Hood

The cardinal's eyes narrowed dangerously. 'Careful, my hotheaded prince. If it were not for the king's need to raise money for his troops in Normandie, your petition would not be considered at all.' He reached a hand toward one of the money sacks. 'As it is, we will accept this six hundred in partial payment of the two thousand-'

'You want money?' cried Bran. He saw the cardinal, officious and smug in his sumptuous robes as he reached for the coins; his vision dimmed as the blood rage came upon him. 'Here is your money!'

Reaching across the table, he seized the cardinal by the front of the robe, pulled him up out of his chair, and thrust him down on the table, crushing his face against the coins spilled there. Ranulf let out a strangled cry, and his two scribes jumped up. As the nearest one bent to his master's aid, Bran took up an ink pot and dashed the contents into his face. Instantly blinded, the clerk fell back, bawling, shaking black ink everywhere. The other started for the door. 'Stay!' shouted Bran, his knife in his hand.

Iwan, uncertain what was happening, glanced nervously at his lord. Tightening his grip on the money sack, he backed toward the door. Cardinal Ranulf, squirming under his grasp, pulled free, falling back in his chair. Bran leapt onto the table and kicked the pile of parchments, scattering letters, deeds, and royal writs across the room. He kicked another pile and then jumped down, seizing the cardinal once more. 'Does the king know what you do in his name?' asked Bran.

The cardinal spat at him, and Bran slammed his head down on the table. 'Answer me, pig!'

'Bran!' Iwan put a hand to his lord's shoulder to pull him away. 'Bran, enough!'

Shaking off Iwan's hand, Bran pulled the cardinal up, wielding the knife in his face and shouting, 'Does the king know what you do in his name?'

'What do you think?' sneered the cardinal. 'I act with William's authority and blessing. Release me at once, or I will see you dance on the gibbet before the day is out.'

'Pray forgive him, Your Eminence,' said Tuck, pushing in beside Bran. 'He is overwrought and emotional.' Taking Bran's hand in both of his own, it took all his considerable strength to wrest the knife from his grasp and pull him away. 'If you please, sire, accept this six hundred marks in part payment for the whole. We will bring you the rest when we have it.'

He looked to Bran, indicating that an answer was required. 'Not so?'

Bran took a step back from the table. 'They get nothing from me-not a penny.

'Bran, think of your people,' pleaded Aethelfrith.

But Bran was already walking away. He signalled Iwan and Siarles, still holding the leather bags. 'Bring the money,' he told them. The two scooped the loose coins and money bags back into the sacks and then hurried to follow their lord.

'I will have you in chains!' shouted the cardinal. 'You cannot treat the royal justiciar this way!'

'Again I beg your indulgence, Your Eminence,' said Friar Tuck, 'but my lord has decided to take his appeal to a higher court.'

'Fool, this is the king's court!' the cardinal roared. 'There is none higher.'

'I think,' replied Tuck, hurrying away, 'you will find that there is one.

Tuck rejoined the others in the yard. Bran was already mounted and ready to ride. Iwan and Siarles were securing the money sacks when from the hall entrance burst Cardinal Ranulf, shouting, 'Saivez- les! Aux armes!'

Some of the knights still lingering in the yard heard the summons and turned to see the cardinal. Red-faced and angry, his robes splotched with black ink, hands outthrust, he was pointing wildly at the departing Britons.

`Aux armes! Gardes!' bawled the cardinal. 'To arms! Seize them!'

'Iwan! Siarles!' shouted Bran. Slapping the reins across his mount's withers, he started for the gate. 'To me!'

The porter, hearing this commotion, stepped from his hut just in time to see Bran bearing down on him. He flung himself out of the way as Bran slid from his still-galloping horse and dove into the hut, appearing three heartbeats later with the weapons that had been given over on his arrival. Raising his longbow and nocking an arrow to the string, he loosed one shaft at a bare-chested knight who was readying a lance for Iwans unprotected back. The arrow sang across the yard with blazing speed, striking the knight high in the chest. He dropped to the ground, clutching his shoulder, writhing and screaming.

Iwan finished tying the money sack and swung into the saddle. Siarles followed an instant behind, and both rode for the open gate. Tuck's horse, skittish with the sudden commotion, reared and shied, unwilling to be mounted. The friar held tight to the reins and tried to calm the frightened animal.

Meanwhile, the porter, having regained his feet and his wits, threw himself at Bran and received a jab in the stomach with the end of the bow. He crumpled to his knees, and Bran, returning to the business at hand, raised the bow, drew, and buried a second shaft in the doorpost a bare handsbreadth from the cardinal's head. Ranulf yelped and stumbled back into the hall. The porter struggled to his knees again-just in time to receive a sidelong kick to the jaw, which took him from the fight. 'If you want to live,' said Bran, 'stay down.'

Iwan reached the porter's hut, and Bran, darting inside again, retrieved the champion's bow and sword. 'Ride on ahead!' shouted Bran, handing the champion his weapons; he galloped away, leading the packhorse. 'Wait for me at the bridge!'

Siarles followed, holding tight to the reins of the second packhorse. He paused at the porter's hut long enough to snatch his bow and a sheaf of arrows from Bran's grasp. 'Go with Iwan.'

'My lord, I won't leave you behind.'

'Keep the money safe,' Bran shouted. 'I'll bring Tuck. Wait for us at the bridge.'

'But, my lord-,' objected Siarles.

'Just go!' Bran waved him away as he darted back into the yard.

The friar had his hands full now; he was surrounded on three sides by Ffreinc knights-two holding the padded lances they had been using when the fight began, and one wielding a wooden practise sword. One of the knights made a lunge with his lance, striking the priest on the back of the neck. Tuck fell, still clinging to the reins of his rearing mount, and was dragged backwards.

Bran, running to the middle of the yard, loosed a shaft as the knight drove in to crush Tuck's skull with the butt of the lance. The arrow struck just above the hip, throwing the knight sideways; his lance spun from his hand. 'Pick it up!' shouted Bran. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dull glint of metal as two helmeted heads appeared in the doorway of the hall. He sent another arrow into the doorway to keep them back and shouted for Tuck to release the horse. 'The spear, Tuck!' he cried, pointing to the weapon on the ground. 'Use it!'

Understanding came to him at last. The friar let go of the reins and snatched up the practise weapon just as the knight with the wooden sword closed on him. Spinning the shaft like a quarterstaff, Tuck dealt the man a solid blow on the forearm as the wooden blade swung down. The sword slipped from his grasp. As the soldier grabbed his broken arm, Tuck swung hard at the man's knee; the soldier's leg buckled, and he went down. Meanwhile, Tuck, spinning on his toes, whirled around to face his last assailant. He neatly parried one swipe of the padded lance and dodged another before landing a doublehanded blow on top of the knight's unprotected head. The lance pole bounced and split with a resounding crack! as the knight dropped senseless to the ground.

'Away, Tuck!' cried Bran. Seizing the reins of the friar's skittish horse, he held the animal until the priest gained the saddle and, with a slap on the beast's rump, sent him off. 'Fly!'

Bran turned around to face the next assault, only to find himself alone in the yard. There were other soldiers in hiding close by, he guessed, but none brave enough to face his bow until they could better protect themselves. He walked to the soldier squirming in the dirt with an arrow in his hip. 'If you're finished with this, I'll be having it back,' Bran told him. Placing a foot on the wounded man's side, he gave a hefty yank and pulled the arrow free; the knight screamed in agony and promptly passed out. Bran set the bloody arrow on the string and, watching for anyone bold enough to challenge him, backed toward the gate and his own waiting mount.

Upon reaching his horse, he cast a last look at the hall, where a knight's red-painted shield was just then edging cautiously into view from the open doorway. He drew and loosed. The arrow blazed across the distance and struck the shield just above the centre boss. The oak shaft of the arrow shattered, and the shield split. Bran heard a yowl of pain as the splintered shield disappeared. Smiling to himself, he climbed into the saddle, wheeled his horse, and rode to join his swiftly fleeing band.