"How kind," Merian retorted. "And was it for my good my good that your husband the baron pursued me and tried to kill me?" that your husband the baron pursued me and tried to kill me?"

"Of course, you have endured the ordeal terrible," Agnes granted loftily. "Yet, knowing my husband as I do, I cannot . . . accepter accepter? . . .accept this as the truth."

Merian stiffened. She had been expecting this. "You would call me liar?"

"Jamais!" said the baroness. "I suggest only that perhaps in your fear you mistook the baron's, ah . . . said the baroness. "I suggest only that perhaps in your fear you mistook the baron's, ah . . . l'action l'action as the as the a.s.saut a.s.saut . . ." . . ."

She glanced to her daughter, who supplied the proper word. "As an attack," said Sybil.

"Is that what you think?" challenged Merian. "You were there that day, Sybil. You saw what happened. Is that what you think? Bran was forced to flee for his life. He took me with him, yes-at first I thought he meant to abduct me for ransom, but it was to save me. He saw the danger I was in before I did, and he acted. When the baron discovered our escape he sent men to kill us both."

"Very well!" said Garran irritably. "Granting what you say is true, what can be done about it now?" He stared at his sister, his lips bent in a frown of deep dissatisfaction. "It's been two years, Merian. Things have changed. What do you want me to do?"

There it was: the question she had been antic.i.p.ating, her sole reason for coming. "I want," she replied, taking time to choose her words carefully, "I want you to join with us. I want you to raise a war band and come help us recover Elfael."

"Us?" wondered Garran. It was not a response Merian had antic.i.p.ated. "Have you lived so long among the outlaws that you no longer know where your true loyalties lie?"

"My loyalties?" She blinked at him in confusion. "I don't understand." loyalties?" She blinked at him in confusion. "I don't understand."

"What your brother is saying," offered Anora, "is that the affairs of Elfael are nothing to do with us. You are safe now. You are home. What is past is past."

"But the fate of Elfael is is my worry, Mother-as it is for all Cymry who would live free in their own country." She turned to her brother, the king, and his nervous young queen beside him. " my worry, Mother-as it is for all Cymry who would live free in their own country." She turned to her brother, the king, and his nervous young queen beside him. "That is where my loyalties lie, Brother-and where yours should lie too. Unless that bit of French fluff beside you has addled your mind, you would know this." is where my loyalties lie, Brother-and where yours should lie too. Unless that bit of French fluff beside you has addled your mind, you would know this."

Her brother bristled. "Careful, Merian dear, you will go too far."

"I am sorry," she said, changing her tone from haughty self-righteousness to appeal. She smoothed the front of her gown beneath her hands and began again. "I truly do not mean to offend. But if I cannot speak my mind here in this room among those who know me best, then perhaps I do not belong here anymore. In any event, the urgency of my errand leaves me little choice." She licked her lips."Baron de Braose has been banished from his lands and holdings in England and Wales, as you may have heard by now. Elfael is in the hands of Abbot Hugo de Rainault and the king's sheriff, Richard de Glanville. Without the baron to back them up, they are weak. This is the best chance we've had in many years to drive the invaders from our land-but we must strike soon. The sheriff has brought more men, and we must act quickly if we are to keep our advantage. If you were to-"

"We know all this," her brother interrupted. "Elfael belongs to the king now. I should not have to remind you that to go against Red William is treason. To raise rebellion against him will get you drawn and quartered at the White Tower and your pretty head fixed to a pike above the gates."

"De Braose stole stole the land from Bran and his people. King William promised justice, but betrayed Bran and kept the land for himself." the land from Bran and his people. King William promised justice, but betrayed Bran and kept the land for himself."

"He is the king," countered Garran. "It is his right to do with it what pleases him."

"Oh? Truly?" said Merian, growing angry again. "Is that what you think? You would sing a different song if the king's greedy eye was on your your throne, brother mine. Or has Baron Neufmarche already bought your throne for the price of a wife?" throne, brother mine. Or has Baron Neufmarche already bought your throne for the price of a wife?"

"Merian!" warned her mother. "That is beneath you."

"Non! S'il vous plait," put in the baroness. "Do not tax her so. She has had the . . . put in the baroness. "Do not tax her so. She has had the . . . traumatisme traumatisme, yes? She is not herself. In time she will see that the famille famille Neufmarche means only good for the people of this realm." Neufmarche means only good for the people of this realm."

"Thank you, Lady Agnes," said Garran. "As always your judgement is most welcome." To Merian, he said, "Bran's affairs are nothing to do with us. He has become an outlaw and a rebel and will pay with his life for his crimes. Of that I have no doubt."

"Do not speak to me of crimes," Merian said, her face flushing hot. "Abbot Hugo and the sheriff rule with blood and terror. They hang the innocent and subject the Cymry living beneath their rule to all manner of torment and starvation. They are the real criminals, and chief among them is King William himself." She tried one last desperate appeal. "Listen to me, please. Bran and his people are preparing for war. They mean to take the fight to the invaders, and there is every chance they can succeed, but they need help." Glancing at Queen Sybil, whose face appeared unnaturally white and pinched with worry, she said, "Join us. Help us overthrow this wicked throne and restore the rightful king to Elfael."

"No," said her brother. "We will speak no more about it."

"Then there is nothing more to say." Merian turned on her heel and prepared to walk from the hall and out through the gates. Stunned by her brother's outright rejection, the only thing she could think was returning to Cel Craidd, and that if she hurried, she might make it back before the night had pa.s.sed.

"Where do you think to go, Merian?" King Garran called after her.

"To the greenwood," she said. "I am needed there. It is plain to me now that I have no place here."

"You will not leave the caer," Garran informed her.

She spun around and stormed back to confront her brother. "Who are you to tell me where I will or will not go?"

"Father is dead," Garran replied. "Until you are wed and have a husband, I am your guardian. Moreover I am king and you are a member of my household. You will obey me in this."

"My guardian! When did you ever lift a finger to help me, dear brother?" demanded Merian. Her defiance gave her a terrible aspect, but Garran stood his ground. "I am a lady in my own right, and I will not submit to your ridiculous rule."

"You will never see those outlaws again," Garran told her with icy calm. "Never. You will remain here for your own protection."

The audacity of the command stole the warm breath from her body. "How dare you!"

"It is for your own good, Merian," said her mother, trying to soften the blow. "You will see."

"I see very clearly already, Mother," Merian retorted. "I see I was wrong to come here. I see that you have all made your bed with the enemy. Where once there was a family, I see only strangers. Mark me, you will yet curse this day."

"You are much mistaken, Sister," Garran said.

"Oh, indeed," agreed Merian. She began backing away. "Thinking my own flesh and blood would understand and want to help-that was my mistake." She turned once more toward the door. "But do not worry, dear hearts. It is not a mistake I will make again."

She pulled open the heavy door, stepped through, and slammed it shut behind her with a resounding crack. She marched out into the yard, her heart roiling with anger at the unfeeling hardness of her own nearest kin. How could they fail to see the need and refuse her plea for help? Their intimate contact with the Ffreinc had corrupted them, poisoned their judgement and tainted their reason. That was the only explanation. Merian shuddered. She, too, had come very close to succ.u.mbing to that same corruption once. If Bran had not rescued her she would be like her brother now-perhaps married off to some odious Norman n.o.bleman or other. She would rather be dead.

Merian strode to the stable, brought out her horse, and led it to the gate-only to find it closed. "Open it, please," she said to the gateman, a young man with a bad limp.

"Forgive me, my lady-" he began.

"Spare me!" she snapped. "Open the gate at once. I am leaving."

"Lord help me, I cannot."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why not?"

"My lord King Garran said I was to keep it locked and let no one in or out until he told me otherwise."

"Oh, he did?" she said. "Well, I am sure he did not mean me. Open the gate at once."

"Sorry, my lady. He mentioned you especially-said it was more than my life was worth to let you pa.s.s." The young man crossed his arms across his chest and stood his ground.

Merian stepped around him and moved to the gate. At that moment there came a call from across the yard, and three men-at-arms issued from the hall and ran to apprehend her. "Now, now, Lady Merian, come away from there," said the first to reach her. "You are to follow us-king's orders."

"And if I should refuse?"

The warrior made no reply, but simply wrapped his arms around her waist and hoisted her off her feet. She shrieked her outrage and kicked at his legs. The remaining two warriors joined the first, and all three laid hold; Merian was hauled back to the hall in a spitting rage and thrown into her room.

No sooner had the door been shut than she began hammering on it with her fists, shouting to be let out.

"Scream all you like; it will avail you nothing," came the voice of her brother through the planking of the door.

"Let me out!" she cried.

"When you are prepared to listen to reason," he replied blandly, "and pledge to rejoin your true family."

"To the devil with you!"

Her only reply was the sound of the heavy iron bar dropping into place outside, and her brother's retreating footsteps.

CHAPTER 21.

When a painstaking search of the hunting run and woodland surrounding the tree where the captive's cast-off clothing had been found failed to turn up any trace of their human prey, the hunters moved down the run and deeper into the forest. Owing greatly to Count Rexindo's many wrongheaded interventions, the company was subtly led farther and farther away from any path Gruffydd might have taken, thus spending the entire day without discovering their quarry or raising even so much as a whiff of his trail. As twilight began to glaze the trails with shadow, the frustrated company was forced to conclude that the captive king had miraculously eluded their pursuit. It appeared that Bran's audacious plan had worked; all that remained was to suffer the wrath of a very angry earl and then they, too, would be free.

The Spanish visitors endured an extremely acrimonious ride back to the fortress, the earl fretting and fuming all the way, cursing everything that came to mind-most especially, Count Rexindo's inept.i.tude and the incompetence of Spaniards in general, as well as his own misguided complicity in a fool-bait scheme which had not only cost him a very valuable prisoner, but also had returned a powerful enemy to the battlefield. "Courage, men," counselled Bran as they paused before the doors of the hall. "It is soon over." To Ifor and Brocmael, he said, "Are the horses ready?"

The young men nodded.

"Good. Whatever happens, be ready to depart on my signal. We may have to bolt."

They entered a hall much subdued from the previous night; where before the walls had reverberated with song and laughter, this night's supper was taken in sullen silence and bitter resentment. Count Rexindo and his retinue braved the blast of ill-will with stoic silence as they listened to Hugh d'Avranches alternately berating one and all for their gross failure and bemoaning the loss of his captive. As the drink took hold of him, the livid, simmering anger gave way to morose distemper, with the earl declaring loudly for all to hear that he wished he had never laid eyes on Count Rexindo and his miserable company. This, then, was the signal for the visitors to make their farewells and remove themselves from the castle.

The count, having been seen to bear the earl's complaints and abuse with the good grace of one who could not grasp the more subtle nuances of insult in a foreign tongue, rose from his seat and with the aid of his able interpreter, said, "No one is more sorry than I that we have failed today. Still, it is in the nature of things that the hunter is sometimes outwitted by his prey and must return to his hearth empty-handed." He gave a slight shrug. "I, myself, blame no one. It happens. We live to hunt another day. But a man would be a fool to remain where his friendship is no longer welcome or valued. Therefore, I thank you for your hospitality, my lord, and bid you farewell."

Oh, well done, thought Tuck, rising at Bran's gesture. As bishop, he gave the earl a small, benedictory flourish and, turning, followed the count from the hall. thought Tuck, rising at Bran's gesture. As bishop, he gave the earl a small, benedictory flourish and, turning, followed the count from the hall.

"What about the hounds?" cried Hugh after the departing count. Too late he remembered the money he hoped to make on the sale of his expensive animals.

Alan, taking the count's elbow, restrained him and whispered into his ear. Rexindo shook his head, gave a final gesture of farewell, and stepped through the door. "I am sorry, my lord," Alan said, standing with his hand on the latch, "but the count says that he could not possibly consider buying such ill-trained and ungovernable beasts as the one he witnessed today. He has withdrawn his offer. You may keep your dogs."

With that, Alan disappeared, following Bishop Balthus, Lord Galindo, and Lord Ramiero across the threshold and into the corridor beyond. As soon as the heavy door shut behind them, they fairly flew to the stable and relieved the grooms of the care of their horses. Rexindo, true to his n.o.ble Spanish character, paid the grooms a few silver pennies each-as much to buy their aid as for their unwitting diligence-and with kind words and praise, bade them farewell. The chief groomsman, pleased and charmed by the count's n.o.ble treatment, led the company from the yard and opened the gate for them himself.

As they mounted their horses, Bran reached down a hand to Alan. "If you still want to come with me," he said. Without hesitation, Alan a'Dale grabbed the offered hand, and Bran pulled him up to sit behind him.

At last, having successfully skinned the wolf in his den, the short ride to Caer Cestre became a jubilant race. In the fading evening light, the company came clattering into a nearly deserted town square, where they dismounted and quickly made their way to the docks to meet King Gruffydd. When a cursory search failed to find him, they split up and, each taking a separate street, began combing the town. This, too, failed. "Perhaps he is waiting at one of the inns," suggested Alan.

Bran commended the idea and said, "You and Tuck go look there. Ifor, Brocmael, and I will wait for you at the wharf in case he should come there."

The two hurried off and were soon approaching the first of the river town's three inns-a place called the Crown and Keys. Despite the somewhat lofty ambitions of its name, it was a low place, smuggy with smoke from a faulty chimney and poorly lit. A cushion of damp reeds carpeted the uneven floor upon which rested one long table down the centre of the room with benches on either side. Four men sat at the table, and the brewmistress stood nearby to fetch the necessaries for her patrons. One glance into the room told them they must pursue their search elsewhere.

The next inn-The Star-was the place where they'd sat outside in the sun and enjoyed a jar on a day that now seemed years ago. Inside, the single large room was full of travellers and townsfolk; pipers had taken up residence beside the great hearth, and the skirl of pipes lent a festive atmosphere to the room. It took them longer here to look among the tables and investigate all the corners. Alan asked the alewife if anyone answering Gruffydd's description had been seen in or about the place that day. "Nay-no one like that. It's been a quiet day all told," she said, shouting over the pipers. "Not being a market day, ye ken?"

They had another look around the room and then moved on to the last of the town's inns-a mean place only a rung or two up from a cattle stall; with a few small tables and a few nooks with benches, it had little to recommend it but its ready supply of ale, which many of the boat trade seemed to prefer, judging from the number of seafarers in the place. Again, they quickly gleaned that not only was King Gruffydd not in the room, but no one answering his description had been seen that day or any other. Tuck thanked the owner, and he and Alan hurried back to rejoin Bran and the others at the dock.

"What now?" asked Ifor when Alan finished his report. "We've looked everywhere."

"I told him where to go," said Tuck. "I made certain he understood."

"Maybe he's hiding in a barn or byre somewhere," suggested Alan.

"When you took him out to the hunting run," said Bran, "what did you tell him?"

"To come to the dock in town and wait for us there," said Ifor."He said he would."

"Then, I think we must a.s.sume he is not in the town at all," suggested Bran. "Otherwise he'd be here."

Tuck considered this. "He never made it, you mean?"

"Either that," confirmed Bran, "or he took matters into his own hands and fled elsewhere."

"You think he didn't trust us to get him away safely?" said Brocmael.

Ifor countered this, saying, "He knew we were kinsmen, and he was keen as the blade in my belt to be leaving Caer Cestre at last. He said he'd reward us right well for helping him."

"Did he say anything else?" asked Tuck.

"He kept asking about Lord Bran-about why he would risk so much to free him."

"What did you tell him?" Bran asked.

"We told him he would have to speak to you, my lord. Your reasons were your own."

"It does not seem as if he feared to trust us," remarked Tuck. "Something ill must have befallen him."

"What now?" asked Alan again.

"It's back to foul Hugh's hunting run," Bran decided. "We must try to raise Gruffydd's trail and track him down-this time in earnest. We'll get what rest we can tonight and ride as soon as it is light enough to see the trail beneath our feet." He hesitated, then added, "In any event, finding Gruffydd might be the least of our worries . . ."

"Why?" said Tuck. "What else?"

"The ship is gone."

Only then did it occur to Tuck to look among the vessels at anchor along the dock and in the central stream of the river. It was true; the Iberian boat that had brought them was no longer to be seen. "I thought he said he'd wait for us."

"He said his business would take him no more than a week," Bran corrected. "Maybe he finished sooner than he expected."

"Or, it's taken longer," Alan pointed out.

The two young n.o.blemen shared a worried glance, and Tuck sighed, "Bless me, when it rains, it pours."

"Never mind," said Bran. "So long as we stay out of sight of the earl, we'll make good our escape. The Welsh border is only a day and a half away. We can always ride if need be."

They found a dry place on the dock among piles of casks and rope, and settled down for a restless night. It was warm enough, but as night drew on, clouds drifted in, bringing rain with the approach of dawn. Tuck awoke when his face grew wet and then could not get back to sleep, so contented himself with saying the Psalms until the others rose and they departed once more, leaving Alan a'Dale behind in case the Iberian ship should return.

Skirting the earl's stronghold, they made for the hunting run. By the time they reached the place where Gruffydd had shed his prison rags for those supplied by his rescuers, the sky was light enough and they could begin making out marks on the trail. Ifor and Brocmael dismounted and, on hands and knees, began searching the soft earth in the undergrowth around the tree where the clothes had been hidden. Ifor found a mark which he thought could have been made by the b.u.t.t of a spear being used as a staff, and before Bran and Tuck could see it for themselves, Brocmael, working a little farther on, called out that he had found a half-print of a shoe.