So they proceeded up the steep street leading to the town square, and Tuck amended his cry accordingly. "A penny! A penny to anyone who speaks French," he called at the top of his voice. "A penny for a French speaker! A penny!"

At the end of the street stood two great stone pillars, ancient things that at one time had belonged to a basilica or some such edifice but now served as the entrance to the market square. Though it was not market day, there were still many people around, most paying visits to the butcher or baker or ironmonger who kept stalls on the square. A tired old dog lay beside the butcher's hut, and two plough horses stood with drooping heads outside a blacksmith's forge at the far end of the square, giving the place a deceptively sleepy air.

Tuck strode boldly out into the open square, offering silver for service, and his cry was finally answered. "Here! Here, now! What are you on about?" Looking around, he saw a man in a tattered green cloak, much faded and bedraggled with mud and muck; he was sitting on the ground with his back against the far side of the butcher hut and his cap in his hands as if he would beg a coin from those who pa.s.sed by. At Tuck's call, he jumped up and hurried towards the strangers. "Here! What for ye need a Frankish man?" Tuck regarded him with a dubious frown. The fellow's hair was a ma.s.s of filthy tangles hanging down in his face, and his straggling beard looked as if mice had been at it. The eyes that peered out from under the ropy ma.s.s were watery and red from too much strong drink the night before, and he reeked of p.i.s.s and vomit. Unshorn and unkempt he was, Tuck considered-not the sort of person they had in mind for this special ch.o.r.e. "We have business in this town," Tuck explained brusquely, "and we do not speak French."

"I does," the beggar boasted. "Anglish and Frenchy, both alike. What's yer sayin' of a penny, then?"

"We have a penny for anyone who agrees to bear a message of introduction for us," Tuck replied.

"I'm t'man fer ye," the beggar chirped, holding out a filthy hand to receive his pay.

"All in good time, friend," Tuck told him. "I've heard you speak English, but how do I know you can speak French?"

"Speaks it like t'were me ine mither tongue," he replied, still holding out his hand. "Je parler le francais et tout, ye ken?" ye ken?"

"Well?" said Bran, stepping up beside them. "What's he say?"

Tuck hesitated. "This fellow says he'll help us, but if his French is as poor as his English, then I expect we're better off asking the butcher's dog over there."

Bran looked around. Seeing as no one else had come forward, and the day was getting on, he said, "Had we a better choice . . . but"-Bran shrugged-"he will have to serve. All the same, tell him we'll give him an extra penny if he will wash and brush before we go."

Tuck told the scruffy fellow what Bran had said, and he readily agreed. "Go then," Tuck ordered. "And be quick about it. Don't make us wait too long, or I'll find someone else."

The beggar dipped his head and scampered off to find a trough in which to bathe himself. Tuck watched him go, still nursing deep misgivings about their rough guide; but since they only needed someone to make introduction, he let the matter rest.

While they waited for the beggar to return, Bran rehea.r.s.ed once again the next portion of his plan with the two young n.o.blemen so they might keep in mind what to expect and how to comport themselves. "Ifor, you know some Ffreinc."

"A little," admitted Ifor. A slender young man with dark hair and wary eyes beneath a smooth, low brow, he was that much like Bran anyone could well see the family resemblance, however distant it might have been. Blood tells, thought Tuck, so it does. "Not as much as Brocmael, though."

"We hear it at the market in Bangor sometimes," Brocmael explained. Slightly older than Ifor, he had much about him of a good badger dog.

"You may find it difficult to pretend otherwise," Bran told them, "but you must not let on. Keep it to yourselves. The Ffreinc will not be expecting you to understand them, and so you may well hear things to our advantage from time to time." He smiled at their dour expressions. "Don't worry. It's easy-just keep remembering who you are."

The two nodded solemnly. Neither one shared Bran's easy confidence, and both were nearly overwhelmed by their arrival in a Norman town and the deception they meant to work-not to say frightened by the prospect of delivering themselves into their chief enemy's hands. Truth be told, Tuck felt much the same way. The sun climbed a little higher, and the day grew warmer accordingly. Bran decided that they should get a bite to eat, and Tuck, never one to forego a meal if it could be helped, readily agreed. "Unless my nose mistakes me," he said, "the baker is taking out fresh pies as we speak."

"Just what I was thinking," said Bran. Turning to his young attendants, he said, "Here is a good time to test your mettle. Remember who we are." He pulled a leather bag from his belt and handed it to Ifor. "Get us some pies-one for each and one for our guide, too, when he returns. He looks like he could use a meal."

"And, lads, see if there is any beer," Tuck added. "A jug or two would be most welcome. This old throat is dry as Moses' in the wilderness."

They accepted the purse, turned, and with the air of men mounting to the gibbet, moved off to the baker's stall. "They'll be all right," observed Bran, more in hope than conviction.

"Oh, aye," Tuck agreed with equal misgiving. "Right as a miller's scale."

The presence of wealthy foreign strangers in the square was attracting some interest. A few of the idlers who had been standing at the well across the square were staring at them now and nodding in their direction. "You wanted to be noticed," Tuck said, smiling through his teeth. "But I don't think those fellas like what they're seeing."

"You surprise me, Tuck. This is just what we want. If word of our arrival reaches the earl before we do, so much the better. See there?" He indicated two of the men just then hurrying away. "The news is on its way. Be at ease, and remember-as highborn Spanish n.o.blemen it is beneath us to pay them heed."

"You may be the king of Spain for all Caer Cestre knows," Tuck declared, "but these rich clothes fit me ill, for all I am a simple Saxon monk." may be the king of Spain for all Caer Cestre knows," Tuck declared, "but these rich clothes fit me ill, for all I am a simple Saxon monk."

"A simple Saxon worrier it seems to me," Bran corrected. "There is nothing to fear, I tell you."

Brocmael and Ifor returned a short while later with pies and ale for all. Their errand had settled them somewhat and raised their confidence a rung or two. The four ate in the shade of the pillar at the side of the square and were just finishing when three of the idlers approached from the well.

"Here's trouble," muttered Tuck. "Keep your wits about you, lads."

But before any of them could speak, the beggar returned. He came charging across the square and accosted the men in blunt English. Bran and the others watched in amazement as the idlers halted, hesitated, then returned to their places at the well.

"A man after my own heart," said Tuck. He looked their reprobate guide up and down. "Here now, I hardly know you."

Not only had he washed himself head to toe, but he had cleaned his clothes with a bristle brush, cut his hair, and trimmed his beard. He had even found a feather to stick in his threadbare hat. Beaming with somewhat bleary good pleasure, he strode to where Bran was standing and with a low bow swept his cap from his head and proclaimed in the accent of an English n.o.bleman, "Alan a'Dale at your service, my lord. May G.o.d bless you right well."

"Well, Tuck," remarked Bran, much impressed, "he's brushed up a treat. Tell him that I mean no offence when I say that I'd not mark him for the same man."

The man laughed, the sound full and easy. "The Alan you see is the Alan that is," he said. "Take 'im or leave 'im, friend, 'cause there en't no ither, ye ken?"

When Tuck had translated, Bran smiled and said, "We'll take you at your word, Alan." To Tuck, he said, "Give him his pennies and tell him what we want him to do."

"That is for the wash," said Tuck, placing a silver penny in Alan's pink-scrubbed palm, "and this is for leading us to Earl Hugh's castle. Now, sir, when we get there we want you to send for the earl's seneschal and tell him to announce us to the earl. Do that, and do it well-there's another penny for you when you're finished."

"Too kind, you are, my friend," said Alan, closing his fist over the coins and whisking them out of sight.

"And here's a pie for you," Tuck told him. The pie was still warm, its golden crust clean and unbroken.

"For me?" Alan was genuinely mystified by this small courtesy. He looked from Tuck to Bran and then at the younger members of their party. His hand was shaking as he reached out to take the pie. "For me?" he said again, as one who could not quite believe his good fortune. It seemed to mean more to him than the silver he had just been given.

"All for you, and we saved a little ale too," Tuck told him. "Eat now, and we will go as soon as you've finished."

"Bless you, Father," he said, grabbing Tuck's hand and raising it to his lips. "May the Good Lord repay your kindness a thousand times."

It happened so fast the little friar had no time to s.n.a.t.c.h his hand away again before the teary-eyed fellow had kissed it. "Here now! Stop that!"

"Bless you, good gents all," he said, lapsing into the accents of the street once more. "Alan a'Dale en't one to fergit a good turn."

He sat down on the ground at the base of the pillar and began to eat, stuffing his mouth hungrily and smacking his lips with each bite. Bran sent Ifor and Brocmael to water the horses while they waited, and then asked Tuck to find out what he could from their hungry guide. "Tell him who we are, Tuck, and let's see how he takes it."

"My lord wants you to know that you are in the service of an esteemed and wealthy foreign n.o.bleman in need of your aid. Perform your service well and you will be amply rewarded. He gives you good greeting."

At this, Alan carefully laid his pie aside, rose to his knees, swiped off his hat, and bowed his head. "You honour your servant, m'lord. May G.o.d be good to you."

"Give him our thanks," Bran said, "and ask him how long he's been in the town, and what news of the earl and his court."

Turning to Alan, Tuck relayed Bran's question. "My lord thanks you and wishes to know how long you have sojourned in this place."

Alan raised his eyes heavenward, his lips moving as he made his calculations. "In all, three year-give or take. No more than four."

"And how do you find the lord here-Earl Hugh?" Tuck asked, then added, "Please, finish your meal. We will talk while you eat."

"Aye, that's him," replied their guide, settling himself against the pillar once more. He picked up the pie and bit into it. "Fat Hugh, they call him-aye, and well-named, he. There's one hog wants the whole wallow all to himself, if ye ken."

"A greedy man?"

"Greedy?" he mused, taking another bite and chewing thoughtfully. "If a pig be greedy, then he's the Emperor o' Swine."

"Is he now?" Tuck replied, and translated his words for the Cymry speakers, who chuckled at the thought.

"That tallies with what we've heard already," replied Bran. "Ask him if he knows the castle-has he ever been inside it?"

"Aye," nodded Alan when Tuck finished. "I ken the b.l.o.o.d.y heap right well. Lord have mercy, I been up there a few times." He crinkled up his eyes and asked, "Why would a bunch o' G.o.d fearin' folk like yerselves want to go up there anyway?"

"We have a little business with the earl," explained Tuck.

"Bad business, then," observed Alan. "Still, I don't suppose you can be blamed for not knowing what goes on hereabouts . . ." He tutted to himself. "Mark me, you'd be better off forgetting you ever heard of Wolf d'Avranches."

"If it's as bad as all that," Tuck ventured, "then why did you agree to take us there so quickly?"

"I didn't ken ye was G.o.d-fearin' gents right off, did I?" he said. "I maybe thought you were like his nibs up there, an' ye'd give as good as get, ye ken?"

"And now?"

"Now I ken different-like. Ye en't like them rascals up t'castle. Devil take 'em, but even Ol' Scratch won't have 'em, I daresay." Alan gazed at the strangers with pleading eyes. "Ye sure ye want to go up there?"

"We thank you for the warning. If we had any other choice, no doubt we'd take your advice," Tuck told him. "But circ.u.mstances force us to go, and go we must."

"Well, don't ye worry," said Alan, brushing crumbs from his clothes as he climbed to his feet. "I'll still see ye right, no matter. An' what's more, I'll say a prayer for yer safe return."

"Thank you, Alan," Tuck said. "That's most thoughtful."

"Hold tight to yer thanks," he replied. "For ye might soon be a'thinkin' otherwise."

With that subtle warning still hanging in the air, the visitors and their rascal of a guide set off.

PART THREE.

"But where is Will Scadlocke?" quod Rhiban to John,When he had rallied them all to the forest,"One of these ten score is missing who shouldBe stood at the fore with the best.""Of Scadlocke," spoke young Much, "sad tidings I give,For I ween now in prison he lay;The sherif 's men fowle have set him a trap,And now taken the rascal away."Ay, and to-morrow he hanged must be,As soon as ere it comes day.But before the sheriff this victory could get,Four men did Will Scadlocke slay!"When Rhiban heard this loathly report,O, he was grieved full sore!He marshalled up his fine merrye menWho one and together all swore:That William Scadlocke rescued should be,And brought in safe once again;Or else should many a fayre gallant wightFor his sake there would be slain."Our mantles and cloaks, of deep Lincoln green,Shall we behind us here leave;We'll dress us six up as mendicant monks-And I whist they'll not Rhiban perceive."So donned they each one of them habits of black,Like ma.s.se-priests as such are from Spayne.And thus it fell out unknowingly, that,Rhiban the reeve entertain'd.To the sherif bold Rhiban proposed a sport,For full confidence he had achiev'd.If Will could outshoot monk Rhiban, disguised,The prisoner should earn a reprieve.This sheriff was loath but at length did agreeFor a trick on the prisoner he planned.Before William Scadlocke had taken his turn,The sheriff had twisted Will's hand.

CHAPTER 14.

Earl Hugh's castle was built on the ancient foundations of the old Roman fort, partly of timber and partly of the same bloodred stone the Roman masons carved from the bluffs above the river so long ago. It loomed over the town like a livid, unsightly blemish: inflamed and angry, asquat its low hilltop.

For all the brightness of the day, the place seemed to breathe a dark and doomful air, and Tuck shivered with a sudden chill as they pa.s.sed through the gate-as if the frost of bitter winter clung to the old stone, refusing to warm beneath the autumn sun. And although it was but a short distance from the town which carried its name, Caer Cestre remained as remote behind its walls as any Ffreinc stronghold across the sea.

This impression was due in part to the unseemly number of Ffreinc soldiers loitering in the courtyard-some in padded armour with wooden practice weapons, others standing about in clumps looking on, and still others sitting or reclining in the sun. There must have been twenty or more men in all, and a good few women too; and from the way they minced about the perimeter of the yard, smirking and winking at each and all, Tuck did not imagine they were wives of the soldiers. A heap of sleeping hounds lay in one corner of the yard, dozing in the sun, while nearby a group of stablehands worked at grooming four large chestnut-coloured hunting horses-big, raw-boned heavy-footed beasts of the kind much favoured by the Ffreinc.

Striding along after the porter who conducted them to the hall, the small procession consisting of two young foreigners, a rotund priest, their n.o.ble leader, and a local guide caused nary a ripple of interest from anyone they pa.s.sed. Upon entering the vestibule, they were shortly brought to stand before the seneschal. Alan a'Dale, despite his many shortcomings, performed the service of interpreter surprisingly well, and they were admitted into the hall without the slightest difficulty whatever. Tuck breathed a prayer as they entered Wolf Hugh's den: a noisy and noisome room filled with rough board benches and tables at which men and women, and even a few children, appeared to be entering the final progressions of a night's debauch-even though the sun had yet to quarter the sky. The roil of eating and drinking, dicing and dancing, flirting and fighting amidst gales of coa.r.s.e laughter and musicians doggedly trying to make themselves heard above the revellers greeted the visitors like the roll and heave of a storm-fretted sea. In one corner, dirty-faced boys tormented a cat; in another, an amorous couple fumbled; here, a man already deep in his cups shouted for more wine; there, a fellow poked at a performing juggler with a fire iron. Hounds stalked among the benches and beneath the tables, quarrelling over bones and sc.r.a.ps of meat. There was even a young pig, garlanded and beribboned, wandering about with its snout in the rushes underfoot.

Crossing the threshold, Bran paused to take in the tumult, collected himself, and then waded into the maelstrom. Here Bran's special genius was revealed, for he strode into the great, loud room with the look of a man for whom all that pa.s.sed beneath his gaze in this riotous place was but dreary commonplace. His arrival did not go unnoticed, and when he judged he had gathered enough attention, he paused, his dark eyes scanning the ungainly crowd, as if to discern which of the roisterers before him might be the earl.

"By Peter's beard," muttered Tuck, unable to believe that anyone entering the castle could experience so much as a fleeting doubt about which of the men at table was Fat Hugh. Only look for the biggest, loudest, most slovenly and uncouth brigand in the place, Only look for the biggest, loudest, most slovenly and uncouth brigand in the place, he thought, he thought, and that's the man. And yet . . . here's our Bran, standing straight and tall and searching each and every as if he could not see what was plain before his nose. Oh, this shows a bit of sa.s.s, does it not? and that's the man. And yet . . . here's our Bran, standing straight and tall and searching each and every as if he could not see what was plain before his nose. Oh, this shows a bit of sa.s.s, does it not?

What is more, Tuck could tell from the curious look on the earl's face that Hugh was more than a little taken aback at the tall dark figure standing before him. For there he was, a very king in his own kingdom, the infamous Wolf d'Avranches renowned and feared throughout his realm, and who was this that did not know him? And here was Bran without so much as a word or gesture, taking the overbearing lord down a peg or two, showing him that he was nothing more than a wobble-jowled ruffian who could not be distinguished from one of his own stablehands.

Oh, our canny King Raven is that shrewd, Tuck considered, a little courage seeping back into his own step. He glanced at Ifor and Brocmael and saw from the frozen expressions on their faces that the two Cymry, appalled by what they saw, were nevertheless struggling to maintain any semblance of calm and dignified detachment. "Steady on, lads," Tuck whispered. Tuck considered, a little courage seeping back into his own step. He glanced at Ifor and Brocmael and saw from the frozen expressions on their faces that the two Cymry, appalled by what they saw, were nevertheless struggling to maintain any semblance of calm and dignified detachment. "Steady on, lads," Tuck whispered.

Alan a'Dale, however, seemed at ease, comfortable even, walking easily beside Tuck, smiling even. At the friar's wondering glance, he said, "Been here before, ye ken."

"Often?"

"Once or twice. I sing here of a time."

"You sing, Alan?"

"Oh, aye."

Bran silenced them with a look and turned to address the onlooking crowd. "Qua est vir "Qua est vir?" Bran announced in that curious broken Latin that pa.s.sed for Spanish among folk who knew no better. Bran announced in that curious broken Latin that pa.s.sed for Spanish among folk who knew no better. "Qua est ut accersitus Senor Hugh?" "Qua est ut accersitus Senor Hugh?"

The seneschal, not understanding him, looked to Alan for explanation. He conferred with Tuck, then replied, "My lord wishes to know where is he that is called Earl Hugh?"

"But he is there there," answered the chief servant as if that should be every whit as obvious as it was. He indicated the high table where, surrounded by perhaps six or eight ladies of the sort already glimpsed in the courtyard, sat a huge man with a broad, flat face and hanging dewlaps like a barnyard boar. Swathed in pale sea-green satin so well filled one could see the wavelike ripples of flesh beneath the tight-stretched fabric, he occupied the full breadth of a thronelike chair which was draped in red satin lined with ermine. Dull brown hair hung in long, ropy curls around his head, and a lumpy, misshapen wart besmirched one cheek. He held a drinking horn half raised, his wide, full-lipped mouth agape as he stared at the strange visitors with small, inquisitive eyes.

"I present my Lord Hugh d'Avranches," proclaimed the seneschal, his voice striving above the commotion of the great room.

Alan pa.s.sed this along to Bran, who made a sour face as if he suddenly smelled something foul. "Et? Et?" "Et? Et?" he said. he said. That? That?

Even the seneschal understood him then. "Of course," he said, stiffly. "Who else?"

Without another word, Bran approached the table where the earl sat drinking with his women. A strained silence fell at his approach as attention turned to the newcomers. Bran inclined his head in the slightest of bows and waved both Tuck and Alan to his side. "Adveho, sto hic. Dico lo quis ego detto," "Adveho, sto hic. Dico lo quis ego detto," he said grandly, and Tuck relayed his words to Alan, who offered: "His estimable lord Count Rexindo greets you in the name of his father, Ranemiro, Duke of Navarre, who wishes you well." he said grandly, and Tuck relayed his words to Alan, who offered: "His estimable lord Count Rexindo greets you in the name of his father, Ranemiro, Duke of Navarre, who wishes you well."

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the earl, his astonishment manifest. exclaimed the earl, his astonishment manifest.

Bran, looking every inch a Spanish n.o.bleman, made another slight bow and spoke again. When he finished, he nodded at Tuck, who said, speaking through Alan, "Count Rexindo wants you to know that word of your fame has reached him in his travels, and he requests the honour of a private audience with you."

"Duke of Navarre, eh?" said Earl Hugh. "Never heard of him. Where is that?"

"It is a province in Spain, my lord," explained Alan politely.

"The duke is brother to King Carlos, who is-"