Their time aboard the Spanish ship had served Bran well, it had to be admitted. The moment his feet touched the timber planks on the landing dock, Bran was a man transformed. Dressed in his finery-improved by garments he'd purchased from the trading stock Captain Armando carried-he appeared every inch the Spanish nobleman. Tuck marvelled to see him, as did the two young noblemen who were inspired to adopt some of Bran's lofty ways so that to the unsuspecting folk of Caer Cestre, they did appear to be a company of foreign noblemen. They were marked accordingly and soon drew a veritable crowd of volunteers eager to offer their services as guides for a price.
'French!' called Tuck above the clamour. 'Anyone here speak French?'
No one did, it seemed; despite the years of Norman domination, Caer Cestre remained an English-speaking town. The disappointed crowd began to thin as people fell away.
'We'll probably have better luck in the town,' said Bran. 'But offer a penny or two.'
So they proceeded up the steep street leading to the town square, and Tuck amended his cry accordingly. 'A penny! A penny to anyone who speaks French,' he called at the top of his voice. 'A penny for a French speaker! A penny!'
At the end of the street stood two great stone pillars, ancient things that at one time had belonged to a basilica or some such edifice but now served as the entrance to the market square. Though it was not market day, there were still many people around, most paying visits to the butcher or baker or ironmonger who kept stalls on the square. A tired old dog lay beside the butcher's hut, and two plough horses stood with drooping heads outside a blacksmith's forge at the far end of the square, giving the place a deceptively sleepy air.
Tuck strode boldly out into the open square, offering silver for service, and his cry was finally answered. 'Here! Here, now! What are you on about?' Looking around, he saw a man in a tattered green cloak, much faded and bedraggled with mud and muck; he was sitting on the ground with his back against the far side of the butcher hut and his cap in his hands as if he would beg a coin from those who passed by. At Tuck's call, he jumped up and hurried towards the strangers. 'Here! What for ye need a Frankish man?' Tuck regarded him with a dubious frown. The fellow's hair was a mass of filthy tangles hanging down in his face, and his straggling beard looked as if mice had been at it. The eyes that peered out from under the ropy mass were watery and red from too much strong drink the night before, and he reeked of piss and vomit. Unshorn and unkempt he was, Tuck considered-not the sort of person they had in mind for this special chore. 'We have business in this town,' Tuck explained brusquely, 'and we do not speak French.'
'I does,' the beggar boasted. 'Anglish and Frenchy, both alike. What's yer sayin' of a penny, then?'
'We have a penny for anyone who agrees to bear a message of introduction for us,' Tuck replied.
'I'm t'man fer ye,' the beggar chirped, holding out a filthy hand to receive his pay.
'All in good time, friend,' Tuck told him. 'I've heard you speak English, but how do I know you can speak French?'
'Speaks it like t'were me ine mither tongue,' he replied, still holding out his hand. 'Je parler le francais et tout, ye ken?'
'Well?' said Bran, stepping up beside them. 'What's he say?'
Tuck hesitated. 'This fellow says he'll help us, but if his French is as poor as his English, then I expect we're better off asking the butcher's dog over there.'
Bran looked around. Seeing as no one else had come forward, and the day was getting on, he said, 'Had we a better choice… but'-Bran shrugged-'he will have to serve. All the same, tell him we'll give him an extra penny if he will wash and brush before we go.'
Tuck told the scruffy fellow what Bran had said, and he readily agreed. 'Go then,' Tuck ordered. 'And be quick about it. Don't make us wait too long, or I'll find someone else.'
The beggar dipped his head and scampered off to find a trough in which to bathe himself. Tuck watched him go, still nursing deep misgivings about their rough guide; but since they only needed someone to make introduction, he let the matter rest.
While they waited for the beggar to return, Bran rehearsed once again the next portion of his plan with the two young noblemen so they might keep in mind what to expect and how to comport themselves. 'Ifor, you know some Ffreinc.'
'A little,' admitted Ifor. A slender young man with dark hair and wary eyes beneath a smooth, low brow, he was that much like Bran anyone could well see the family resemblance, however distant it might have been. Blood tells, thought Tuck, so it does. 'Not as much as Brocmael, though.'
'We hear it at the market in Bangor sometimes,' Brocmael explained. Slightly older than Ifor, he had much about him of a good badger dog.
'You may find it difficult to pretend otherwise,' Bran told them, 'but you must not let on. Keep it to yourselves. The Ffreinc will not be expecting you to understand them, and so you may well hear things to our advantage from time to time.' He smiled at their dour expressions. 'Don't worry. It's easy-just keep remembering who you are.'
The two nodded solemnly. Neither one shared Bran's easy confidence, and both were nearly overwhelmed by their arrival in a Norman town and the deception they meant to work-not to say frightened by the prospect of delivering themselves into their chief enemy's hands. Truth be told, Tuck felt much the same way. The sun climbed a little higher, and the day grew warmer accordingly. Bran decided that they should get a bite to eat, and Tuck, never one to forego a meal if it could be helped, readily agreed. 'Unless my nose mistakes me,' he said, 'the baker is taking out fresh pies as we speak.'
'Just what I was thinking,' said Bran. Turning to his young attendants, he said, 'Here is a good time to test your mettle. Remember who we are.' He pulled a leather bag from his belt and handed it to Ifor. 'Get us some pies-one for each and one for our guide, too, when he returns. He looks like he could use a meal.'
'And, lads, see if there is any beer,' Tuck added. 'A jug or two would be most welcome. This old throat is dry as Moses' in the wilderness.'
They accepted the purse, turned, and with the air of men mounting to the gibbet, moved off to the baker's stall. 'They'll be all right,' observed Bran, more in hope than conviction.
'Oh, aye,' Tuck agreed with equal misgiving. 'Right as a miller's scale.'
The presence of wealthy foreign strangers in the square was attracting some interest. A few of the idlers who had been standing at the well across the square were staring at them now and nodding in their direction. 'You wanted to be noticed,' Tuck said, smiling through his teeth. 'But I don't think those fellas like what they're seeing.'
'You surprise me, Tuck. This is just what we want. If word of our arrival reaches the earl before we do, so much the better. See there?' He indicated two of the men just then hurrying away. 'The news is on its way. Be at ease, and remember-as highborn Spanish noblemen it is beneath us to pay them heed.'
'You may be the king of Spain for all Caer Cestre knows,' Tuck declared, 'but these rich clothes fit me ill, for all I am a simple Saxon monk.'
'A simple Saxon worrier it seems to me,' Bran corrected. 'There is nothing to fear, I tell you.'
Brocmael and Ifor returned a short while later with pies and ale for all. Their errand had settled them somewhat and raised their confidence a rung or two. The four ate in the shade of the pillar at the side of the square and were just finishing when three of the idlers approached from the well.
'Here's trouble,' muttered Tuck. 'Keep your wits about you, lads.'
But before any of them could speak, the beggar returned. He came charging across the square and accosted the men in blunt English. Bran and the others watched in amazement as the idlers halted, hesitated, then returned to their places at the well.
'A man after my own heart,' said Tuck. He looked their reprobate guide up and down. 'Here now, I hardly know you.'
Not only had he washed himself head to toe, but he had cleaned his clothes with a bristle brush, cut his hair, and trimmed his beard. He had even found a feather to stick in his threadbare hat. Beaming with somewhat bleary good pleasure, he strode to where Bran was standing and with a low bow swept his cap from his head and proclaimed in the accent of an English nobleman, 'Alan a'Dale at your service, my lord. May God bless you right well.'
'Well, Tuck,' remarked Bran, much impressed, 'he's brushed up a treat. Tell him that I mean no offence when I say that I'd not mark him for the same man.'
