scheming how to find the stolen treasure, expose the traitor in their midst, and exact revenge on those who had disgraced him and robbed the abbot.
CHAPTER
43
Qnder the keen watch of sentries hidden in the brush along the road, the Grellon walked hidden pathways. Moving with the stealth of forest creatures, men, women, and children ferried the plunder back to their greenwood glen on litters made of woven leather straps stretched between pine poles. It took most of the day to retrieve the spoils of their wild night's work and store it safely away. Thus, the sun was low in the sky when Bran, Iwan, Tuck, Siarles, and Angharad finally gathered to open the iron-banded caskets.
Iwan and Siarles set to work, hacking at the charred wood and metal bands of the first two strongboxes. The others looked on, speculating on what they would find. Under the onslaught of an axe and pick, Iwan's box gave way first; three quick blows splintered the sides, and three more released a gleaming cascade of silver onto the hearthside floor. Tuck scooped up the coins with a bowl and poured them into his robe, as Siarles, meanwhile, chopped at the top of the chest before him and presently succeeded in breaking open the ruined lock.
He threw open the lid. The interior was filled with cloth bags each one tied by a cord that was sealed in wax with the baron's crest. At a nod from Bran, he lifted one out and untied the string, breaking the seal, and poured the contents into Brother Tuck's bowl: forty-eight English pennies, newly minted, bright as tiny moons.
'There must be over two hundred pounds here,' Siarles estimated. 'More, even.'
Iwan turned his attention to the third box. Smaller than the other two, it had suffered less damage and proved more difficult to break open. With battering blows, Iwan smashed at the lock and wooden sides of the chest. The iron-banded box resisted his efforts until Siarles fetched a hammer and chisel and began working at the rivets, loosening a few of the bands to allow Iwan's pick to gain purchase. Eventually, the two succeeded in worrying the lid from its hinges; tossing it aside, they upended the box, and out rolled plump leather bags-smaller than the baron's black bags, but heavier. When hefted, they gave a dull chink.
'Open them,' Bran commanded. He sat on his haunches, watching the proceedings with dazzled amazement.
Plucking a bag from the chest, Iwan untied the string and shook the contents into Bran's open hand. The gleam of gold flashed in the firelight as a score of thick coins plopped into his palm.
'Upon my vow,' gasped Aethelfrith in awe, 'they're filled with flaming byzants!'
Raising one of the coins, Bran turned it between his fingers, watching the lustrous shimmer dance in the light. He felt the exquisite weight and warmth of the fine metal. He had never seen genuine Byzantine gold solidi before. 'What are they worth?'
'Well now,' the priest answered, snatching up a coin from the floor. 'Let me see. There are twelve pennies in a shilling, and twenty shillings in a pound-so a pound is worth two hundred and forty pennies.' Tapping his finger on his palm as if counting invisible coins, the mendicant priest continued, amazing his onlookers with his thorough understanding of worldly wealth. 'Now then, a mark, as we all know, is worth thirteen shillings and four pence, or one hundred sixty pennies-which means that there are one and a half marks in one pound sterling.'
'So how much for a byzant?' asked Siarles.
'Give me time,' said Tuck. 'I'm getting to that.'
'This will take all night,' complained Siarles.
'It will if you keep interrupting, boyo,' replied the priest testily. 'These are delicate calculations.' He gave Siarles a sour look and resumed, 'Where was I? Right-so that's…' He paused to reckon the total. 'That's over five pounds.' He frowned. 'No, make that six-more.
'A bag?' asked Bran.
'Each,' replied the priest, handing the byzant back to him.
'You mean to say this,' said Bran, holding the gold coin to the light, 'is worth ten marks?'
'They are as valuable as they are scarce: '
'Sire,' said Iwan, dazzled by the extent of their haul, 'this is far better than we hoped.' Reaching into another of the leather bags, he drew out more of the fat gold coins. 'This is a… a miracle,'
'The Good Lord helps them who help themselves,' Friar Tuck said, pouring coins from the fold of his gathered robe into the bowl on the floor before him. 'Blessed be the name of the Lord!'
'How much is there altogether?' wondered Bran, gazing at the treasure hoard.
'Several hundred marks at least,' suggested Siarles.
'It is more than enough to pay the workers,' observed Angharad from her stool. 'Much more.' She rose and gathered a deerskin from her sleeping place. Spreading it on the floor beside the kneeling priest, she instructed, 'Count it onto this.'
'And count it out loud so we can all hear,' added Siarles.
'Help me,' said the priest. 'Put them into piles of twelve.'
The two fell to arranging the silver coins into little heaps to represent a shilling, and then Brother Tuck began telling out the number, shilling by shilling. Siarles, using a bit of charred wood, kept a running tally on a hearthstone, announcing the reckoning every fourth or fifth stack, and calling out the total at each mark: one hundred… one hundred seventy-five… two hundred…
The women of Cel Craidd brought food-a haunch of roast meat from one of the slaughtered oxen and some fresh barley cakes made from the supplies intended for Abbot Hugo. Bran and the others ate while the counting continued.
After a while, they heard voices outside the hut. 'Your flock grows curious,' Angharad said. 'They have been patient long enough. You should speak to them, Bran.'
Rising, Bran stepped to the door and pushed aside the ox-hide covering. Stepping out into the soft night air, he saw the entire population of the settlement-forty-three souls in all ranged on the ground around the door of the hut. Wrapped in their cloaks, they were talking quietly amongst themselves. A fire had been lit and some of the children were running barefoot around it.
'We are still counting the money,' he told them simply. 'I will bring word when we have finished.'
'It is taking a fair sweet time,' suggested one of the men.
'There is a lot to count.'
'God be praised,' said another. 'How much?'
'More than we hoped,' replied Bran. 'Your patience will be rewarded, never fear.'
He returned to Angharad's hearth and the counting. 'Three hundred fifty..,' droned Siarles, making another mark on the stone, '… four hundred…'
'Four hundred marks!' gasped Iwan. 'Why were they carrying so much money?'
'Something is happening that we have neither heard nor foreseen,' Angharad replied, 'and this is the proof.'
Tuck, still counting, gave a cough to silence them. And the total continued to grow.
When the last silver penny had been accounted, the total stood at four hundred and fifty marks. Then, turning his attention to the leather bags in the last casket, the friar began to count out the gold coins to the value of ten marks each. The others looked on breathlessly as the friar arranged the golden byzants in neat little towers of ten.
When he finished, Tuck raised his head and, in a voice filled with quiet wonder, announced, 'Seven hundred and fifty marks. That makes five hundred pounds sterling.'
'Do I believe what I am hearing?' breathed Iwan, overwhelmed by the enormity of the plunder. 'Five hundred pounds… ' He turned his eyes to Bran and then to Angharad. 'What have we done?'
'We have ransomed Elfael from the stinking Ffreinc,' declared Bran. 'Using their own money, too. Rough justice, that.'
Turning on his heel, he moved to the door and stepped out to deliver the news to those waiting outside. Angharad went with him and, raising her hands, said, 'Silence. Rhi Bran would speak.'
