To the sherif bold Rhiban proposed a sport,
For full confidence he had achiev'd.
If Will could outshoot monk Rhiban, disguised,
The prisoner should earn a reprieve.
This sheriff was loath but at length did agree
For a trick on the prisoner he planned.
Before William Scadlocke had taken his turn,
The sheriff had twisted Will's hand.
CHAPTER 14
Earl Hugh's castle was built on the ancient foundations of the old Roman fort, partly of timber and partly of the same bloodred stone the Roman masons carved from the bluffs above the river so long ago. It loomed over the town like a livid, unsightly blemish: inflamed and angry, asquat its low hilltop.
For all the brightness of the day, the place seemed to breathe a dark and doomful air, and Tuck shivered with a sudden chill as they passed through the gate-as if the frost of bitter winter clung to the old stone, refusing to warm beneath the autumn sun. And although it was but a short distance from the town which carried its name, Caer Cestre remained as remote behind its walls as any Ffreinc stronghold across the sea.
This impression was due in part to the unseemly number of Ffreinc soldiers loitering in the courtyard-some in padded armour with wooden practice weapons, others standing about in clumps looking on, and still others sitting or reclining in the sun. There must have been twenty or more men in all, and a good few women too; and from the way they minced about the perimeter of the yard, smirking and winking at each and all, Tuck did not imagine they were wives of the soldiers. A heap of sleeping hounds lay in one corner of the yard, dozing in the sun, while nearby a group of stablehands worked at grooming four large chestnut-coloured hunting horses-big, raw-boned heavy-footed beasts of the kind much favoured by the Ffreinc.
Striding along after the porter who conducted them to the hall, the small procession consisting of two young foreigners, a rotund priest, their noble leader, and a local guide caused nary a ripple of interest from anyone they passed. Upon entering the vestibule, they were shortly brought to stand before the seneschal. Alan a'Dale, despite his many shortcomings, performed the service of interpreter surprisingly well, and they were admitted into the hall without the slightest difficulty whatever. Tuck breathed a prayer as they entered Wolf Hugh's den: a noisy and noisome room filled with rough board benches and tables at which men and women, and even a few children, appeared to be entering the final progressions of a night's debauch-even though the sun had yet to quarter the sky. The roil of eating and drinking, dicing and dancing, flirting and fighting amidst gales of coarse laughter and musicians doggedly trying to make themselves heard above the revellers greeted the visitors like the roll and heave of a storm-fretted sea. In one corner, dirty-faced boys tormented a cat; in another, an amorous couple fumbled; here, a man already deep in his cups shouted for more wine; there, a fellow poked at a performing juggler with a fire iron. Hounds stalked among the benches and beneath the tables, quarrelling over bones and scraps of meat. There was even a young pig, garlanded and beribboned, wandering about with its snout in the rushes underfoot.
Crossing the threshold, Bran paused to take in the tumult, collected himself, and then waded into the maelstrom. Here Bran's special genius was revealed, for he strode into the great, loud room with the look of a man for whom all that passed beneath his gaze in this riotous place was but dreary commonplace. His arrival did not go unnoticed, and when he judged he had gathered enough attention, he paused, his dark eyes scanning the ungainly crowd, as if to discern which of the roisterers before him might be the earl.
'By Peter's beard,' muttered Tuck, unable to believe that anyone entering the castle could experience so much as a fleeting doubt about which of the men at table was Fat Hugh. Only look for the biggest, loudest, most slovenly and uncouth brigand in the place, he thought, and that's the man. And yet… here's our Bran, standing straight and tall and searching each and every as if he could not see what was plain before his nose. Oh, this shows a bit of sass, does it not?
What is more, Tuck could tell from the curious look on the earl's face that Hugh was more than a little taken aback at the tall dark figure standing before him. For there he was, a very king in his own kingdom, the infamous Wolf d'Avranches renowned and feared throughout his realm, and who was this that did not know him? And here was Bran without so much as a word or gesture, taking the overbearing lord down a peg or two, showing him that he was nothing more than a wobble-jowled ruffian who could not be distinguished from one of his own stablehands.
Oh, our canny King Raven is that shrewd, Tuck considered, a little courage seeping back into his own step. He glanced at Ifor and Brocmael and saw from the frozen expressions on their faces that the two Cymry, appalled by what they saw, were nevertheless struggling to maintain any semblance of calm and dignified detachment. 'Steady on, lads,' Tuck whispered.
Alan a'Dale, however, seemed at ease, comfortable even, walking easily beside Tuck, smiling even. At the friar's wondering glance, he said, 'Been here before, ye ken.'
'Often?'
'Once or twice. I sing here of a time.'
'You sing, Alan?'
'Oh, aye.'
Bran silenced them with a look and turned to address the onlooking crowd. 'Qua est vir?' Bran announced in that curious broken Latin that passed for Spanish among folk who knew no better. 'Qua est ut accersitus Senor Hugh?'
The seneschal, not understanding him, looked to Alan for explanation. He conferred with Tuck, then replied, 'My lord wishes to know where is he that is called Earl Hugh?'
'But he is there,' answered the chief servant as if that should be every whit as obvious as it was. He indicated the high table where, surrounded by perhaps six or eight ladies of the sort already glimpsed in the courtyard, sat a huge man with a broad, flat face and hanging dewlaps like a barnyard boar. Swathed in pale sea-green satin so well filled one could see the wavelike ripples of flesh beneath the tight-stretched fabric, he occupied the full breadth of a thronelike chair which was draped in red satin lined with ermine. Dull brown hair hung in long, ropy curls around his head, and a lumpy, misshapen wart besmirched one cheek. He held a drinking horn half raised, his wide, full-lipped mouth agape as he stared at the strange visitors with small, inquisitive eyes.
'I present my Lord Hugh d'Avranches,' proclaimed the seneschal, his voice striving above the commotion of the great room.
Alan passed this along to Bran, who made a sour face as if he suddenly smelled something foul. 'Et? Et?' he said. That?
Even the seneschal understood him then. 'Of course,' he said, stiffly. 'Who else?'
Without another word, Bran approached the table where the earl sat drinking with his women. A strained silence fell at his approach as attention turned to the newcomers. Bran inclined his head in the slightest of bows and waved both Tuck and Alan to his side. 'Adveho, sto hic. Dico lo quis ego detto,' he said grandly, and Tuck relayed his words to Alan, who offered: 'His estimable lord Count Rexindo greets you in the name of his father, Ranemiro, Duke of Navarre, who wishes you well.'
'Mon Dieu!' exclaimed the earl, his astonishment manifest.
Bran, looking every inch a Spanish nobleman, made another slight bow and spoke again. When he finished, he nodded at Tuck, who said, speaking through Alan, 'Count Rexindo wants you to know that word of your fame has reached him in his travels, and he requests the honour of a private audience with you.'
'Duke of Navarre, eh?' said Earl Hugh. 'Never heard of him. Where is that?'
'It is a province in Spain, my lord,' explained Alan politely.
'The duke is brother to King Carlos, who is-'
'I know who King Carlos is, by the rood,' interrupted the earl.'Heard of him.' He passed an appraising eye over the tall man before him, then at his companions, evidently finding them acceptable. 'Nephew of the king of Spain, eh? However did you find your way to a godforsaken wilderness like this?'
