"He is hopeless," insisted Guy once more. "Let me take his place."

"Too late," answered the sheriff. "Everyone is watching now. We cannot be seen to force the outcome." Scanning the pavilion, he caught sight of Count Falkes and Abbot Hugo frowning furiously at the disaster slowly unfolding before them. "One more arrow," he said.

"Make certain the envoy understands what is at stake here."

Taking the last arrow, Guy of Gysburne handed it to Brother Alfonso, saying, "This is his last chance to win the contest. Make him understand."

Brother Alfonso made a bow and turned to confer with the papal emissary, who frowned and snatched the offered arrow with a gesture of haughty impatience. As before, the papal cleric stepped close and passed the bow and arrow to Will Scarlet, who drew a long breath as he took the weapon.

"One more, Will," whispered the priest. "It is almost over. I will not let you fail."

It was all Scarlet could do to catch himself shouting, "Bran?" For the first time he looked into the face of the man he had been drawing against and recognized his lord and friend.

"Shh!" said the priest with a wink.

"Bloody de Glanville broke my fingers!" whispered Will, his voice tight and quivering with pain.

"Do your best, Will," Bran whispered. "Try a left-handed pull."

The condemned man took the bow and, with a groan and gritting of teeth, wrapped his discoloured fingers around the belly of the bow this time and took the strain against the cradle of his palm and thumb. Then, even as the pain sent flags of ragged black misery fluttering before his eyes, he drew with his left hand, steadied the trembling weapon, and loosed. The arrow slanted up, flashing into the air higher and higher; it seemed to hang momentarily before falling, spent, to the ground at the straw man's feet.

This brought a murmur from the crowd, most of whom had by now worked out what was unfolding before their eyes.

The priest, still gracious, took the bow and waited for the final arrow to be passed to him along with the marshal's stern caution to take care and aim properly this time. Nodding, he nocked an arrow to the string and, even as he bent the bow, Guy stepped in behind him and placed his hands over the priest's, steadying his aim as the priest let fly.

The envoy, shocked at this bold intrusion, gave out a yelp and jerked back. But the arrow was already on its way. This time it flew true, but the distance was woefully misjudged, for the missile sang over the straw man's head and flew on, swiftly disappearing into the long grass far beyond the greensward. The condemned man saw it, knew that he had won the contest, and sank to his knees, tears of relief and agony rolling down his bewhiskered cheeks.

Before anyone could intervene, the black-robed envoy summoned his aide, Brother Alfonso, to take the injured criminal under his care. "Stupid!" roared the sheriff at Guy. "What did you do?"

"I was only trying to help," said the marshal. "It would have worked, too, if he hadn't pulled so hard."

The black priest accepted his failure with good grace. Beaming with pleasure, he offered his hand to the condemned man, raising him to his feet. Placing his arm around the criminal's shoulders, the slender priest proclaimed in a loud voice so all could hear, "I declare the contest was fair and the results are conclusive. This man is the winner!"

He paused so that Brother Alfonso could relay his words to the gathering. "I do not know what he has done to merit his punishment, but let his example teach us the humility of forgiveness and redemption. For all men stand in need of salvation. Therefore, as our Lord's vicar on earth, I stand ready to absolve him of guilt and lead him into the paths of righteousness. I accept full responsibility for his life and will do all in my power to redeem him from his reprobate ways."

As the startled Ffreinc looked on aghast at what had just taken place, he whispered, "Never fear,Will, I have you now and will not let you go."

Will Scarlet, dabbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, clung to the black-robed envoy as to a kinsman long lost. "God bless you, my lord," he murmured. "God bless you right well."

CHAPTER 39

Hamtun Docks

Merian gently tied the ends of the rag binding Will Scarlet's wounded hand and tucked the ends under. "If Angharad was here," she apologized, "she would know better what to do for you." She had carefully straightened his swollen and discoloured fingers and bound each one to a bit of hazel twig Iwan had cut and shaped to serve for splints. She surveyed her work with a hopeful smile. "Does it hurt much?"

"Not much,"Will replied, grimacing even as he said it. "I am that glad to be feeling anything at all just now. It reminds me I am alive."

"And back with those who love you," she said, brushing his fingertips with her lips as she released him.

"I do thank you, my lady," he said, his voice thick with sudden emotion. He raised his hand and regarded his bandaged fingers, amazed that something so small could hurt so much. Despite the throbbing insistence of the pain, however, he remained overawed at his rescue, and his friends' continued deception. They had risked all for him, and his gratitude could not be contained. "My heart has no words to say thanks enough."

"I only wish we could have come sooner," said Siarles, who had been hovering at Merian's shoulder.

"And thanks to you, Siarles," replied Will, acknowledging the forester's presence. "It does a body good to see you again. God's truth, I did not recognise any of you. "'Course, I had other things on my mind just then."

"When Bran said what we were to do," replied Siarles, "I told him it would never work-we could never dupe the sharp-eyed sheriff." He chuckled. "But Bran would not be moved. He was determined to steal you away and right from under their long Ffreinc noses. We collected Brother Jago from Saint Dyfrig's, and we all dressed up like priests and such and"-he smiled again-"here we are."

Iwan, who had been standing watch on the little bower, hurried to rejoin them. "They're coming back," he announced. "Be on your best guard. We are not safe home yet."

Following the archery contest, Father Dominic had thanked the count and abbot for their inestimable hospitality and announced his desire to resume his journey. In taking their leave of the count the next morning, the papal envoy was surprised to learn that the count had decided to send an escort of knights and men-at-arms to see them safely to their ship at Hamtun Docks. Despite the envoy's protestations that this was in no way necessary, the count-his own resolve bolstered by the insistence of an increasingly suspicious sheriff-would not allow his guests to depart on their own. "It is the least I can do for our Mother Church," he insisted. "If anything should happen to you on the road-may heaven forbid it!-I would never be forgiven, especially since it is so easily prevented."

"Bloody meddler," muttered Iwan, when he learned of the plan. "There is no ship waiting for us. We've never been anywhere near Hamtun Docks."

"They don't know that," Bran replied. "We will go on as we've begun and look for the first opportunity to send them on their way."

"And if we don't find such an opportunity?" demanded Iwan. "What then?"

"We can always disappear into the wood," Bran told him. "Leave it to me. You keep your eyes on the soldiers and remain alert. If anything goes wrong, I want you ready to break some heads."

"Oh, aye," agreed Iwan grimly, "if it comes to that. I'll be ready right enough."

They had set off with Count de Braose, Sheriff de Glanville, and ten Norman soldiers-four knights and six men-at-arms-to provide protection from King Raven and his outlaw minions, who haunted the greenwood and preyed on unwary travellers. The papal envoy and his small entourage-the Lady Ghisella and her maidservant, Brother Alfonso the interpreter, and the two lay brothers surrounded by heavily armed Ffreinc men, kept to themselves for the most part. Outwardly, they behaved much as before-cheerful, if quiet, and appreciative of the largess lavished on them by their ever-watchful hosts.