At this, Tuck, speaking in measured tones and with many haltings as he searched for the words, began his prepared speech. He appealed to Abbot Hugo as a brother in their common calling as priests of the church, and thanked the abbot for allowing him to speak. He then said that he had come with an offer of peace from the forest-dwellers. When words began to fail, he took out the little scrap of parchment Odo had prepared for him, listing the central stipulations of the plan. The abbot's face grew red as he listened, but he held his tongue. Tuck concluded, saying, "You have until midday tomorrow to give your answer. If you accept Bran's offer, you will ring the abbey bell nine times-three peals of three. Then, come to the edge of the forest, where you will be told what to do next. Do you understand?"

To which the abbot replied, "I do not know which offends me the more-your uncouth speech or the crudeness of your appearance." He waved a hand in front of his nose. "You smell worse than a stable hound."

Tuck bore the insult with a smile. He'd not expected an easy ride through enemy territory. "But you understand what I am saying?"

"Oh, I understand," confirmed Hugo. "However, I fail to see why I should dignify this ridiculous idea of sharing the governance of Elfael with a vile outlaw and rebel."

"Bran ap Brychan is neither outlaw nor rebel," Tuck replied evenly, hoping he had got the words right. "In truth, his family has ruled this realm for a hundred years or more. If you agree, you would be sharing the dominion of the cantref with the rightful heir to the throne of Elfael, who-no fault of his own-has been deprived of his kingship."

"And if I do not agree?"

"Then there will be a bloody price to pay."

"Is that supposed to frighten me?" asked Hugo, arching an eyebrow. "If so, forgive me if I refuse to take this threat of retribution seriously. It seems to me that if your Lord Bran could take this town by force, he would have done so long ere now, no?"

"He is giving you one last chance," said Tuck.

"One last chance."

"Yes, Abbot-this is the last and best chance you will receive."

"So, I am supposed to simply abandon the town and fortress to the outlaws and imprison myself in the abbey here-is that it?"

"You would not be held captive," said Tuck, struggling to make himself understood. "Bran would rule the realm as a liegeman of the king, and you would support him in this and… ah, confine… your activities to the work of the abbey."

"Non!" roared the abbot, throwing down the long-handled fork. "C'est impossible! The king has given me Elfael to rule as I see fit. I will in no wise share the governance of this realm with a low brigand." Hugo leaned on the table with his fists, his anger mounting. "I may not have enough men to drive your King Raven from his forest perch, but if he has the might to defeat me, then let him try."

Tuck stared at the abbot, his mind whirling as he tried to decipher this last outburst. "But you will consider the offer?"

"I think our talk is finished." The abbot made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "You may go, but if you ever come here again I will have you arrested to stand trial as a traitor to the crown. You can tell your friends that if I ever catch you or any of them your lives are forfeit."

Tuck stiffened at the insult. "I came here in good faith, Abbot, as a Christian priest. Even so, I don't expect you'll see me again."

"Out!"

"I am going," Tuck said, stepping towards the door. "But I urge you to seriously consider the offer of peace-pray, discuss it with your marshal and the sheriff. You have until midday tomorrow to decide, and if you accept-"

"Porter!" shouted the abbot. "Take this man away!"

Outside once more, Tuck returned to his mount, untied it, and heaved himself up into the saddle. As he lifted the reins he cast a backward look at the abbey and saw a monk flitting along the front of the church towards the guard tower.

He did not linger, but departed quickly lest the abbot betray his word and arrest him. He urged his mount to a trot and left the town, hastening back to the forest with the curious sensation that he had been given a valuable prize but could not remember what it was-something Abbot Hugo had said… but what?

In any event, he was satisfied that, as a priest of the church, he had done his duty. "Blessed are the peacemakers," he murmured to himself. "And the Good Lord help us all."

CHAPTER 6

Saint Martin's

As long as those outlaws hold the King's Road,"complained Marshal Guy, swirling the wine in his cup, "nothing enters or leaves the forest without their notice. We lost good men in that ill-advised attack at Winchester and-"

"You need not whip that dead horse any longer, Marshal,"growled Abbot Hugo, slamming down the pewter jar. Wine splashed out and spattered the table linen, leaving a deep crimson stain. "I am only too aware of the price we are paying to maintain this accursed realm."

"My point, Abbot, was that without hope of raising any more soldiers, the cantref is lost already. Sooner or later, the rogues will discover how few men we have, and when they do, they will attack and we will not be able to repel them. That, or they will simply wear us down. Either way, they win."

"Possibly." Hugo shook the wine from his hand, raised his cup, and drank.

"Their Raven King has made us an offer of peace-take it, I say, and let us be done with this godforsaken realm. I wish to heaven I'd never heard of it."

"Be that as it may," Hugo said, staring into his cup, "King William has given the governance of the realm to me, and I will not suffer that ridiculous King Raven and his scabrous minions to hold sway over it. They will be defeated."

"Have you heard a single word I've said?"

"I heard, Marshal, but I do not think you understand the depth of my resolve. For I propose we root out King Raven and his brood for once and all."

"Then just you tell me how do you propose we do that?" Guy de Gysburne glared at the abbot, daring him to put up something that could not be knocked down with a single blow. "As many times as we have gone against them, we have been forced to retreat. Swords and spears are no use against those infernal longbows because we cannot get close enough to use them. Pitched battle is no good: they will not stand and fight. They hide in the woods where our horses cannot go. They know the land hereabouts far better than we do, so they can sit back and slaughter us at will."

Abbot Hugo was in no mood to listen to yet another litany of Guy's complaints. They never advanced the cause and always fell back on the tired observation that unless they found a powerful patron to supply men and weapons, and provisions, the realm would fall. The battle in the grove had cost them more than either one of them cared to contemplate-though Guy had not allowed anyone within hearing distance to forget it. Of the thirty-three knights and men-at-arms left to them after the departure of the exiled Baron de Braose, only twenty-one remained. And Elfael, nestled in its valley and surrounded by forest on three sides, was far too vulnerable to the predation of Bran and his outlaw band, who had proven time and again that they could come and go as they pleased.

"If we cannot get to them," replied Hugo, adopting a more conciliatory air, "then we will bring the so-called Raven and his flock to us."

"Easier said than done," muttered Guy. "Our Raven is a canny bird. Not easy to trick, not easy to catch."

"Nor am I an adversary easily defeated." Hugo raised his cup to his mouth and took a deep draught before continuing. "Simply put, we will entice them, draw them out into the open where they cannot attack us from behind trees and such. Their bows will be no good to them at close quarters."