If she left at once and walked through the night, she could be there before nightfall tomorrow. Knowing she was already too late to prevent whatever had taken place-something terrible, she could feel it like a knife in her gut-she nevertheless had to go now, if only to tend the wounded and gather up the broken pieces.

CHAPTER 31

Well, here I was twixt hammer and anvil, no mistake. I had little choice but to carry on as best I could, hoping all the while that when we reached the meeting place in the forest I might alert Bran to the disaster before the trap was sprung. Our plan to capture the sheriff when he arrived to escort the merchant's wagons depended wholly on de Glanville's eagerness to catch King Raven. Not one of us had foreseen the possibility that he would choose to stay home.

As I led those knights and soldiers into the wood on that clear bright day, I felt as if I was leading them to my own funeral… Odo thinks this is funny. He stifles a chuckle, but I see his sly smirk. "Tell me, monk," says I, "since you know so much-which is funnier, a man about to die speaking of funerals? Or a priest laughing at death while the devil tugs at his elbow?"

"Sorry, my lor-" He catches himself again, and amends his words. "Sorry, Will, I didn't mean anything. I thought it amusing, is all."

"Well, we live to entertain our betters," I tell him. "The condemned must be a constant source of pleasure for you and your bloody Abbot Hugo."

"Hugo is not my abbot." This he says in stark defiance of the plain facts. "He is a disgrace to the cloth."

How now! There is a small wound a-festering, and I poke it a little, hoping to open it more.

"Odo," I say, shaking my head, "is that any way to talk about your spiritual superior?"

"Abbot Hugo is not my spiritual superior," he sniffs. "Even the lowest dog in the pack is superior to him."

This is the first time I'd ever heard him dishonour the abbot, and I cannot help but wonder what has happened to turn this dutiful pup against his master. Was it something I said?

"I do believe you are peevish, my friend," I say. "What has happened to set your teeth on edge?"

Odo sighs and rolls his eyes. "It is nothing," he grunts, and refuses to say more. I coax but, stubborn stump that he is, Odo will not budge. So, we go on… We followed the King's Road up from the Vale of Elfael and into the bare winter wood. Bailiff Antoin was more than wary. He was not a fool, mind. He knew only too well what awaited him if King Raven should appear out of the shadows. Yet, give him his due, he showed courage and good humour riding into the forest to offer protection to the merchants. All the soldiers did, mind, and most were eager to take arms against the phantom.

I was the Judas goat leading these trusting sheep to the slaughter.

True, I did not know what Bran would do when he saw that the sheriff was not with us. The bailiff noticed my fretful manner and tried to reassure me. "You're worrying for nothing," he said. "The raven creature will not attack in daylight. He only comes out at night."

Where he had picked up this notion, I have no idea. "You would know best, Sire," I replied, trying to smile.

The road rose up the long slope into the wood, eventually following the crest a short distance before beginning the long descent into the Valley of the Wye. The soldiers maintained an admirable wariness; they talked little and kept their eyes moving. They were learning: if not to fear the wood and its black phantom, then at least to show a crumb of respect.

The road is old and descends below deep banks for much of the way; here and there it crosses streams and brooks that come tumbling out of the greenwood. Little humps of snow still occupied the shadows and places untouched by the sun. The going is slow at the best of times, and on that winter day, with the weak sunlight spattered and splayed through bare branches, little puffs of mist rising from the rocks or roots warmed by the sun, eternity seemed to pass with every dragging step. The men grew more quiet the deeper into the wood we went. I was thinking that we must be near to meeting the wagons when I heard the low bellow of an ox and the creaking of wooden wheels. I raised myself in the saddle to listen.

A moment later, the first wagon hove into view. I saw Iwan walking beside the lead ox, holding a long goad. In his merchant's clothing-a long wool cloak, tall boots, and a broad belt to which a fat purse was attached-he seemed only slightly more tame than usual. He was shaved, and his hair had been trimmed to make him appear more like a merchant, or the guard of a travelling trader. The other wagon was some distance behind, and I could only just make it out as it lumbered toward us, bumping along the rutted road.

I did not wait for Bailiff Antoin to make the first move. "There they are!" I called. "This way!"

With a slap of the reins, I rode on ahead, leaving the Ffreinc to come on at their own pace. I wanted a word with Bran before they arrived.

Rhi Bran was sitting in the second wagon, which was being led by Siarles. I rode directly to Bran. He smiled when he saw me and raised his hand in greeting, but the smile quickly faded. "Trouble?"

"De Glanville is not with us," I said. "He would not come, and sent his bailiff instead."

Bran's eyes narrowed as his mind began to work on the problem. Iwan joined us just then, and I explained what I had just told Bran. "Do you think he suspected a trap?"

I shook my head. "He is sick, I think-maybe from the wound he took on Twelfth Night. He would not leave his chamber."

Iwan cast a glance at the advancing soldiers. We had but a moment more before a decision would be needed.

Siarles said, "We cannot send them back, I suppose."

Said I, "Maybe you could go explain to them that they are no longer needed." Siarles frowned and gave a snort of derision, then turned to Bran to see what he would say.

We were all looking at Bran by then. It was time to decide.

"Well, my lord?" I asked. "What will you do?"

"We will go on." Bran smiled and raised his hand as the bailiff came riding up. "Come back and speak to me when we reach the town."

"All is well," I told Antoin in my broken French. "They say there has been no sign of the phantom of the wood."

"We will not see that black coward today," the bailiff declared, but I noticed he cast a hasty glance 'round about just to make certain he had not spoken too soon. He called a command for some of his men to fall in behind the last wagon and guard the rear. "If you are ready," he said, wheeling his horse, "we will move along. We must hurry if we are to reach Saint Martin's by nightfall."

"Lead the way, my lord," I said, and accompanied him to the front of the train.

"Only two wagons?" asked Antoin as we began the return journey.

"Only two," I confirmed. "Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "I thought it would be more. Where are they from?" he asked.

"From the north country," I told him. The southern Ffreinc knew little about anything beyond the Great Ouse. "It is a hard winter up there. Trading is easier in the south this time of year."

Antoin nodded as if this were well known, and we made our way up the slope to the crest of the ridge once more, the wagons rumbling slowly behind us. Every now and then the bailiff would ride off to one side and look back to reassure himself that all was as it should be. As we started down into the Vale of Elfael, I wondered what Bran was thinking, and how we would make good the deception. We might have posed as the traders we professed to be, but we had no goods to trade; we had a few pelts and some other odds and ends, but that was only for show. Once we reached the market square, we would be discovered for the rascals we were.