Scarlet

said Abbot Hugo as de Glanville stepped into the room. 'Gysburne came to see me. He doesn't like you very much.'

'No,' conceded the sheriff, 'but if he would learn to follow simple commands, we might yet achieve a modicum of mutual accord.'

'Mutual accord-ha!' Abbot Hugo snorted. 'You don't like him, either.' He splashed wine into a pewter goblet and pushed it across the board towards de Glanville. 'Personally, I do not care how you two get on, but you might at least accord me the respect of asking my permission before you begin ordering around my soldiers as if they were your own.'

'You are right, of course, Abbot. I do beg your pardon. However, I would merely remind you that I am aiding your purpose, not the other way around-and with the king's authority. I require things to be done properly, and the marshal has been lax of late.'

'Tut!' The abbot fanned the air in front of his face, and frowned as if he smelled something rancid. 'You pretty birds get your feathers ruffled and pretend you have been ill used. Drink your wine, de Glanville, and put these petty differences behind you.'

They began to discuss the evening's arrangements when the porter interrupted to announce the arrival of Count Falkes, who appeared a moment later wrapped head to heel in a cloak of double thickness, thin face red after the ride from his castle, his pale hair in wind-tossed disarray. In all, he gave the impression of a lost and anxious child. The abbot greeted his guest and poured him a cup of wine, saying, 'The sheriff and I were just speaking about the special entertainment.'

An expression of resigned disappointment flitted across Count Falkes's narrow features. 'Then you think there is no hope?'

'That the stolen items will be returned?' countered the sheriff. 'Oh, there is hope, yes. But I think we must stretch a few British necks first. Once they learn that we are in deadly earnest, they will be only too eager to return the goods.' The sheriff smiled cannily and sipped his wine. 'I still do not know what was in those stolen chests that is so important to you.'

Abbot Hugo saw Falkes open his mouth to reply, and hastily explained, 'That, I think, is for the baron to answer. The count and I have been sworn to secrecy.'

The sheriff pursed his lips, thinking. 'Something the baron would prefer to remain hidden-a matter of life and death, perhaps.'

'Trust that it is so,' offered the count. 'Even if it were not at first, it is now. We have you to thank for that.'

The sheriff, quick to discern disapproval, stiffened. 'I did what I thought necessary under the circumstances. In fact, if I had not anticipated the wagons, we would not have had any chance of catching King Raven at all.'

'You still maintain that it was the phantom.'

'He is no phantom,' declared the sheriff. 'He is flesh and blood, whatever else he may be. Once word reaches him that we have hung three of his countrymen, he'll be only too eager to return the baron's treasure.'

'Three?' wondered the count. 'Did you say three? I thought we had agreed to execute only one each day.'

'Yes, well,' answered de Glanville with a haughty and dismissive flick of his head, 'I thought better to start with three tonight-it will instil a greater urgency.'

'Now, see here!' objected the count. 'I must rule these people. It is difficult enough without you-'

'Me! We would not be in this quagmire if you had-'

'Peace! There is enough blame for all to enjoy a healthy share,' said the abbot, breaking in. Holding the wine jar, he refreshed the cups. 'I, for one, find this continual acrimony as tiresome as it is futile.' Turning to Falkes, he said, 'Sheriff de Glanville has responsibility for controlling the forest outlaws. Why not trust him to effect the return of our goods in his own way?'

The count finished his wine in a gulp and took his leave. 'I must see to my men,' he said.

'A good idea, Count,' said Abbot Hugo. Turning to the sheriff, he said, 'You must also have much to do. I have kept you from your business long enough.'

In the square outside, Gulbert, the gaoler, had assembled the prisoners-sixty men and boys in all-at the foot of the gallows. They were chained together and stood in the cold, most of them without cloaks or even shoes, their heads bowed-some in prayer, some in despair. Marshal Guy de Gysburne, leading his company of soldiers, established a cordon line to surround the miserable group and keep any from escaping-as if that were possible-but also to keep townspeople from interfering with the proceedings in any way. A few of the wives and mothers of the Cymry captives had come to plead for the release of their sons or husbands, and Sheriff de Glanville had given orders that no one was to have even so much as a word with any of the prisoners. Guy, nursing a bad headache, wanted no trouble this night.

To a man, the Ffreinc knights were helmed and dressed in mail; each carried a shield and either a lance or naked sword; and though none were expecting any resistance, all were ready to fight. Count Falkes had brought a dozen men-at-arms, and these all carried torches; additional torches had been given to the townsfolk, and two large iron braziers set up on either side of the gallows-along with the bonfire-bathed the square in a lurid light.

The mostly Ffreinc population of Saint Martin's had gathered for the Twelfth Night spectacle, along with the residents of Castle Truan and the merchants who had traded in town that day. Abbot Hugo appeared, dazzling in his white satin robe and scarlet cloak; two monks walked before him-one carrying a crosier, the other a gilt cross on a pole. Fifteen monks followed, each carrying a torch. The crowd shifted to accommodate the clerics.

Richard de Glanville, Sheriff of the March, stepped up onto the raised platform of the gallows. An expectant hush swept through the crowd. 'In accordance with the Rule of the March, and under authority of King William of England,' he called, his voice loud in the silence of fluttering torches, 'we are come to witness this lawful execution. Let it be known to one and all, here and henceforth, that refusal to aid in the capture of the outlaw known as King Raven and his company of thieves will be considered treason towards the crown, for which the punishment is death.'

The sheriff glanced up as the wind gusted, bringing the first frigid splash of the promised rain. He took a last look around the square-at the bonfire, the torches, the soldiers armed and ready, the close-gathered crowd. It occurred to him to wonder what had become of those late-arriving merchants, who seemed to have disappeared. Finally, satisfied that all was as it should be, de Glanville gave the order to proceed. Stepping to the edge of the platform, he turned his gaze upon the cringing victims. None dared raise their heads or glance up to meet his eye, for fear of being the one singled out.

He raised his hand and pointed to an old man who stood shivering in a thin shirt. Two soldiers seized the man and, as they were removing the wretch's shackles, the sheriff 's finger came to rest over another. 'Him, too,' said the sheriff.

This victim, shocked that he should have been chosen as well, gave out a shout and began struggling with the soldiers as they removed his chains. The man was quickly beaten into submission and dragged to the platform.

One more. From among the younger captives, de Glanville chose a boy of ten or twelve years. 'Bring him.' The youngster, dazed by his captivity, was too brutalized to put up a fight, but some of the men nearest him began pleading with their captors, offering to take the lad's place. Their desperate protests went unheeded by soldiers who did not speak Welsh, and did not care anyway.

Excitement fluttered through the crowd as the captives were dragged onto the platform and the spectators realized they would be feted to three hangings this night.

Ropes were produced and the ends snaked over the strong beam of the gallows arm; sturdy nooses were looped around the necks of the three Cymry-one old, one young, and one in his prime-whose only real crime under heaven was having been captured by the Normans.

As the nooses were being tightened, there came a shout from the crowd. 'Wait! Stop the execution!'

Those gathered in the square, Ffreinc and Welsh alike, heard the cry in priestly Latin and, upon turning towards the commotion, saw a company of monks in dull grey robes pushing their way through the throng to the front of the gallows. 'Stop! Release these men!'

The sheriff, his interest piqued, called for the crowd to let them through. 'Dare you interrupt the execution of the law?' he asked as they came to stand before him. 'Who are you?'

'I am Abbot Daffyd of Saint Dyfrig's near Glascwm!' he called in a loud voice. 'And I have brought the ransom