbot," replied Guy. "So, please, by all means lead the way."

"But they cannot get away with this-just like that."

"Just like that? They've killed nearly forty of our men today already, priest!" Gysburne's voice was an ugly growl. "Are you blind as well as stupid? Look around you. The soldiers you see on their feet are all we have left. How many more must die to satisfy your insane ambitions?"