them, poisoned their judgement and tainted their reason. That was the only explanation. Merian shuddered. She, too, had come very close to succumbing to that same corruption once. If Bran had not rescued her she would be like her brother now-perhaps married off to some odious Norman nobleman or other. She would rather be dead.
Merian strode to the stable, brought out her horse, and led it to the gate-only to find it closed. 'Open it, please,' she said to the gateman, a young man with a bad limp.
'Forgive me, my lady-' he began.
'Spare me!' she snapped. 'Open the gate at once. I am leaving.'
'Lord help me, I cannot.'
'Why?' she demanded. 'Why not?'
'My lord King Garran said I was to keep it locked and let no one in or out until he told me otherwise.'
'Oh, he did?' she said. 'Well, I am sure he did not mean me. Open the gate at once.'
'Sorry, my lady. He mentioned you especially-said it was more than my life was worth to let you pass.' The young man crossed his arms across his chest and stood his ground.
Merian stepped around him and moved to the gate. At that moment there came a call from across the yard, and three men-at-arms issued from the hall and ran to apprehend her. 'Now, now, Lady Merian, come away from there,' said the first to reach her. 'You are to follow us-king's orders.'
'And if I should refuse?'
The warrior made no reply, but simply wrapped his arms around her waist and hoisted her off her feet. She shrieked her outrage and kicked at his legs. The remaining two warriors joined the first, and all three laid hold; Merian was hauled back to the hall in a spitting rage and thrown into her room.
No sooner had the door been shut than she began hammering on it with her fists, shouting to be let out.
'Scream all you like; it will avail you nothing,' came the voice of her brother through the planking of the door.
'Let me out!' she cried.
'When you are prepared to listen to reason,' he replied blandly, 'and pledge to rejoin your true family.'
'To the devil with you!'
Her only reply was the sound of the heavy iron bar dropping into place outside, and her brother's retreating footsteps.
CHAPTER 21
When a painstaking search of the hunting run and woodland surrounding the tree where the captive's cast-off clothing had been found failed to turn up any trace of their human prey, the hunters moved down the run and deeper into the forest. Owing greatly to Count Rexindo's many wrongheaded interventions, the company was subtly led farther and farther away from any path Gruffydd might have taken, thus spending the entire day without discovering their quarry or raising even so much as a whiff of his trail. As twilight began to glaze the trails with shadow, the frustrated company was forced to conclude that the captive king had miraculously eluded their pursuit. It appeared that Bran's audacious plan had worked; all that remained was to suffer the wrath of a very angry earl and then they, too, would be free.
The Spanish visitors endured an extremely acrimonious ride back to the fortress, the earl fretting and fuming all the way, cursing everything that came to mind-most especially, Count Rexindo's ineptitude and the incompetence of Spaniards in general, as well as his own misguided complicity in a fool-bait scheme which had not only cost him a very valuable prisoner, but also had returned a powerful enemy to the battlefield. 'Courage, men,' counselled Bran as they paused before the doors of the hall. 'It is soon over.' To Ifor and Brocmael, he said, 'Are the horses ready?'
The young men nodded.
'Good. Whatever happens, be ready to depart on my signal. We may have to bolt.'
They entered a hall much subdued from the previous night; where before the walls had reverberated with song and laughter, this night's supper was taken in sullen silence and bitter resentment. Count Rexindo and his retinue braved the blast of ill-will with stoic silence as they listened to Hugh d'Avranches alternately berating one and all for their gross failure and bemoaning the loss of his captive. As the drink took hold of him, the livid, simmering anger gave way to morose distemper, with the earl declaring loudly for all to hear that he wished he had never laid eyes on Count Rexindo and his miserable company. This, then, was the signal for the visitors to make their farewells and remove themselves from the castle.
The count, having been seen to bear the earl's complaints and abuse with the good grace of one who could not grasp the more subtle nuances of insult in a foreign tongue, rose from his seat and with the aid of his able interpreter, said, 'No one is more sorry than I that we have failed today. Still, it is in the nature of things that the hunter is sometimes outwitted by his prey and must return to his hearth empty-handed.' He gave a slight shrug. 'I, myself, blame no one. It happens. We live to hunt another day. But a man would be a fool to remain where his friendship is no longer welcome or valued. Therefore, I thank you for your hospitality, my lord, and bid you farewell.'
Oh, well done, thought Tuck, rising at Bran's gesture. As bishop, he gave the earl a small, benedictory flourish and, turning, followed the count from the hall.
'What about the hounds?' cried Hugh after the departing count. Too late he remembered the money he hoped to make on the sale of his expensive animals.
Alan, taking the count's elbow, restrained him and whispered into his ear. Rexindo shook his head, gave a final gesture of farewell, and stepped through the door. 'I am sorry, my lord,' Alan said, standing with his hand on the latch, 'but the count says that he could not possibly consider buying such ill-trained and ungovernable beasts as the one he witnessed today. He has withdrawn his offer. You may keep your dogs.'
With that, Alan disappeared, following Bishop Balthus, Lord Galindo, and Lord Ramiero across the threshold and into the corridor beyond. As soon as the heavy door shut behind them, they fairly flew to the stable and relieved the grooms of the care of their horses. Rexindo, true to his noble Spanish character, paid the grooms a few silver pennies each-as much to buy their aid as for their unwitting diligence-and with kind words and praise, bade them farewell. The chief groomsman, pleased and charmed by the count's noble treatment, led the company from the yard and opened the gate for them himself.
As they mounted their horses, Bran reached down a hand to Alan. 'If you still want to come with me,' he said. Without hesitation, Alan a'Dale grabbed the offered hand, and Bran pulled him up to sit behind him.
At last, having successfully skinned the wolf in his den, the short ride to Caer Cestre became a jubilant race. In the fading evening light, the company came clattering into a nearly deserted town square, where they dismounted and quickly made their way to the docks to meet King Gruffydd. When a cursory search failed to find him, they split up and, each taking a separate street, began combing the town. This, too, failed. 'Perhaps he is waiting at one of the inns,' suggested Alan.
Bran commended the idea and said, 'You and Tuck go look there. Ifor, Brocmael, and I will wait for you at the wharf in case he should come there.'
The two hurried off and were soon approaching the first of the river town's three inns-a place called the Crown and Keys. Despite the somewhat lofty ambitions of its name, it was a low place, smuggy with smoke from a faulty chimney and poorly lit. A cushion of damp reeds carpeted the uneven floor upon which rested one long table down the centre of the room with benches on either side. Four men sat at the table, and the brewmistress stood nearby to fetch the necessaries for her patrons. One glance into the room told them they must pursue their search elsewhere.
The next inn-The Star-was the place where they'd sat outside in the sun and enjoyed a jar on a day that now seemed years ago. Inside, the single large room was full of travellers and townsfolk; pipers had taken up residence beside the great hearth, and the skirl of pipes lent a festive atmosphere to the room. It took them longer here to look among the tables and investigate all the corners. Alan asked the alewife if anyone answering Gruffydd's description had been seen in or about the place that day. 'Nay-no one like that. It's been a quiet day all told,' she said, shouting over the pipers. 'Not being a market day, ye ken?'
