when so many who served you are dead this day is insult to heaven above and God's creatures below. You will go now, taking only what you have hidden in your robes. Your men are to lay down their arms now. When that is done, you will all be escorted from Elfael-never to return on pain of death.'
'What about the wounded?' said Gysburne. 'They cannot travel.'
Bran held a quick consultation with Tuck and Iwan, and Alan relayed the decision. 'They will continue to be cared for by the monks of the abbey until they are well enough to leave.' He pointed to the sheriff, who sat slumped in the saddle with his head down, miserable in defeat. 'When the last is fit to travel, all will be sent along with the monks in the care of the sheriff. To ensure that this agreement is upheld, de Glanville will remain a hostage until that time. His life is forfeit if you fail to honour your part.'
'You mean to kill them all anyway as soon as we're gone,' said Gysburne.
As Alan relayed the marshal's words, Bran gazed at his adversary with an expression so hard it might have been carved of stone. 'Tell him,' he replied, 'that if I meant to kill them, they would be dead already.'
'How do we know you'll keep your word?' demanded Aloin when the translator finished.
'You will all die here and now if the surrender is not agreed,' said Alan. 'My lord Bran says that if his word is not acceptable, then you are free to take your wounded with you now.'
The abbot did not like this last proviso, and made to dispute it, but Bran would not relent. In the end, Gysburne sealed the bargain by turning the sword in his hand and throwing it down in the dirt halfway between himself and Bran.
'God in heaven be praised!' said Tuck. 'I do believe they're going to surrender. You've done it, Bran. You beautiful man, you've done it!'
'Steady on, Friar,' replied Bran. 'This is not finished yet by a long throw. We are dancing on a knife edge here; pray we don't yet slip.' He cast his gaze around the square. 'I greatly fear a fall now would prove fatal.'
'All of you,' said Iwan, pointing to the sword on the ground.
One by one, the soldiers added their weapons to the marshal's; Captain Aloin was the last to disarm.
'What now?' said Siarles.
'Gather round, everyone,' said Bran, and explained how they were to shepherd the Ffreinc through the forest. 'We'll see them to the Vale of Wye and release them at the border of the March. Then, they are on their own.'
'It will be dark soon,' Tuck pointed out.
'Then we had best get started,' Bran replied. 'All saints and angels bear witness, on my life they will not spend another night in my realm.'
CHAPTER 30
Castle Neufmarche
Four long days on the road brought the weary abbot and his footsore company-six soldiers, three monks, and two dejected commanders-to the busy market town of Hereford, the principal seat of Baron Neufmarche. Very possibly, the baron may have been the closest thing to an ally that Abbot Hugo possessed just then. Exhausted, begrimed from his journey, and aching from sleeping in rude beds appropriated from settlements alongside the road, Hugo lifted his sweaty face to the solid stone walls of the castle on the hill above the town and felt what it must be like for weary pilgrims to behold the promised land.
Here, at last, he would be given a welcome worthy of his rank. Moreover, if he sharpened his appeal with hints of clerical patronage-offers of perpetual prayer and special indulgences excusing the baron from certain past sins-Hugo imagined he might enlist the baron's aid to help him recover his abbey and reclaim Elfael from the hands of that blasted King Raven and his troop of outlaws. 'Captain Aloin,' he called, climbing down from a swaybacked horse-the only one they had been able to commandeer from the first Norman town they had come to after leaving the March. 'You and your men will rest and wait for us in the town. Go to the monastery and get some food and drink-my monks will take you there.'
'Where are you going, Abbot?'
'Marshal Guy and I will go to the baron and see if he is of a mood to receive us. If all goes well, I will send for you as soon as suitable arrangements can be made.'
The captain, who had risked life and limb in the abbot's service, and whose troops bore the brunt of the failure to roust King Raven from his roost, was not best pleased to be shut out of the proceedings now. But Aloin was too tired to argue, so agreed-if only that he might find a cool place to sit down that much sooner. He waved the marshal and abbot away, ordered his men to go with the monks and fetch food and drink from the abbey and bring some back for him; and then, sitting himself down in the shade of the stone archway leading into the town square, he pulled off his boots and closed his eyes. Before he drifted off to sleep, it occurred to him that this was likely the last he would see of the abbot. This caused him fleeting concern. Yet, close on this first thought was another: if he never saw that grasping, arrogant, conniving churchman again… well, all things considered, that was fine too.
Meanwhile, Bernard Neufmarche, Lord of Hereford and Gloucester, was sitting in his private courtyard gazing up at the sky for no other reason than that he thought a shadow had passed over him and he felt a sudden chill. He glanced up to see if an errant cloud had obscured the sun for a moment, but there were no clouds, and the sun shone as brightly as ever. The baron was not a man for omens or portents, but it did seem to him that lately-at least, ever since his lady wife had become smitten with all things Welsh-he often had odd feelings and sudden urges to do things he had never done before, such as sit quietly alone with his thoughts in his pleasant courtyard. Moreover, he often entertained the notion that strange forces were swirling around him, moving him towards destinations and destinies unknown.
He smiled at his own superstitious nature-something else he never did.
When Remey, his red-capped seneschal, appeared in the doorway to tell him that he had visitors, he felt the intrusion like a clammy dampness in the small of his back. Odd, that. 'Who is it?' he asked, and before Remey could reply, he added, 'Send them away. I do not wish to see anyone today.'
'Of course, my lord baron,' replied the seneschal smoothly, 'but you may wish to reconsider when I tell you that Abbot Hugo de Rainault and Marshal Guy de Gysburne have arrived on foot, alone, and wish to speak to you most urgently.'
'Indeed?' wondered the baron, intrigued now. 'Very well.' He sighed, rising from his warm bench. 'Give them something to drink, and I will join them in the hall. I want to speak to Father Gervais first.'
'Very wise, my lord.' Remey withdrew to find the steward and order some refreshments for the baron's unexpected guests.
When his servant had gone, the baron walked slowly across the courtyard to an opposite doorway which led onto the porch of the little chapel, where he found the family's elderly priest sitting in a pool of light from the courtyard and nodding over a small parchment chapbook in his lap. The baron picked up the book; it was the Gospel of Saint Matthew in Latin. He was able to pick out a few words here and there, and the thought came to him that perhaps it was time he learned to read properly-not like a barnyard chicken pecking seeds willy-nilly.
The old priest awoke with a start. 'Oh! Bless me, I must have dozed off. Good day to you, my son, and God's rich blessing.'
'Very well, Father,' replied the baron, and thanked the priest. 'I would not disturb your meditations, but we have visitors-Abbot Hugo de Rainault and his marshal, Guy of some such. I believe you know the abbot?'
'I had dealings with him now and then,' replied the priest, 'but that was a long time ago. I would not say I knew him.'
The baron considered this and turned another page of the book in his hand. 'There must be trouble in Elfael,' mused the baron idly. 'I can think of no other reason de Rainault would turn up at my door.'
The priest considered this. 'Yes,' he agreed slowly, 'no doubt you are right about that. Then again, it has been very quiet of late. We would have heard about any trouble, I think.'
'Perhaps not,' countered the baron. 'The outlaws own the King's Road through the forest. Nothing moves in or out of Wales that they do not allow-which is why I expect this visit means trouble.'
'You know best, Bernard.'
