With these measures in place, Bran had returned to Cel Craidd; and now, two days after escorting Abbot Hugo and Marshal Gysburne and their few remaining troops to the borders of the March, he planned his defence of his realm. He had spent the day at the caer working with Iwan on the fortifications there, returning at sundown. And now, while the rest of the forest dwellers slept, Bran sat in council with his closest advisors: Angharad, his Wise Banfaith, Friar Tuck, Will Scarlet, and Owain. Merian's absence was a pang felt by them all.
"Forgive me, Rhi Bran, but I thought-" Owain gave a shrug. "What is the point of driving out the enemy if we still must skulk around in the greenwood like outlaws?"
"We have not seen the last of the Ffreinc," Bran told him. "Iwan and Siarles can direct the defence of the caer, but we need Cel Craidd as well."
"How long, then?" Owain asked.
"Until William the Red recognizes my claim," Bran replied.
"Surely, that cannot be long in coming," Owain said. "The king must recognize your kingship now. We've defeated his lackeys."
"Nothing of the kind, lad," Scarlet told him. "We've bloodied their noses a bit, is all. They'll come back-"
"In force," added Tuck. "You can bet your last ha'penny on that."
Two days of jubilation following the Ffreinc defeat had given way to more sober reflection. It was, Tuck thought, as if the farm dog that chased every passing wagon had, against every sane expectation, finally caught one. Now the forest dwellers were faced with the awful realization that there would be reprisals, and they were woefully outmanned. How could they hope to protect their gains? That was the question in the forefront of their minds, and it leached the joy from their hearts.
"The point is," Bran continued, "we will never be secure in Elfael until we have King William's seal on a treaty of peace and protection. I do not expect Red William to grant that without a fight-which is why we're still skulking around in the greenwood like outlaws." He broke another stick and tossed the ends into the fire, then declared the council at an end.
Scarlet rose and shuffled off to join Noin and Nia in their hut; Owain, whose wound, though still painful, was healing quickly, went to his rest. Tuck and Angharad were left to sit with Bran a little while longer. "You are right to prepare for war, of course," Tuck began.
"Did you think we would gain Elfael without one?"
"But perhaps King William's appetite for this war is no match for your own," the friar ventured, watching the firelight and shadows flicker over Bran's sharp features. "Perhaps even now he is searching for a way to avoid a fight."
"Perhaps," Bran allowed. "What are you suggesting?"
"We might send an emissary to the king with an offer of peace."
Bran regarded the little priest thoughtfully.
"Peace, that is," Tuck clarified, "in exchange for fealty."
"If William recognizes my throne, I agree to swear fealty-and the war is over."
"Over before it has begun."
Bran looked to Angharad sitting quietly beside the fire on her three-legged stool. "What do you see?" he asked.
"The friar is right to suggest an offer of peace," observed Angharad. "It is close to God's heart always." She rose stiffly and pulled the edges of her Bird Spirit cloak closed. "But unless God moves in the Red King's heart, peace we will not have."
The old woman made a little stirring motion with her hands in the smoke from the fire, then lifted her palms upward as if raising the fragrance towards the night-dark sky above. Tilting her face heavenward, her small, dark eyes lost in the creases of her wrinkled face, she stood very still for a long moment.
Bran and Tuck found themselves holding their breath in anticipation.
At last, she sighed.
"What do you see, Mother?" asked Bran gently, his voice barely audible above the crackle of the flames.
"I see…" she began, drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly as she searched the tangled pathways of the future. "… I see a trail of blood that leads from this place and spreads throughout the land. Where it ends, God knows." She opened her eyes, and her face crinkled in a sad smile. "What we sow here will be reaped not by our children, but by our children's children-or those who after them come. But sow we must; another course we have not."
"Yet, there is hope?" asked the friar.
"There is always hope, Aethelfrith," replied the old woman. "In hope we do abide. As children of the Swift Sure Hand, hope is our true home. You, a priest, must understand this."
Tuck smiled at the gentle rebuke. "I bow to your teaching, Banfaith. And you are right, of course. I used to know a bishop who said much the same thing. Hope is the treasure of our souls, he would say."
"It is an end worth fighting for," mused Bran. "It may be for others to complete what we've begun, but there must be a beginning. And we will carry this fight as far as we can before passing it on to those who come after."
The three of them sat in silence, watching the flames and listening to the crack and hiss of the wood as it burned. From somewhere in the forest an owl called to its mate. It was a sound Tuck had heard countless times since throwing in his lot with the forest folk, but tonight it filled him with an almost unbearable sadness. He rose from his place and bade the other two a good night. "God rest you right well, friends, and grant you His peace."
"Tuck," said Bran as the friar stepped from the hearth, "the Ffreinc are grasping, devious devils-false-hearted as the sea is wide. Even so, I am willing to swear fealty to Red William if it means we can draw a living breath without their foot on our neck. If you can find a way to speak peace to William, I stand ready to do my part. I want you to know that."
That night the friar did not sleep. Though cool and damp, the sky was clear and ablaze with stars; he found a place among the roots of one of the giant oaks and settled down in the dry bracken to pray for Elfael and its people, and all those who would not be able to avoid the war that was coming. He was praying still when the watchers rose, silently saddled their horses, and departed Cel Craidd to take up their posts on the King's Road.
CHAPTER 33
Hereford
Spare me the excuses, Marshal," said King William, cutting off the lengthy beggings of pardon as read out by Guy of Gysburne. Following his eviction from Elfael, his fortunes had risen beyond anything he might have dared to hope. Owing to his intimate knowledge of the Cymry and the lands beyond the March, the young marshal had become an aide-de-camp to William Rufus for the purpose of what the king now referred to as the Harrowing of Wales. "Tell it to me plain-who has come?"