despite his misgivings, was forced to take Bran at his word. For standing on his threshold was a legate of the pope and his attending servants and advisors. What else could he do but let us in?
Thus, we were admitted straightaway and shown to a small reception room and made to wait there until someone could be found who might more readily deal with us. There were no chairs in the room, and no fire in the hearth; the board against one wall was bare. Clearly, it was not a room used to receive expected, or welcome, visitors.
'Pax vobiscum,' said a short, keen-eyed cleric in a white robe. 'Bona in sanctus nomen.'
'Pax vobiscum,' replied Bran. He nodded to Brother Jago, who stepped forward and, with a little bow of respect, began to translate for Father Dominic and his companions.
The man, it turned out, was a fella named Canon Laurent, and he was the principal aid to Archbishop Bonne- Ame. 'His Grace has asked me to express his regrets, as he is unable to welcome you personally. Your arrival has caught us at a very busy and eventful time. Please accept our apologies if we cannot offer you the hospitality you are certainly due, and which it would be our pleasure to provide under more ordinary circumstances.'
The priest was as slippery and smooth as an eel in oil, but beneath the mannered courtesy, I sensed a staunch and upright spirit. 'How may I be of service to you?' he said, folding his hands and tucking them into the sleeves of his robe.
'We have come bearing an important message for King William from His Holiness, the pope.'
'Indeed,' the canon replied, raising his eyebrows. 'Perhaps if I knew more about this message it would aid your purpose.'
'Our message is for the king alone,' explained Bran, through Jago. 'Yet I have no doubt that His Majesty will explain all to you in the time and manner of his choosing. If you would inform him that we are waiting, we will be in your debt.'
That was plain enough. The canon, unable to wheedle more from our Bran, conceded and promised to take our request to the king. 'If you wish, I can arrange for you to wait somewhere more comfortable,' he offered.
Jago thanked him and said, 'That will not be necessary. But if you could have some food brought here, that would be a mercy.'
'It will be done,' replied the canon as he withdrew.
'That went well,' Bran observed cheerfully.
'Job's bones, Bran,' muttered Iwan. 'You are a bold one. How can you think of food at a time like this?'
'I'm hungry,' Bran said.
'I'm with Iwan,' said Siarles. 'Give me a fair fight any day. This skulking around the enemy camp fair gives me the pip.'
'Steady on, boys,' said Merian, her voice altered by her wooden teeth. 'All you need do is keep your eyes open and your mouths shut. Let Bran do the rest.' Our lord smiled at her quick defence of him. 'And you,' she said to him, 'see you get us out of here in the same condition we came in, and I might consider marrying you after all.'
'Oh, if I thought that was possible, my love,' he answered, taking her hand and kissing it, 'then you would be amazed to see what I can do.'
How this little dance might have continued we would never learn, for at that moment the door opened and three servants bearing platters of bread and sausage, and jars of watered wine entered the room, and hard on their heels none other than King William of England in the very solid flesh. We knew straightaway that it was Rufus: the fiery red hair; the high, ruddy complexion; the squat, slightly bowed legs; the spreading belly and beefy arms-all of which had been reported by anyone who'd met him. Well, who else could it be?
Attending the king were two noblemen, and our man Canon Laurent, who seemed unable to hold himself out of the proceedings.
The king of England was a younger man than I had imagined, but the life he led-the fighting and drinking and what all-was exacting a price. Still, he was formidable and with long, thick arms, heavy shoulders, and a deep chest, would have made a fearsome enemy on a battlefield. His short legs were slightly bent from a life in the saddle, as his father's were well reputed to have been, and like his father, his hair was red, but grizzled now and thinning. He looked like one of those fighting dogs I'd seen in market squares where their owners set them on bears or bulls for the wagering of a feast-day crowd.
Oh, he'd seen a few fights, had Bloody Red William, and won his share to be sure. As he stumped into the room, the glance from his beady, bloodshot eyes sweeping quickly left and right, he seemed as if he expected to meet an enemy army. Like that marketplace bulldog, he appeared only too ready to take a bite out of whomever or whatever got in his way.
'Quel est cette intrusion impolie?' the king demanded, puffing himself up. He spoke quickly, and I had trouble understanding his somewhat pinched voice.
'Pax vobiscum, meus senior rex regis,' said Brother Alfonso, bowing nicely.
'Latin?' said the king, which even I could understand. 'Latin? Mary and Joseph, someone tell him to speak French.'
'Paix, mon roi de seigneur,' offered Brother Alfonso smoothly, and went on to introduce the king to his visitor.
'When you learn why we have come,' said Bran, taking his place before the king as Jago translated his words for the French-speaking monarch, 'you will forgive the intrusion.'
'Will I, by the rood?' growled the king. 'Try me, then. But I warn you, I rarely forgive much, and fools who waste my time-never!'
'If it be foolish to try to save your throne,' Bran replied, his voice taking an edge the king did not mistake, 'then fool I am. I have been called worse.'
'Who are you?' demanded the king. 'Leicester? Warwick? Do you know this man?'
'No, my lord,' answered the younger of the two knights. 'I have never seen him before.'
'Nor I,' answered the elder. 'Any of them.'
'Save my throne, eh?' said the king. I could see that, despite his bluster, he was intrigued. 'My throne is not in danger.'
'Is it not?' countered Bran. 'I have good reason to believe otherwise. Your brother Duke Robert is raising rebellion against you.'
'Tell me something I do not know,' snorted the king. 'If this is your message, you are the very fool I thought.'
'This time, Lord King,' replied Bran quickly, 'he has the aid and support of Pope Clement and your brother Henry Beauclerc, and many others. It is my belief that they mean to force your abdication in favour of Duke Robert, or face excommunication.'
This stole the swagger from the English monarch's tail, I can tell you. 'I knew it!' he growled. To his knights, he said, 'I told you they were scheming against me.' Then, just as quick, he turned to Bran and demanded, 'You have proof of this?'
'I do, Lord King,' said Bran. 'A document has come into my possession which has been signed by those making conspiracy against you.'
'You have this document, do you?' said the king.
'I do, Sire,' replied Bran.
William thrust out a broad, calloused hand. 'Give it to me.'
Bran put his hand inside his robe and brought out the folded parchment which had been so painstakingly copied by the monks at Saint Dyfrig's abbey. It was wrapped in its cloth, and Bran clutched it firmly in both hands. 'Before I deliver it to you,' he said, 'I ask a boon.'
'Ha!' sneered the king. 'I might have guessed that was coming. You priests are always looking to your own interests. Well, what is it you want? Reward-is that what you want? Money?'
'No, Sire,' said Bran, still holding out the document. 'I want-'
'Yes?' said the king, impatience making him sharp. 'What! Speak, man!'
'Justice,' said Bran quietly. 'I want justice.'
Jago gave our lord's reply, to which William shouted, 'You shall have it!' as he snatched the document away. Unwrapping the thick, folded square, he opened it out and stared at it long and hard. Glancing at Canon Laurent hovering nearby, he lifted a hand to the cleric and said, 'This should be spoken in the presence of witnesses.'
