PART FOUR

"O cowardly dastard!" Will Scadlocke exclaim'd.

"Thou faint-hearted, sow-mothered reeve!

If ever my master doth deign thee to meet,

Thou shalt thy full paiment receive!"

Then Rhiban Hud, setting his horn to his mouth,

A blast he merrily blows;

His yeomen from bushes and treetops appeared,

A hundred, with trusty longbows.

And Little John came at the head of them all,

Cloath'd in a rich mantle, green;

And likewise the others were fancif 'ly drest,

A wonderous sight to be seen.

Forth from the greenwoode about they are come,

With hearts that are firm and e'er stout,

Pledging them all with the sheriff 's yeomen

To give them a full hearty bout.

And Rhiban the Hud has removed his cloak,

And the sheriff has uttered an oath,

And William now smites him on top of his pate and swift exit is now made by both.

"Little I thought," quod Scadlocke eft-soon,

"When I first came to this place,

For to have met with dear Little John,

Or again see my master's fine face."

CHAPTER 23

It is a grand day, my lord Bran," Llewelyn proclaimed, grinning blearily through a haze of brown ale. "A grand and glorious day. Though it shames me to admit it, I never hoped to see our Gruffydd on his throne again. No, I never did. Yet, here he is-all thanks to you. Here he is."

Two days of riotous celebration had followed the rescuers' triumphant return to Aberffraw with their newly freed captive. King Gruffydd's homecoming was heralded as a miracle on the order of Lazarus walking out of his tomb; and Bran, Tuck, Ifor, Brocmael, and Alan were lauded as champions and made to recount their exploits time and again to rapturous listeners until they grew hoarse for speaking. The revel was entering its third day before Bran and Tuck finally found the opportunity to speak to Gruffydd and Llewelyn in private.

"Here are men after my own heart!" declared Gruffydd, closing the door on the celebration to join them in his chamber. Bathed and shaved, his matted, moth-eaten locks shorn to his scalp, arrayed in a new wool cloak and fine red linen shirt, the king of the Northern Cymry finally resembled something worthy of the name. "You should have seen them, Llewelyn," he bellowed. "They were mighty giants doing battle for me. It's true!" Swaying unsteadily, he draped an arm across Bran's shoulders. "I am forever in your debt, my friend. Hear me, Bran ap Brychan, may God blind me if I should ever forget."

"That would be most uncomfortable for you," allowed Bran with a smile, "but, never fear. I have a way to help you."

"Then speak it out, man, and see how quickly it is accomplished," said Gruffydd. Reeling slightly, he looked around for his cup, saw one in Llewelyn's hand, and took it.

Bran hesitated, uncertain whether to take advantage of the king's ale-induced generosity or wait until Gruffydd was sober once more-which might mean a wait of several more days.

"Speak, man, and if it is in my power to grant, you shall have it before the sun has set on another day," boasted Gruffydd. He drained the cup and wiped the foam from his moustache. "What will you have?"

"Your friendship," said Bran.

"That you have in abundance already," replied Gruffydd grandly. He waved his hand airily.

"What else?" prompted Llewelyn, well aware of Bran's true desire.

Bran looked to Tuck, who urged him with a glance to ask for the help he had come north to seek. "As I have aided the return of your king to his lands and people," replied Bran, speaking slowly and deliberately, "I ask the king's pledge to aid me in the return of my lands and people."

A shadow passed over Gruffydd's square face just then. The smile remained firmly fixed, but his eyes narrowed. "Then receive my pledge," Gruffydd said. "How can I help you?"

"With men and weapons," Bran said. "Raise the tribes of Gwynedd and the north and ride with me. Together we can wrest Elfael from the Ffreinc and drive them from our lands."

Gruffydd frowned. He looked into the empty cup as if it had offended him, then thrust it back at Llewelyn. "If that lay within my power," he said, his voice falling, "you would have it this very night. Alas, I cannot grant such a request."

Bran's face tightened. Staring at the king, he said, "You will not help?"

"I cannot," replied Gruffydd, who seemed to have sobered in the matter of a moment. "You must understand," he continued, half turning away, "I have been absent from my realm eight years! For eight years my people have been without a king-"

"They've had Llewelyn," Bran pointed out.

"True enough," granted Gruffydd, "and I am the first to say he has served faithfully and well. But you and I both know that it is not the same thing at all."

"Then you will not help me," Bran said, his voice tight.

"I wish you had asked anything but that," the king replied. "My first duty is to my people and my realm. I cannot resume my reign by running off again as soon as I am home. Much less can I mark my return by forcing my people into a war that does not concern them. If you were in my place, you would see that."

"My friends and I risked all to save you-"

"And for that you have my friendship and gratitude to my dying breath," Lord Gruffydd replied.

"It is not your gratitude I want," Bran said, his tone taking on an edge. "It is your aid in arms."

"That," said Gruffydd carelessly, "is the one thing you cannot have."

Bran made to step closer. Gruffydd held his ground.

"My lord," said Tuck, insinuating his bulk between Gruffydd and an increasingly angry Bran, "if you knew the precarious hold the Ffreinc possessed, you would see our request in a different light."

"How so?" asked Llewelyn, doing what he could to help.

"The Ffreinc forces are few in number," Tuck said, still holding himself between the increasingly angry lords, "and poorly supplied. We have seen to that, have we not? For though we are few in number, living rough in the greenwood on pitiful fare, with families and little 'uns to keep-even so, we have pressed them hard these last two years and more, and they are bent that near to breaking. All it needs is some stout warriors, a few fresh fighters, a last battle or two-a final push over the edge and the thing is done."

"How long would you need the use of the men?" asked Llewelyn.

"A month perhaps," said Bran quickly. "The Ffreinc do not have enough soldiers to make a lengthy campaign. It would be finished in a month-no more. That is little enough, it seems to me."

"Alas," rued Gruffydd, unmoved, "even that little is too much. I wish I could help."

"My lord, I urge you to reconsider," pleaded Llewelyn. "A month, mind you. Surely, it is not beyond our ability to aid them in this-"

His entreaty was cut short by a curt gesture from his king. "I have spoken." Gruffydd turned and stepped towards the door. "My friends," he said, adopting a stiffly formal air even as he clutched the doorpost to steady himself, "you are most welcome to remain with me as long as you like. I am happy for your company. Nevertheless, we will not speak of this again."

With that, the king returned to the celebration.

"Come, Tuck," said Bran, watching Gruffydd through the open door as the king moved among his kinsmen and friends, embracing some, sharing the cup with others. "We will not remain here a moment longer than it takes to scrape the dung of this miserable place off our feet."

"My lord," said Llewelyn, deeply embarrassed by his king's behaviour, "do not be overhasty. Stay a little longer-a few days only-and we will yet change his mind. I will summon the lords to council with the king, and he will be persuaded. On my word, you will yet have your just reward."