"There is something else," Agnes said.
Her tone made him abandon his ruminations on the problems posed by the king's untimely summons. He glanced at his wife to see the pucker of concern between her brows. "And that is?"
"Merian," she said simply.
"Merian," he repeated. His heart quickened at the name, but he stifled any sign of recognition. "What of her?"
"She is here," said the baroness.
"Alive-you mean…"
"Yes, alive and well-and here in this castle. She returned a few weeks ago-escaped from her captors, it seems. Although she does not admit to being held so. She-"
"Merian… here," said the baron, as if trying to understand a complex calculation.
"Oh, yes," said Agnes. "And the curious thing about it is that Garran has locked her in her chamber-for her own safety, of course. Given the chance, there is no doubt she would run straight back to the brigands who took her captive in the first place."
"How extraordinary," mused the baron.
"You should know, husband," continued Agnes, "that she has been saying some very disturbing things about you."
"About me?"
"Yes, mon cher, about you. It seems that through her ordeal she has come to believe that you tried to kill her. And this is why she fled her home and family for the forest."
"Mon Dieu," breathed Bernard. Recalling his bungled attack on Bran that day, his heart beat faster still. "She thinks I tried to kill her? Has the poor girl lost all reason then?"
"Oh, no," his wife assured him quickly, "she seems as sane as anyone. But she does cling to this absurd belief-perhaps it was a way for her to keep her sanity while captive. I only tell you about this so that when you see her you will not be taken by surprise at anything she says."
"I see, yes." Bernard nodded thoughtfully, considering the implications of what he had just been told. "I will speak to her, of course, but not just yet, I think. Perhaps when I have decided what to do about the king's summons."
"Well, do see her before you leave," advised the baroness. "If we were able to make her understand just how ridiculous is this notion of hers, then perhaps she might be trusted to obey and we could release her." Lady Agnes smiled. "It is a very cruelty to keep her captive in her own home after the torment she has endured, wouldn't you agree?"
"Oh, indeed," replied the baron, his mind racing to how this meeting might be put off. He was not of a mood to deal with angry, contrary, and likely vengeful women just now, and perhaps not for a very long time. "A very cruelty, as you say."
CHAPTER 34
They're coming!"
At the shout, Tuck sat up and rubbed his face. He had been trimming the end of his staff and had fallen asleep in the warm sunlight. Now, he rose and, taking up the sturdy length of ashwood, gave it a swing once around his head, offering a grunt of satisfaction at the comforting heft of the simple weapon. He then turned around in time to see the messenger slide down the grassy bank and into the bowl of Cel Craidd. It was Prebyn, the son of one of the farmers whose house and barn had been burned by the Ffreinc when they ransacked their settlement a few days before. "They're coming! The Ffreinc are coming!"
Bran and Tuck hurried to meet the young man. "My lord Rhi Bran! Rhi Bran! They're coming," announced Prebyn, red faced and breathless from his run. "The Ffreinc… King William… they're on the road… they'll be here any moment." He gulped air. "There's thousands of them… thousands…"
"Steady on, Prebyn," said Bran. "Draw breath." He put his hand on the farmer's broad back. "Calm yourself."
The young man bent over and rested his hands on his knees, blowing air through his mouth. When he was able to speak again, Bran said, "Now, then. Tell me, what did Rhoddi say?"
"My lord Rhi Bran, he said I was to tell you that Red William's soldiers have been sighted on the road at the bottom of the long ridge-where the stream crosses-"
"I know the place," Bran said. "Rhoddi has given us fair warning. We have a little time yet." He sent the youth away with instructions to get something to drink, saddle a horse, and hurry back for new orders. "Well, my friend, we're in it now," he said when the messenger had gone. "I'll send Prebyn to the caer to alert Iwan and Siarles."
"God have mercy," breathed Tuck.
Bran turned and called out across Cel Craidd, "Scarlet! Owain! To me! Tomas-my weapons. To me, lads! The Ffreinc have been sighted."
This call roused the sleepy settlement, and soon the few remaining inhabitants were running here and there to help the warriors on their way. Out from a nearby dwelling, Angharad emerged. Bran hurried to meet her. "It begins," he said.
"So it does." She unfolded a bit of soft leather and handed Bran three coiled bowstrings. "God with you, Rhi Bran," she said. "These I made especially for this day." Her face froze then, and she drew a breath as if to speak, but thought better of it.
"I thank you, Wise Banfaith," he replied, placing the bowstrings in a pouch at his belt. "Was there something else you wanted to say?"
The old woman stared at him, her dark eyes peering as through a mist. Bran could sense her struggling… to find the words? To reach him in some way? Finally, she relaxed. Her face softened and she smiled, her wrinkled face smoothing somewhat in simple pleasure. "All that needs saying have I said." Reaching out, she covered his hands with hers and gripped them tight. "Now it is for us to remember."
"Then we will do the work of remembering," replied Bran.
The old woman lifted her hand to his face; then, rising on tiptoes, she brushed his cheek with her dry lips. "I am proud of you, my king. Do remember that."
Prebyn returned then and received orders to tell Iwan and those in the valley fortress that the king's army was on its way. "Come back as soon as you've delivered your message," Bran told him. "There may be Ffreinc outriders around, and you do not want to be caught." Then, turning to the rest of the Grellon, he said, "You all know what to do." There were murmurs of assent all around, and some voices called out encouragements, which the king acknowledged. Then, addressing Angharad one last time, he said, "Pray for us, all of you, and let your prayers strengthen our courage and sharpen our aim."
"I will uphold you in battle with psalms and prayers and songs of power as befits a bard of Britain," Angharad said. Raising her staff, she held it crosswise in her hands and lifted it high. "Kneel before the High King of Heaven," she instructed.
Bran knelt before his Wise Banfaith, to receive her blessing. "Fear nothing, O King," she said, placing one withered hand on his head. "The Almighty and His angelic battlehost go before you. Fight well and behold the glory of the Lord."
Bran thanked his bard and commended his people to her care. Tomas passed him his longbow, and Scarlet handed him a sheaf of arrows which he tied to his belt. "Come, friends. Let's be about the day's business."
Shouldering a thick bundle of arrows each from their sizeable stockpile of begged, bought, and Grellon-made shafts, they climbed the rim of Cel Craidd's encircling rampart and started off along one of the many pathways leading into the forest. Bran had taken but half a dozen steps when he heard a heavy tread on the trail behind him. "What are you doing, Tuck? I thought we agreed you would stay here and help Angharad."
"I seem to recall that we discussed something of the sort, yes," allowed the friar. "But agreed? No, I think not."
"Tuck-"