De Glanville sensed the sudden surge towards him, but made no move to prevent us or call out. He simply turned his head as we rushed to his chair, Bran on one side and myself on the other. He did not seem especially surprised to see us, but when he languidly raised his hand as if to fend us off with backward flick of his wrist, I saw that he understood something of the danger descending upon him.

"Drunk as a bishop," I said. "He's probably been sucking the bottle all day."

A lazy smile spread across the sheriff 's narrow rat face. "Vous n'etes pas Antoin," he said, the wine rank on his breath. "Ou est Antoin?"

"Look at him," I said, shaking my head with disgust. "Doesn't even know who we are."

"Good," replied Bran. "It makes our chore that much easier." Taking de Glanville's arm, he pulled the sheriff to his feet, where he stood swaying like a willow wand in a gale.

"He can't walk," I said. "We'll have to carry him."

"Take his feet." Bran allowed the sheriff to topple gently backwards and caught him under the arms. Stooping, I grabbed his ankles, and together we slung him between us and started hauling him down the stairs and out the door. De Glanville, unresisting, allowed himself to be rough handled all the way to the bottom. He revived somewhat as we stepped outside and the cold air hit him. He moaned and rolled his head from side to side.

We started out across the square and, as we passed in front of the church, the door opened and out came a gaggle of monks carrying torches. Prayers finished, I suppose they were returning to the abbey and were brought up short by the sight of two men makin' off with a third.

"Tell them he's drunk and we're taking him home," Bran said. "Quick, Will, tell them!"

I did as he commanded, and that might have succeeded-as indeed we thought for a fleeting moment that it had-but for the knights that appeared out of the night. We heard the sound of hooves and turned to see the three missing soldiers pounding into the square.

There we were, Bran and Will Scarlet with Sheriff de Glanville slung between us like a bag of wet corn-thieves caught with the plunder in hand.

"Arret! Vous, arretez la-bas! " shouted the foremost knight.

"He says we are to halt," I told Bran.

"I got that. Keep going," urged Bran. "We'll lose them when we get to the horses."

"Ils ont tue le sherif!" shouted another.

I might have misunderstood, but that brought me up short. "They've recognised the sheriff," I gasped. "They think we've killed him."

"Tell them they're wrong," said Bran. "Tell them he's a friend of ours fallen drunk. But for God's sake, keep moving!"

I shouted back as Bran commanded, but the knights came on regardless. As they drew nearer, I saw that one of them carried a bulky bundle across the back of his horse. As the knight passed into the torchlight, I saw a dark head of hair and small arms hanging limply down and knew at once what they had captured.

"Bran!" I hissed, dropping the sheriff 's heels. "They've got Gwion Bach!"

CHAPTER 32

The knights rode on, drawing their weapons as they came. One of them shouted for us to halt. "Arret! Arret!" Bran released the sheriff 's shoulders. De Glanville landed heavily on the frozen ground, which seemed to revive the fella somewhat. He grunted and rolled over.

We streaked down the side of the church, shouting to Iwan and Siarles that we were attacked. We rounded the corner to discover that those two had not yet returned from the stables. But Tomas was there, waiting with longbows strung and swords unsheathed. We each grabbed a bow and a handful of arrows and spread out, keeping the wall of the church behind us.

The soldiers did not stop to help the sheriff-no doubt they thought him dead already-but came pounding around the corner of the church and into a sharp hail of arrows. We loosed at will. One rider was struck high in the chest and thrown over the rump of his mount.

The two remaining knights tried to swerve out of the way, but horses are far from the nimblest creatures afoot. As they slowed to turn, we drew and loosed again. A second knight went down, and the third-the one with Gwion bound to his saddle-threw his hands high in surrender.

"Get the horses!" shouted Bran. Tomas and I ran to catch the two riderless mounts, and Bran took care of the third. He gestured with a strung arrow for the knight to dismount and lay down flat on the ground, then ever so gently lifted the head of the boy. "Gwion? Gwion, wake up."

The lad opened his eyes, saw Bran, and began to cry. Bran untied him double quick, lifted him down from the horse, and began rubbing the warmth back into the little 'un's hands and feet. "Will!" he shouted as I came running back. "Go see what has happened to Iwan and Siarles."

I skittered down the side of the church towards the square. The sheriff still lay where we had dropped him, sound asleep again in his drunken stupor. The square was empty; the monks had disappeared-either back into the church or, more likely, they'd scurried off to the abbey. I ran to the stables and quietly pulled open the door. First to meet my eye were three Ffreinc grooms lying on the floor of the stable, dead or unconscious, I could not tell. Iwan and Siarles were cinching the saddle straps of the last two mounts.

"Hsst!" I said, putting my head through the gap in the door. "What is taking so long?"

Iwan glanced around as he pulled the strap tight. "We had to put some fellas to sleep," he said. "We're ready now."

"Then hurry!" I said. "We've been attacked."

"How many?" asked Siarles, gathering the reins of two fresh horses.

"Three knights," I said. "Two are down and the other surrendered. Hurry!"

I pulled open the stable doors, allowing Iwan and Siarles to lead the saddled horses out; they headed down the short ramp and into the quiet square. All was silent and dark.

Just as we started across to the church, however, the door to the guardhouse opened and out swarmed six knights or more. "Bloody blazes!" I said. "The monks must have told them. Fly!"

The Ffreinc saw us with the horses and cried for us to stop. Iwan leapt into the saddle of his mount and lit out for the church across the square, with Siarles right behind. I paused to loose an arrow at the soldiers, thinking to take at least one down. I missed the mark, but the arrow buried itself in the door frame. One fella, who was still inside, slammed the door hard, which briefly prevented any more Ffreinc from spilling out.

That was the last of my arrows, so I turned and hightailed it after the others. I ran but a half dozen strides and my leg buckled under me and I fell. In the same instant, a pain like no other ripped through the meaty part of my thigh. Reaching down, I felt the shaft of a lance. The spear had hit the ground and caught me as it bounced up. Even as I lay clutching the wound, with blood streaming through my fingers, I thought, That was lucky. I could have been killed. Hard on the heels of this thought came the next: Will, you bloody fool! Get up or they'll be carving your dull head from your shoulders.

I got to my feet and staggered forward; my injured leg felt like a lump of wood on fire, but I limped on. Bran and Iwan, mounted now, came charging from around the back of the church, bows in hand. Both loosed arrows at my pursuers, and two soldiers fell, screaming and rolling on the hard winter ground. Siarles, cradling Gwion in the saddle before him and holding the reins of one of the big Ffreinc horses, rode out to meet me. "Time to go," he said, tossing the reins to me.

I caught the traces and tried to haul my foot to the stirrup, but could not lift my leg. I tried once and missed. The Ffreinc were almost upon us. "Go on! Ride!" I said. "I'm right behind you."