At that moment, if only then-as the blue winter twilight deepened across the Vale of Elfael and the voices of the knights chorused rough laughter beneath the glow of a rising moon-that was true.

CHAPTER 22

I am explaining about Bishop Asaph and our visit to Saint Tewdrig's monastery and here is Odo, frowning. It is the ring he wants to hear about, only the ring.

"What's wrong now, monk?" I ask him, sweet and innocent as a milkmaid's smile. "You look like a fella that mistook a bolt of vinegar for ale."

"I am certain that this bishop of yours is every bit as kind and holy as you claim," he complains in that irritating whine that he uses when he thinks he is being long-suffering.

"Well then?"

"How did the bishop know about the stolen ring?"

"How did he know?" I say. "Odo, you dullard, the good bishop did not know the first thing about it."

"Then why did you go to see him?"

"We went to find out what he knew," I say, "and to show him the letter, and give him the stolen goods for safekeeping." I spread my hands wide. "In the end, he knew nothing about the ring, he could not read the letter, and would not agree to keep the treasure for us."

"Then you discovered exactly nothing," concludes Odo. "A wasted journey."

"God's mill grinds slowly, my monkish friend, but it grinds exceedingly fine. Our ways are not his ways, and there's a rare fact."

Odo makes a sour face. "Then why tell-"

"All will come 'round in good time," I say, squashing his objection in the egg.

Brother Scribe sighs like a broken bellows, and we trudge on… Well, as we were alone in the bishop's private quarters, we soon got down to showing the churchman the letter. He confirmed that it was indeed written in Ffreinc.

"Can you tell us what it says?" asked Siarles hopefully.

"I am sorry, my friend," said the cleric with a thin smile. "That skill has defied this old head, I'm afraid."

"Can you make nothing of it?" I said, annoyed and more than a little disappointed at having risked so much to come so far for no purpose.

The old man bent his head to the square of parchment and studied it once more, his nose almost touching the surface. "Ah, yes! Here," he said, stabbing at a word in the middle of the page, "that is carpe diem."

"Latin?" I said.

Asaph nodded. "It means 'seize the day'-you might say an exhortation to be about your work, perhaps, or to make the most of your present opportunity." He shrugged. "Something like that, anyway."

So, aside from another scrap or two of Latin, we were no better off for our trouble save in one respect only: we knew that Count de Braose was that anxious for the return of his stolen goods that he would dare to hang the population of Elfael to get it.

"Is there nothing else you can tell us?" asked Siarles.

"I am sorry," replied the old man as the bell sounded for evening prayers. "No one here can read Ffreinc, either." He brightened with a thought. "Perhaps one of the monks at Saint Dyfrig's could help you."

But, having learned about de Braose's cruel plans for the men and boys of Elfael, Siarles and I were loath to waste even so much as a day extending a chase that might not succeed. "We must move on at once," my companion told him. "Could you take it, Father?"

The old man did not like the idea. Who could blame him? It was a cold and dangerous errand we were asking. But he was too much in his benefactor's debt to say no outright. His pale eyes pleaded to be excused, and my heart went out to the old fella. Yet there was no other way. Even if we'd had the time to spare, neither of us knew anyone at Saint Dyfrig's, nor which of them might be trusted. Bishop Asaph saw this too, I think, for in the end he allowed himself to be persuaded to take the letter for us. But, having agreed to that, he would not in any wise agree to hold the rest of the treasure in safekeeping at the monastery.

This he had decided, even though we had not yet shown him the parcel containing the ring and gloves. It made no difference; the old man would not be moved. "I don't know what you have, or whence it came." Siarles opened his mouth to tell him, but Asaph held up his hand to prevent him speaking. "Nor do I wish to know. But if something happened and any of those things were found here, my monks and those few forlorn souls under my care would suffer for it." He shook his head, his mouth firm. "As shepherd of my flock, I cannot in good conscience allow it."

That was that.

So we ate a hearty supper and took a little nap, resting ourselves as well as our horses. We were awake again at midnight and lit out under a cold winter moon for Cel Craidd. The Twelfth Night observance was six days away. We had only that much time and no more before the hangings began.

CHAPTER 23

The sun was already down and a freezing mist was rising with the moon in the east by the time we reached our forest hideaway at Cel Craidd. We had pushed the horses hard all the way, and they were almost spent. Yet the Welsh breed a hardy little beast, as everyone knows, and they lifted their dragging feet once we came in sight of the greenwood, because they knew they were almost home.

The Grellon greeted our return with keen interest, assembling before the Council Oak as we rode into the glade. I swung down from the saddle, searching for the face I suddenly wanted to see above all others and, before I could find it, was taken by the shoulder and spun around.

"Noin, I-" was all I got out before I was immediately folded into a sweetly robust embrace.

She kissed me once, very hard, and then again. "I have missed you, Will Scarlet." She put her cheek against mine as she held me close. I could feel her shivering beneath her cloak, and thought it was not merely from the cold. "I was afraid something might happen to you."

"Ah, now, nothing that a good night's sleep won't cure," I replied lightly, clutching her tight to me.

"Siarles! Will!" Bran cried, striding across the clearing to greet us. Tuck, Iwan, and Merian followed, slipping in the well-trodden snow. "What news?"

Without wasting a breath, Siarles told Bran and all the others about the hangings. "Fifty or sixty stand to forfeit their lives if we do not act quickly. It is for us to save them."

This caused an outcry among the Grellon, who raised a clamour to be allowed to march on Castle Truan and free the prisoners. "That we will not do," Bran said, raising his voice above the shouting. He called his council to attend him and for food and drink to be brought to help revive the travellers, and we all trooped off to join him in his hut.

This began a lengthy session of rumination about what we had learned, what it might mean, and what might be done about it. "Asaph refused to accept the ring and gloves for safekeeping," Siarles explained, returning the leather-wrapped bundle to Bran. "Nor could he read the letter."

"But we prevailed upon him to take the parchment to the abbey to see if someone there might help us," I offered. "We would have taken it ourselves, but seeing as the abbot means to start hanging half of Elfael, we thought best to hightail it home."

"You did well," Bran said. "It is, no doubt, what I would have done."

Iwan and the others agreed, and they began to discuss the hangings and what could be done to prevent them. I endured as long as I could, but soon the warmth of the hearth and the food combined to club me over the head and pull me down. Bran noticed my yawning and, thanking me for my diligence in bringing the news so quickly, ordered me to go and get some rest.

Creeping from Bran's hearth, I went to Noin and found her waiting at her own small fire in her hut. Little Nia was asleep on her mat in the corner, and Noin was idly feeding twigs into the flames. She turned and smiled as I entered. "They kept you long," she said.