others. The sheriff, realising the battle was now beyond winning, called the retreat. They fled back the way they had come and, since our arrows were mostly spent, we let them go.
'They might return,' Bran said, and ordered us all to scatter and work our way around the blaze. 'Confuse your trail and make certain you are not followed. Then fly like ravens for the roost.'
I put my head down and lit out through the dark winter wood. Keeping the blaze on my left, I worked my way slowly and carefully around until I'd coursed half the circle, then faded back along a deer run that took me near to the bottom of the ridge protecting Cel Craidd. After a time picking my way carefully through a hedge of brambles and hawthorn, I reached the foot of the ridge and paused to listen, kneeling beside a rock to rest a moment before continuing.
I heard nothing but the night wind freshening the tops of the larches and pines. The fire still stained the night sky, tinting the smoke a dull rusty red, but it was less fierce now; already the blaze was dying out. Overhead, there were patches of winter sky showing through the clouds, and stars glimmering bright as needle pricks. The air was cold and crisp. As I started up the snow-covered slope it came to me that this attack signalled a change in our fortunes. We had beaten the sheriff this time, but it was just the beginning. Next time he would come with more men, and still more. There would be no stopping him now.
CHAPTER 18
In the bleak heart of midwinter, with the snow deep and white, the air cold and still, it seemed as if the greenwood awaited the coming of the new year with breath abated. We of the Raven Flock held our breath, too, waiting and watching through the night and all the next day. Bran doubled the number of watchers on the road, and set others in a surrounding ring around Coed Cadw. But the sheriff and his men did not return.
The evening of the day after the attack, Lord Bran summoned his advisors to his hut. Wary and uncertain still, we gathered. Iwan, Siarles, Merian, Tuck, and myself took our places around the small hearth in the centre of his hut. 'We have rattled the hornets in their nest,' Iwan pointed out as we settled to discuss what had happened the night before and what it might mean.
'That much is plain as your big feet,' replied Siarles.
'Where is Angharad?' wondered Merian. 'She should be with us.'
'So she should,' agreed Bran. 'But she has begged leave to absent herself.'
'Not like her,' observed Iwan. 'Not like her at all.'
'Is she well?' asked Tuck. 'I could go see her.'
'She is well,' replied Bran, adding, 'but the raid last night has disturbed her mightily. She did not foresee it.'
'Nor did any of us,' pointed out Tuck.
'No, but our hudolion feels she should have sensed it. She is going to her cave to learn the reason and'-he lifted the ring on its string around his neck-'to learn more of this lovely trinket.' The gold shone with a fine lustre, and the jewels gleamed even in the dim light of the hut.
Tuck took one look at the heavy gold bauble and cried, 'Lord have mercy! Where did you get that?'
Bran explained about the raid on the supply train. Tuck sucked his teeth, shaking his head all the while. 'I do not wonder Angharad is distressed. You have called down the wrath of Baron de Braose upon your silly heads, my friends.' Tapping the ring with a finger to watch it swing, he added, 'He wants it back, and now you have made it worth his while to find you.'
'This wasn't all,' said Iwan. 'Show him the rest.'
Merian fetched a small box, which she opened, drawing out the richly embroidered gloves and passing them to the friar.
'Well, well, lookee here,' chirped the priest, 'what a fine pair of mittens.' Seizing them, he pulled them tightly over his chubby hands and held them up for all to see. 'Goatskin, if I'm not mistaken,' he said, 'and made in France, I shouldn't wonder.' He withdrew his hands and stroked the leather flat again. 'Someone will be missing these sorely.'
'Aye, but who?' asked Bran. 'Abbot Hugo?'
'For him?' wondered Tuck. 'Possibly. It would not surprise me that he holds himself so highly. But see here-' he indicated the cross on the right hand and, on the left glove, a curious symbol shaped something like a cross, but with two extra arms and a closed loop at its head. 'That is the Chi Rho,' he told us, 'and most often seen on the vestments of high priests of one kind or another.' He passed the gloves back to Merian. 'If you asked me, I'd say these were made for a prince among priests-an archbishop or cardinal, at least.'
'Then what are they doing here?' asked Iwan.
'Perhaps our humble abbot has more exalted ambitions,' replied Bran.
'Was there ever any doubt?' quipped Tuck. His smooth brow wrinkled with thought. 'Ring and gauntlets,' he mused. 'It must mean something. But for the love of Peter, I cannot think what it might be.'
'We were hoping you would have an idea,' sighed Merian.
'Nay, lass,' replied the friar. 'You will have to find a better and wiser man than the one that sits before you to get an answer.'
'There is one other thing,' said Bran. Reaching into the box, he brought out the square of parchment and passed that to the priest.
In the hurly-burly of the feast and later attack, I had mostly forgotten all about that thick folded square of lambskin. I looked at it now-I think we all did-as the very thing needed to explain the mystery to us.
'Why didn't you say you had this?' said Tuck. He turned it over in his hands. 'You haven't opened it.'
'No,' answered Bran. 'You may have the honour.'
We all edged close as the friar's stubby fingers fumbled with the blue cord. When he had untied it, he laid it in his lap and looked around at the circle of faces hovering above him. 'If we break this,' he said, fingering the wax seal, 'there is no going back.'
'Break it,' commanded Bran. 'It has already cost the lives of a score of men or more. We will see what it is that the abbot and sheriff value at such a high price.'
Drawing a breath, Tuck cracked the heavy wax seal and carefully unfolded the parchment, spreading it before him on the rush-strewn floor of the hut.
'What is it?' asked Iwan.
'What does it say?' said Siarles.
'Shh!' hissed Merian. 'Give the man a chance.' To Tuck she said, 'Take your time.' Then, when he appeared to do just that, she added, 'Well, what does it say?'
Lifting his face, he shook his head.
'Bad news?' wondered Bran.
'I don't know,' replied the priest slowly.
Bran leaned close. 'What then?'
'God knows,' Tuck lifted the parchment to pass around. 'It is written fair enough, but not in Latin. I cannot read the bloody thing.'
'Are you certain?'
'I think so. I read little enough Latin, to be sure. But I cannot make out a word of that.' He shook his round head. 'I don't know what it is.'
We passed the parchment hand to hand, and as it came to me, I saw the entire surface covered with a fine, flowing script in dark brown ink. As I had never acquired the knack of reading-not English, nor Latin either-I had nothing to say about it. But it seemed to me that the words were well formed, the letters long and graceful-it put me in mind of ivy and how it loops and curls around all it touches. The skin was fine-grained and well prepared; there were hardly any grease smudges or ink spatters at all.
'I think it is Ffreinc,' Merian decided, holding it up to the light and bending her head close. 'I can speak it well enough, but I have only seen it written once or twice, mind.' She concluded, 'It looks very like Ffreinc to me.'
'Yes, well, that would make sense,' mused Tuck, taking back the parchment. The two of them proceeded to examine it closely, tracing various letters with their fingers and muttering over it. 'See, here that is a D,' said Tuck,
