Turning to Noin and Scarlet, he gathered them in a gentle embrace and prayed for them then and there, that the Lord of Life would give them strength to bear their loss. He did the same for Bran and, seeing as there was nothing more to be done just then, he returned to tending the wounded Tomas.
Bran was kneeling by the still body of Angharad when Owain came to him. "We found no one else injured, Rhi Bran. I think-I hope-everyone got away."
He was silent for a moment, watching Bran straighten the old woman's battered limbs. "Do you think they knew it was King Raven's home they attacked?"
"Those knights weren't looking for this place, but they found it anyway."
"But do they know what they found?" asked Owain.
"Perhaps not," allowed Bran. "But if they do come back, they'll come in force, and we will not be able to defend it. We will stay here tonight and abandon Cel Craidd in the morning-and pray we have at least that much time." He folded one of the old woman's wrinkled hands over the other. "Tell everyone to prepare to leave. We'll take only what we can carry easily. Bundle up all the arrows and extra bows-get Brocmael and Ifor to help you secure all the weapons. Tell Siarles to set sentries in the usual places. Go. We must be ready to move at first light tomorrow."
Owain nodded. "Where will we go, my lord?"
"It is a big forest," he said, brushing a wispy strand of hair away from Angharad's face. "We'll find someplace to camp."
It was early evening, and the sun had tinged the sky with a crimson hue when Noin finally brought herself to speak about what had happened, which was that after the war band had departed, the Grellon went about their daily chores. She and Cia had gone to gather blackberries in the wood; she had taken Nia with her, and the three of them had spent the morning picking. When they had filled their bowls, they started back. "Nia was so excited," Noin said, "she'd gathered more and bigger berries than ever before, and she wanted to show Angharad. So she went ahead of us… I tried to call her back…" Noin paused, choking back the tears. "But she didn't hear me, and anyway she knew the path. I let her go…" Her voice faltered. Scarlet, grim with grief, put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
Bran offered her a cup of water. After she had swallowed a little, she continued. "We started back. Cia and I were talking… Then we heard shouts and voices… scared… We met some of the Grellon on the path, running away. Cel Craidd had been discovered, they said; the Ffreinc had found us. Everyone had scattered, and everyone had got away. 'What about Nia? Did anyone see my little girl?'" Noin shook her head, her lips trembling. "No one had seen her. I started running toward the settlement. But it was all over." She shook her head in bewilderment. "The Ffreinc were gone. There was no one around. I began calling for Nia, but there was no answer. I started looking for her, calling her… I thought, I hoped-maybe one of the others picked her up in the confusion, someone had taken her to safety. I searched one path and then another until…" She let out a wrenching sob and lowered her face into her hands. "I found her on the path-just before you came. I think she got trampled by a horse… one of the hooves struck her head…" She turned eyes full of tears to the others. "How could anyone do that to a little child? How could they?"
Bran and Tuck left Noin and Scarlet to their grief then and went to see what could be done for Tomas. The wounded warrior had been laid out on a bed of rushes covered with a cloak.
"He is sleeping," Rhoddi told them. "I did as you said, Friar-I put a clean cloth and some dry moss on the cut. It seems to have stopped bleeding."
"That's a good sign, I think," said Tuck.
Bran nodded. He raised his eyes; the tops of the tallest trees were fading into the twilight. "We must bury Nia and Angharad soon. I will dig the graves."
"Allow me, my lord," said Rhoddi.
Bran nodded. "We'll do it together."
"I want to help," said Tuck.
"Is it wise to leave him alone?" said Rhoddi, with a nod towards Tomas.
Tuck glanced at the sleeping warrior beside him. "We'll hear him if he wakes," he said. So the three went off to begin the bleak task of digging the graves: one pitifully small for Nia, and another for Angharad. Iwan and Scarlet came to help, too, and all took their turn with the shovel. While they were at their work, some of the Grellon who had fled the settlement began coming back-one by one, and then in knots of two or three-and they gave their own account of what had happened.
The settlement had been discovered by a body of Ffreinc knights on horseback-eight or ten, maybe more-who then attacked. The forest-dwellers fled, with the knights in pursuit. They would have been caught, all of them, but Angharad turned and blocked the trail. They had last seen her facing the enemy with her staff raised high, a cry of challenge on her lips; and though it cost her life, the enemy did not follow them into the forest. The returning Grellon were shocked to find their good bard had been killed, and dear little Nia as well. The tears and weeping began all over again.
The women attended Noin, helping her wash and dress little Nia in her best clothes. They combed her hair and plaited flowers in the braids, and laid her on a bed of fresh green rushes. They washed the blood from Angharad's body and dressed her in a clean gown and brought her staff to lay beside her. Bran made a cross for the graves using arrows which he bound together with bowstring. Meanwhile, Tuck moved here and there, comforting his forest flock, giving them such solace as he possessed. He tried to instil some hope in the hearts of the grieving, and show a way to a better day ahead. But his own heart was not in it, and his words sounded hollow even to himself.
When the graves were ready, Scarlet came and, taking Noin by the hand, said, "It is time, my heart." Noin nodded silently. He knelt and gathered up his daughter and carried her to the new-dug grave; Noin walked beside him, her eyes on the bundle in her husband's arms.
Iwan and Owain bent to Angharad, but Bran said, "Wait. Bring her Bird Spirit cloak and put it on her. And her staff. We will bury her as befits the last True Bard of Britain."
Owain fetched the black-feathered cloak and helped Bran wrap it around the old woman, and the two bodies were laid to rest in the soft earth. Iwan brought Angharad's harp to place in the grave, but Bran prevented him. "No," he said, taking the harp. "This I will keep." As he cradled the harp to his shoulder, his mind flashed with the memory of one of their last partings. "All that needs saying have I said," his Wise Banfaith had told him. "Now it is for us to remember."
He held the harp, and his mind returned to the time of their first meeting-in the old woman's winter cave hidden deep in the forest. There, she had healed his body with her art, and healed his soul with her songs. "A raven you are, and a raven you shall remain-until the day you fulfil your vow," Bran murmured, remembering the words of the old story. He turned his eyes one last time to the face of his friend-a face he had once considered almost unutterably ugly: the wide, downturned mouth and jutting chin; the bulbous nose; the small, keen eyes burning out from a countenance so wrinkled it seemed to be nothing but creases, lines, and folds. Death had not improved her appearance, but Bran had long ago ceased to regard her looks, seeing instead only the bright-burning radiance of a soul alight with wisdom. "She called me a king."
"My lord?" said Iwan. "Did you say something?"
"She had never done that before, you see? Not until now."
Darkness deepened in the greenwood. The Grellon lit pitch torches at the head of each body and began a service for the dead which Tuck led, praying softly through the Psalms and the special prayers for those recently deceased. It was a service he had performed as many times as christenings and weddings combined, and he knew it by heart.