"The king has decreed that the abbot will serve as his regent," replied Cardinal Ranulf. His eyes narrowed as he gazed at Bran. "I remember you right well," he said, "and I warn you against trying any such foolishness as you attempted last time we met."

"Then pray remind the king that I was promised the return of our lands and the rule of our people," Bran countered, speaking through Jago. "This I was promised by the king himself in recognition of our part in exposing the traitors."

The king heard this, of course, but glanced away, a pained expression on his face.

"I cannot answer for any promises which might or might not have been made in the past," responded the cardinal, making it sound as if this had all taken place untold years ago and could have no part in the judgement now. "After a suitable season of reflection, the king has determined that it does not serve the interests of the crown to return Elfael to Welsh rule at this time."

"What is to become of us?" cried Bran, growing visibly angry. "That is our land-our home! We were promised justice."

"Justice," replied the silk-robed cardinal coolly, "you have received. Your king has decreed; his word is law."

Bran, holding tight to the reins of his rage, argued his case. "I would remind His Majesty that it was from within the abbot's own stronghold that we learned of the conspiracy against him! Your regent is as guilty of treason as those you have already condemned and punished."

"So you say," countered the cardinal smoothly. "There has been no proof of this, and therefore the right practice of justice decrees no guilt shall be laid at the abbot's feet."

"Call it what you will, my lord, but do not call it justice," said Bran, his voice shaking with fury. Sweet Jesus, I had never seen him so angry. His face was white, his eyes flashing quick fire. "This is an offence against heaven. The people of Elfael will not rest until we have gained the justice promised to us."

"You and your people will conform yourself to the regent's rule," Flambard declared. "As regent, Abbot Hugo is charged with your care and protection. Henceforth, he will provide you with the comfort and solace of the king's law."

"With all respect, Cardinal," Bran called, fighting to keep his rage from devouring his reason, "we cannot accept this judgement."

"The king has spoken," concluded Cardinal Bayeux. "The continued prosecution of this dispute has no merit. The matter is herewith concluded."

King William, impervious to our lord's anger, nodded once and turned away. He and his soldiers and confidants walked back to the house and went inside. The cardinal rolled up the parchment and turned to follow his monarch.

With that, our Day of Judgement was over.

As the door closed on the backs of the royal party, a wide double door opened at the far end of the yard, and soldiers who had been awaiting this moment streamed out to encircle us. Weapons ready, they formed a wall, shoulder-to-shoulder around the perimeter of the yard.

"We must leave here at once," said Angharad. "Bran!"

He was no longer listening. "We will not be denied!" he shouted, starting forth. "This is not the end. Do you hear?"

She pulled Bran's sleeve, restraining him. Shaking off her grasp, he started after the swiftly retreating cardinal. "Iwan! Siarles!" she snapped, "See to your lord!"

The two leapt forward and took hold of Bran, one on either side. "Come away, my lord," said Iwan. "Don't make things worse. They only want half a reason to attack us."

"You do well to drag him away," called Marshal Guy, laughing. "Drag the beaten dog away!"

Gysburne was the only one to find amusement in this disaster, mind-he and a few of the less astute-looking soldiers with him. The rest appeared suitably grim, realising that this was no good news for them, either. Count Falkes looked like a man who has had his bones removed, and it was all he could do to remain in the saddle. His pale countenance was more ghastly still, and his lips trembled, no doubt in contemplation of his ruin.

Iwan and Siarles were able to haul Bran back. Merian rushed to his side to help calm him. Meanwhile, Tuck and Angharad, fearful of what the Ffreinc might do next, moved quickly to turn everyone and march them from the yard before bloodshed could turn the disaster into a catastrophe.

Obeying cooler heads, we turned and started slowly away under the narrowed eyes and naked weapons of the king's soldiers. As we passed Count de Braose's company, I looked up and saw Odo, his round, owlish face stricken. On impulse, I raised my hand and beckoned him to join us. "Come, monk," I told him. "If you would quit the devil and stand on the side of the angels, you are welcome here."

To my surprise, he lifted the reins and moved out from the Ffreinc ranks. Some of those around him tried to prevent him, but he pulled away from their grasp; the abbot, sneering down his long nose, told them to let the craven Judas go. "Let him leave if he will," said Marshal Gysburne, snatching the bridle strap and halting Odo's mount, "but he goes without the horse."

So my dear dull scribe took his life in his hands, plucked up his small courage, and slid down from the saddle to take his place among the Grellon.

As we marched from the yard, the soldiers tightened the circle and drew in behind us to make certain we would depart without causing any trouble. Abbot Hugo called out one last threat. "Do not think to return to Elfael," he said, his voice ringing loud in the yard. "We have marked you, and we will kill you on sight should you or any of your rabble ever set foot in Elfael again."

When Jago translated the abbot's challenge for us, I saw Bran stiffen. Turning to address the abbot, he said in Latin, "Enjoy this day, vile priest-it is the last peace you will know. From this day hence, it is war."

Abbot Hugo shouted something in reply, and the Ffreinc soldiers made as if they might mount an attack. They drew swords and lowered their shields, preparing to charge. But Bran snatched up a bow, and quick as a blink, planted an arrow between the abbot's legs, pinning the hem of his robe to the hard ground. "The next arrow finds your black heart, Abbot," Bran called. "Tell the soldiers to put up their weapons." Hugo heeded the warning and wisely called for the king's men to hold and let us depart. Slowly, Bran lowered the bow, turned, and led his people from the king's stronghold.

Heads held high, we strode out through the gate and into our blood-tinged fate.

EPILOGUE

Are you sure he's the one?" asked Marshal Guy of Gysburne.

"Absolutely certain," muttered Abbot Hugo. "There is no doubt. Bran ap Brychan was heir to the throne of Elfael. That idiot de Braose killed his father, and he himself was thought to be dead-but of course that was bungled along with everything else the baron and his milksop nephew touched."

"To think we had him in our grasp and didn't recognise him," Gysburne observed. "Curious."

Hugo took a deep breath and fixed his marshal with a steely gaze. "King Raven, the so-called Phantom, and Bran are one and the same. I'd stake my life on it."

"We should have taken him when we had the chance," remarked Gysburne, still puzzling over the deception played upon them.

"A mistake," spat Hugo, "we will not repeat."

Count Falkes de Braose had been escorted from the yard by knights of the king, to be taken to Lundein and there put on a ship to Normandie. Abbot Hugo and his marshal were left to consider the unexpected rise in their fortunes, and the threats to their rule. Their first thoughts turned to Bran and his followers. They quickly decided that so long as Bran and his men remained at large, they would never enjoy complete control over the people and lands that King William had entrusted to their stewardship.