of fresh-baked bread and a great hunk of pale yellow cheese. 'Three moons if a day since I had fresh bread,' he confided. 'Three threes of moons since I had a drink of wine.' Offering Bran another of his preposterous bows, he said, 'A blessing on the Lord of the Feast. May his days never cease and his tribe increase!'
Bran smiled in spite of himself and declared, 'Bring the jars and let the banquet begin!'
They returned to the oratory, where Iwan, reclining beside the hearth, had built up the fire to a bright, crackling blaze. While Aethelfrith scurried around readying their supper, Ffreol found wooden cups and poured out the ale. Their host paused long enough to suck down a cup and then returned to his preparations, spitting the fat hares and placing them at the fireside for Iwan to tend. He then brought a wooden trencher with broken bread and bite-sized chunks of cheese, and four long fire-forks, which he passed to his guests.
They sat around the hearth and toasted bread and cheese and drank to each other's health while waiting for the meat to cook. Slowly, the cares of the last days began to release their hold on Bran and his companions.
'A toast!' said Iwan at one point, raising his cup. 'I drink to our good host, Aethleth-' He stumbled at the hurdle of the name once more. He tried again, but the effort proved beyond him. Casting an eye over the plump priest, he said, 'Fat little bag of vittles that he is, I will call him Tuck.'
'Friar Tuck to you, boyo!' retorted the priest with a laugh. Cocking his head to one side, he said, 'And it is Iwan, is it not? What is that in couth speech?' He tapped his chin with a stubby finger. 'It's John, I think. Yes, John. So, overgrown infant that he is, I will call him Little John.' He raised his cup, sloshing ale over the rim, 'So, now! I lift my cup to Little John and to his friends. May you always have ale enough to wet your tongues, wit enough to know friend from foe, and strength enough for every fight.'
Ffreol, moved as much by the camaraderie around the hearth as by the contents of his cup, raised his voice in solemn, priestly declamation, saying, 'I am not lying when I say that I have feasted in the halls of kings, but rarely have I supped with a nobler company than sits beneath this humble roof tonight.' Lofting his cup, he said, 'God's blessing on us. Brothers all!'
CHAPTER
8
The sun was high and warm by the time the men were ready to depart Aethelfrith's oratory. Bran and Iwan bade the priest farewell, and Brother Ffreol bestowed a blessing, saying, 'May the grace and peace of Christ be upon you, and the shielding of all the saints be around you, and nine holy angels aid and uphold you through all things.' He then raised himself to the saddle, saying, 'Do not drink all the wine, brother. Save some for our return. God willing, we will join you again on our way home.'
'Then you had better hurry about your business,' Aethelfrith called. 'That wine will not last long.'
Bran, eager to be away, slapped the reins and trotted out onto the road. Ffreol and Iwan followed dose behind, and the three resumed their journey to Lundein. The horses were just finding their stride when they heard a familiar voice piping, 'Wait! Wait!'
Turning around in the saddle, Bran saw the bandy-legged friar running after them. Thinking they had forgotten something, he pulled up.
'I'm coming with you,' Aethelfrith declared.
Bran regarded the man's disgraceful robe, bare feet, ragged tonsure, and untidy beard. He glanced at Ffreol and shook his head.
'Your offer is thoughtful, to be sure,' replied Brother Ffreol, 'but we would not burden you with our affairs.'
'Maybe not,' he allowed, 'but God wants me to go.'
'God wants you to go,' Iwan scoffed lightly. 'You speak for God now, do you?'
'No,' the priest allowed, 'but I know he wants me to go.'
'And how, pray, do you know this?'
Aethelfrith offered a diffident smile. 'He told me,'
'Well,' replied the battlechief lightly, 'until he tells nie, I say you stay here and guard the wine cask.'
Ffreol lifted a hand in farewell, and the three started off again, but after only a few dozen paces, Bran looked around again to see the plump priest hurrying after them, robes lifted high, his bowed legs churning. 'Go back!' he called, not bothering to stop.
'I cannot,' replied Aethelfrith. 'It is not your voice I heed, but God's. I am compelled to come with you.'
'I think we should take him,' Brother Ffreol said.
'He is too slow afoot,' Bran pointed out. 'He could never keep pace.
'True,' agreed Ffreol as the priest came puffing up. Reaching down his hand, he said, 'You can ride with me, Tuck.' Aethelfrith took the offered hand and began wriggling labouriously up onto the back of the horse.
'What?' said Iwan. Indicating Bran and himself, he said, 'Are we not to have a say in this?'
'Say whatever you like,' Aethelfrith replied. 'I am certain God is willing to listen.'
Iwan grumbled, but Bran laughed. 'Stung you,' he chuckled, 'eh, Little John?'
For five days they journeyed on, following the road as it bent its way south and east over the broad lowland hills from whose tops could be seen a land of green and golden fields strewn with the smudgy brown blots of innumerable settlements. They travelled more slowly with four; owing to the extra weight, they had to stop and rest the horses more frequently. But what he cost them in time, Tuck made up in songs and rhymes and stories about the saints-and this made the journey more enjoyable.
The countryside became ever more densely populated-roads, lanes, and trackways seamed the valleys, and the cross-topped steeples of churches adorned every hilltop. Over all hung the odour of the dung heap, pungent and heavy in the sultry air. By the time the sprawl of Lundein appeared beyond the wide gleaming sweep of the Thames, Bran was heartily sick of England and already longing to return to Elfael. Ordinarily, he would not have endured such a misery in silence, but the sight of the city brought the reason for their sojourn fresh to mind, and his soul sank beneath the weight of an infinitely greater grief. He merely bit his lip and passed through the wretched realm, his gaze level, his face hard.
On its way into the city, the road widened to resemble a broad, bare, wheel-rutted expanse hemmed in on each side by row upon row of houses, many flanked by narrow yards out of which merchants and craftsmen pursued their various trades. Carters, carpenters, and wheelwrights bartered with customers ankle deep in wood shavings; blacksmiths hammered glowing rods on anvils to produce andirons, fire grates, ploughshares, door bands and hinges, chains, and horseshoes; corders sat in their doorways, winding jute into hanks that rose in mounded coils at their feet; potters ferried planks lined with sun-dried pitchers, jars, and bowls to their nearby kilns. Everywhere Bran looked, people seemed to be intensely busy, but he saw no place that looked at all friendly to strangers.
They rode on and soon came to a low house fronting the river. Several dozen barrels were lined up outside the entrance beside the road. Some of the barrels were topped with boards, behind which a young woman with hair the colour of spun gold and a bright red kerchief across her bare shoulders dispensed jars of ale to a small gathering of thirsty travellers. Without a second thought, Bran turned aside, dismounted, and walked to the board.
'Pax vobiscum,' he said, dusting off his Latin.
She gave him a nod and patted the board with her hand-a sign he took to mean she wanted to see his money first. As Bran dug out his purse and searched for a suitable coin, the others joined him.
'Allow me,' said Aethelfrith, pushing up beside him. He brought out an English penny. 'Coin of the realm,' he said, holding the small silver disc between thumb and forefinger. 'And for this we should eat like kings as well, should we not?' He handed the money to the alewife. 'Four jars, good woman,' he said in English. 'And fill them full to overflowing.'
'There is food, too?' asked Bran as the woman poured out three large jars from a nearby pitcher.
'Inside the house,' replied the cleric. Following Bran's gaze, he added, 'but we'll not be going in there.'
'Why not? It seems a good enough place.' He could smell the aroma of roast pork and onions on the light evening breeze.
