Tuck kr-3 Read online

  With that, he turned and strode to his hut.

  A shocked and dismayed Cel Craidd watched him go. Iwan and Siarles looked on aghast, and Scarlet and Merian began to persuade those who had decided to leave that they were making a mistake-but thought better of it. The tight bond between King Raven and his proud Grellon was broken; the settlement was divided and there was nothing anyone could do.

  Later, as twilight deepened the shadows in the wood, Friar Tuck called the people together for a prayer of thanks for their deliverance from the hands of the enemy and for a safe return, and for the future of the realm. He then led his discouraged flock in a hymn; he sang the first verses alone, but soon everyone joined in, lifting their voices and singing loudly as the moon rose in the pale blue sky. Neither Bran nor Angharad attended the prayer service, but the banfaith appeared after sundown when the first of those leaving the forest settlement were setting off. Gripping her staff, she offered blessings for the journey and safe arrivals for all who would travel that night.

  The next morning after breaking fast, the remaining Grellon resumed their chores; there was more work now that a fair number of the most able-bodied had gone. As those who remained took stock of their numbers it was clear that others, unwilling to be seen by their friends, had departed silently during the night. Taking a silent tally, they soon realized that fewer than half their number remained.

  With heavy hearts they set to and were just discussing how to divide the duties of the day and the days to come when Angharad called all Cel Craidd to gather at the Council Oak in the centre of the settlement. As the forest-dwellers assembled beneath the spreading boughs of the great, grey giant, they found Bran seated in his chair made of ash branches lashed together and covered by a bearskin. Bran looked like a Celtic king of old-an impression only strengthened by the long-beaked mask of King Raven that lay at his feet. Angharad stood behind her king, wearing the Bird Spirit cloak and holding a long, thin, rodlike staff in her right hand.

  As soon as everyone had settled themselves close about this primitive throne, the banfaith raised the staff and said, "Heed the Head of Wisdom and attend her counsel. You are summoned here to uphold your king in his deliberations with strong consideration. Therefore, make keen your thoughts and carefully attend your words, for the course we determine here among us will be the life and death of many."

  She paused, and Bran said, "If anyone here does not wish to bear this burden, you may leave now in peace. But if you stay, you will agree to abide by the decisions we shall make and pledge life, strength, and breath to fulfil them whatever they shall be."

  Iwan, grim and deeply aggrieved, spoke for them all when he said, "Those who wanted to leave have gone, my lord, and God bless 'em. But those you see before you are with you to the end-and that end is to see you take your rightful throne and lead your people in peace and plenty."

  "Hear him!" said Scarlet. "Hear him!"

  "S'truth," added Siarles, and others shouted, "God wills it!"

  Bran nodded to Angharad, who struck the bare earth three times with the end of her staff to silence the commotion. Then, raising her hand, palm outward, she tilted her face to the light slanting down through the leaf-laden branches. "Goodly Wise, Strong Upholder, Swift Sure Hand," she said in a queer chanting voice, "draw near to us; enter into our minds and hearts; be to us the voice that speaks the True Word. Be to us our rock and fortress, our shield and defender, our strength and courage. Go before us, Lord of Hosts, bare Your mighty arm, set Your face against our enemies, and as You destroyed the army of the wicked pharaoh in the sea, let fear swallow up those who raise their hands against us. These things we ask in the name of Blessed Jesu, Our Hope and Redeemer, and Michael Militant the Terrible Sword of Your Righteousness." Her mouth moved silently for a moment longer; then she said, "Amen."

  All gathered in the solemn assembly echoed. "Amen."

  Bran turned his head and thanked his Wise Banfaith for her prayer. To the people gathered before him, he said, "We are here to decide how the war with the Ffreinc shall be pursued. On my most solemn vow, there will be an end to their rule in this realm… or there will be an end to me. For I will not tolerate their presence in the land of my fathers while there is yet a single breath in my body."

  "I am with you, my lord!" cried Iwan, slapping his knee. "We will drive them from this realm-or die in the attempt."

  Bran gave a downward jerk of his chin by way of acknowledgement of Iwan's pledge, and continued. "Let us speak freely now, holding nothing back. As we must stand together in the days to come, let us share our hearts and minds." He paused to let his listeners gather their thoughts. "So now." He spread his hands. "Who will begin?"

  Tuck was first to find his voice. "To speak plain, I am grieved in heart, soul, and mind since the attack in the grove-and any man who said otherwise is a liar. Our King William has proven himself a greedy, grasping rogue and a stranger to all honour. If that was not a bitter enough brew to swallow, our Ffreinc overlords have shown us that they will attack with impunity, little respecting women and children-"

  "Devil take them all," muttered Siarles.

  "Nevertheless," the friar continued, raising a hand for silence, "I have bethought myself time and time again, and it seems to me that if our enemies have any tender feelings within reach of their cold hearts, it may be that they are even now sorely regretting that rash act."

  "What are you saying, Tuck?" asked Bran softly.

  "It would be well to send Abbot Hugo an offer of peace."

  "Peace!" scoffed Bran. "On my father's grave, a moment's peace they will not have from me."

  "I know! My lord, I know-they have earned damnation ten times over. Is there anyone here who does not know it? But, I pray you, do not dismiss the notion outright."

  Tuck turned to appeal to those gathered beneath the oak boughs. "See here, it is not for our enemies that I make this plea-it is for us and for our good. The pursuit of war is a dire and terrible waste-of life and limb, blood and tears. It maims all it touches. Maybe we gain justice in the end, maybe not. No one knows how it will end. But, know you, we will lose much that we hold dear long 'ere we reach the end, and of that we can be more than certain."

  "We have little to lose, it seems to me," remarked Iwan.

  "True enough," Tuck allowed, "but it is always possible to lose even that little, is it not? Think you now-if war could be avoided, we might be spared that loss. By pursuing peace as readily as war, we might even gain the outcome we seek-and is that not a thing worth the risk of trying?"

  Tuck's plea fell into silence even as he implored the others to at least consider what he had said. No one, so it appeared, shared his particular sentiment.

  "Our priest is right to speak so," said Merian, moving to stand beside the little cleric. "War with the Ffreinc will mean the deaths of many-maybe all of us. But if death and destruction can be avoided, we must by all means try-for the sake of those who will be hurt by what we decide today, we must make an offer of peace."

  "Offer peace?" wondered Scarlet aloud. "That's begging for trouble with a dog and bowl."

  "Aye, trouble and worse," growled Siarles. "If you have no stomach for the fight ahead, maybe you should both join Henwydd and his band of cowards. They're not so far ahead that you couldn't catch 'em up."

  "Coward? Is that what you think?" asked Tuck, voicing the question to the whole gathering. "Is that what everyone thinks?"

  "I don't say it is, I don't say it en't," replied Siarles. "But the shoe fits him who made it."

  "Enough, both of you. Courage is not at issue here," Bran pointed out. "I was willing to swear fealty to William Rufus. Indeed, I encouraged my father to do so, and we would not be here now if he had listened to me and acted before it was too late…"

  "Do you not see?" said Merian. "You're in danger of becoming just like your father-too proud and stubborn for the good of your people. And, like your father, you will die at the end of a Norman spear." She put out a slender hand and softened her
tone. "Red William is a false king; that is true. His decision was the ruin of all our hopes, and now everything has changed. Look around, my lord-only half of Cel Craidd remains. Even if we were mighty warriors, champions each and every one, we could not take back Elfael by force of arms alone."

  Bran glared at her, his brow low and furrowed. Judging from the expressions on the faces around him, Merian had won solid support for her opinion. "What do you suggest?" he said at last.

  Merian glanced at Tuck. "That is not for me to say, my lord."

  "It seems to me you have said a great deal already, my lady. Why stop now?" He lifted his head to include the rest of the gathering. "Come, speak up, your lord is asking for your counsel. What do you advise?"

  "If I may speak freely, my lord," began Tuck.

  "I doubt anything in heaven or earth could prevent you," remarked Bran. "Speak, priest."

  "Hardheaded Saxon that I am, I have always thought it a good thing that the clerics rule the church and kings rule the realm. That is the way God has ordained it, has He not? Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, to be sure, but give to God the things that are God's. Like it or not, the Ffreinc-"

  "Is there a point to this sermon, Friar?" interrupted Bran.

  "Only that we must be prepared to compromise if we are to persuade the abbot and sheriff to accept the peace."

  "Compromise," repeated Bran dully.

  "What sort of compromise?" asked Siarles.

  "That any Ffreinc who have settled should be allowed to remain in Elfael under your rule, and that Hugo will remain in charge of the spiritual concerns of the abbey."

  "Let Hugo keep the abbey and I take the fortress-is that what you're saying?" said Bran.

  "In a word, yes, my lord."

  "Why in heaven's name would Hugo agree to that?"

  "Because," suggested Tuck, "it would allow him to put his efforts into saving his abbey, which he will certainly lose if he continues to pursue this war. Lose the abbey and he has lost his place in the church-and I heartily doubt he'll ever get another one. Who'd have him?"

  "Indeed," said Bran.

  "You know what I mean," Tuck continued. "If he agrees to the peace, he will survive, and keep much that he will lose if the war continues."

  "My lord, you would have to swear fealty to William," Will Scarlet pointed out.

  "He has offered to do that already," Iwan reminded him. "Twice."

  "What about the king? He has given the realm to Hugo."

  "Then he can take it away again and give it back to its rightful ruler," said Tuck, adding, "of course, the abbot would have to agree to support you before the king."

  "He'd never do it," said Siarles.

  "Share my realm with that rank Ffreinc butcher?" wondered Bran, shaking his head. "My stomach churns at the very thought."

  He glanced to Angharad for support, but the old woman admonished him, saying, "What the friar suggests has merit, Lord King. Think you: force has availed us nothing, nor has any other remedy offered a cure for this wasting blight. We hurt them in the grove, mind. Our enemies may be ready to listen to such an offer. It would be well to ponder the matter further."

  "I bow to your judgment," allowed Bran grimly. Turning to the assembly, he said, "Let us suppose, for the moment, that we send an offer of peace to the abbot. What then?"

  "Then it is for the Ffreinc to decide, is it not?" replied Tuck. "Either they accept and proceed according to your decree-"

  "And if they don't?" wondered Siarles.

  "We will be no worse off," suggested Merian.

  "But whatever happens will be on their heads," added Tuck. "At all events, it is our Christian duty to try for peace if it lays in our power."

  Bran chewed his lip thoughtfully for a moment. Tuck thought he could see a chink of light shining in the darkness of Bran's bleak mood. "Lord Bran," the friar said, "I would like to take the message to Hugo myself and alone."

  "Why alone?" said Bran.

  "Priest to priest," replied Tuck. "That is how I mean to approach him-two men of God answerable to the Almighty. Blessed are the peacemakers, are they not?"

  "As Angharad suggests," put in Merian, "the abbot may welcome the opportunity to be rid of this bloodshed."

  "Hugo will welcome the opportunity to carve him like a Christmas ham," observed Scarlet. To Tuck, he said, "He'll roast your rump and feed it to his hounds."

  "Nay," said Tuck. "He'll do no such thing. I am a brother cleric and a minister of the church. A rogue he may be, but he will receive me, as he must."

  "While I do not expect the abbot to honour any offer we put before him," said Iwan, "I agree with our man Tuck-we should do what we can to avoid another bloodletting, as it may well be our blood next time instead of theirs. Try as I might, however, I can think of no other way to avoid it-our choices are that few. It is worth a try."

  There was more talk then, as others added their voices to the discussion-some for the idea, others against. In the end, however, Tuck's proposition carried the day.

  "Then it is decided," declared Bran when everyone had had their say. "In observance of our Christian duty, and for the sake of our people, we will make this offer of peace to Hugo and urge him by all means to accept it and to support me before King William."

  "It is the right decision, my lord," said Merian, pressing close. "If Hugo will listen to reason, then you'll have reclaimed what is rightfully yours without risking the lives of any more of your people."

  "Right or wrong it makes no difference," Bran told her. "We are too weak to pursue the war further on our own." He declared the council at an end and said, "I will frame a message for Tuck to deliver to the abbot. If he accepts my offer, we will soon be out of the forest and back in our own lands."

  "I'll believe it when it happens," grumbled Siarles.

  "You're not alone there," Scarlet said. "Give 'em a year o' Sundays and a angel choir to show 'em the way, the bloody Ffreinc will never shift an English inch."

  "Then pray God to change their hearts," Tuck said. "Do not think it impossible just because it has never happened."

  CHAPTER 5

  The council concluded, and as everyone dispersed Tuck lingered in Angharad's presence a little longer. Close to her, he was aware once again of a curious sensation-like that of standing beneath one of the venerable giants of the forest, an oak or elm of untold age. It was, he decided, the awareness that he was near something so large and calm and rooted to depths he could scarcely imagine. With her face a web of wrinkles and her thinning hair a haze of wisp on her head, she seemed the very image of age, yet commanded all she beheld with the keen intelligence of her deep-set, dark eyes. "I hope I have served him wisely," he told the old woman.

  "So hope we all," she replied.

  "I am afraid Siarles is right-offering peace is just begging for trouble."

  "Trouble have we in abundance," the banfaith pointed out. "It is a most hardy crop."

  "Too true," the friar agreed.

  "Hear me, friend priest," she said, holding him with her deep-set, dark eyes. "This war began long ago; we merely join it now. The trouble is not of our making, but it is our portion and ours to endure."

  "That does not cheer me much," sighed Tuck.

  "Regrets, have you?"

  "No, never," he answered. "That is the duty of any Christian."

  "Then trust God with it and that which is given you, do."

  "You are right, of course," he said at last.

  Angharad regarded the friar with a kindly expression. The little priest with his rotund, bandy-legged form, his shaggy tonsure, his stained and tattered robe-smelling of smoke and sweat and who knows what else-there was that much like a donkey about him. And like the humble beast of burden, he was loyal and long-suffering, able to bear the heavy load of responsibility placed upon him now. "As God is our lord and leader," she said, "it is our portion to obey and follow. We trust him to lead us aright. As with our Heavenly Lord, so with Bran. More we cannot do just now,
but we must do that at least."

  "Ah, but earthly vessels are all too fragile, are they not? We trust them at our peril."

  The old woman smiled gently. "Yet it is all we have."

  "Too true," Tuck agreed.

  "So we trust and pray-never knowing which is the more needful."

  Tuck accepted her counsel and made his way to the edge of the forest settlement, where he found Bran and Merian sitting knee to knee on stumps facing one another as if in contest, while Will, Noin, and Odo stood looking on. "They know we will fight," Merian was saying. "If ever there was the smallest doubt, we showed them in the grove. But you must give them some assurance that we will not seek revenge if they accept your offer."

  Bran nodded, conceding the point.

  "They have to know that they are not simply cutting their own throats," she insisted.

  "I understand," Bran replied. "And I agree. Go on."

  "It must be something they can trust," she continued, "even if they don't trust you."

  "Granted, Merian," said Bran, exasperation edging into his voice. "What do you suggest?"

  "Well"-she bit her lip-"I don't know."

  "Maybe we could get the abbot at Saint Dyfrig's to oversee the truce," suggested Noin. "He is a good man, and they know him."

  "After what happened in the square on Twelfth Night, I cannot think they would trust any of us any farther than they could spit a mouthful of nails," Scarlet said, shaking his head.

  "It must be someone they know, someone they can rely on to be fair."

  Merian's face clenched in thought. "I know!" she said, glancing up quickly. "We could ask my father…"

  "Your father-what possible reason could Hugo have for trusting him?"

  "Because he is a loyal vassal of King William, as is the abbot himself…"

  "No," said Bran, jumping up quickly. "This is absurd." He began stalking around the stump. "It won't work."

  "Why-because you did not think of it?"

  "Your father hates me," Bran said. "And that was before I abducted you! God alone knows what he thinks of me now. If that was not enough, Lord Cadwgan answers to Baron Neufmarche, his liege lord-and if the baron were to get wind of this there is no way we could keep him out of it."