The abbot did not like this last proviso, and made to dispute it, but Bran would not relent. In the end, Gysburne sealed the bargain by turning the sword in his hand and throwing it down in the dirt halfway between himself and Bran.

"God in heaven be praised!" said Tuck. "I do believe they're going to surrender. You've done it, Bran. You beautiful man, you've done it!"

"Steady on, Friar," replied Bran. "This is not finished yet by a long throw. We are dancing on a knife edge here; pray we don't yet slip." He cast his gaze around the square. "I greatly fear a fall now would prove fatal."

"All of you," said Iwan, pointing to the sword on the ground.

One by one, the soldiers added their weapons to the marshal's; Captain Aloin was the last to disarm.

"What now?" said Siarles.

"Gather round, everyone," said Bran, and explained how they were to shepherd the Ffreinc through the forest. "We'll see them to the Vale of Wye and release them at the border of the March. Then, they are on their own."

"It will be dark soon," Tuck pointed out.

"Then we had best get started," Bran replied. "All saints and angels bear witness, on my life they will not spend another night in my realm."

CHAPTER 30

Castle Neufmarche

Four long days on the road brought the weary abbot and his footsore company-six soldiers, three monks, and two dejected commanders-to the busy market town of Hereford, the principal seat of Baron Neufmarche. Very possibly, the baron may have been the closest thing to an ally that Abbot Hugo possessed just then. Exhausted, begrimed from his journey, and aching from sleeping in rude beds appropriated from settlements alongside the road, Hugo lifted his sweaty face to the solid stone walls of the castle on the hill above the town and felt what it must be like for weary pilgrims to behold the promised land.

Here, at last, he would be given a welcome worthy of his rank. Moreover, if he sharpened his appeal with hints of clerical patronage-offers of perpetual prayer and special indulgences excusing the baron from certain past sins-Hugo imagined he might enlist the baron's aid to help him recover his abbey and reclaim Elfael from the hands of that blasted King Raven and his troop of outlaws. "Captain Aloin," he called, climbing down from a swaybacked horse-the only one they had been able to commandeer from the first Norman town they had come to after leaving the March. "You and your men will rest and wait for us in the town. Go to the monastery and get some food and drink-my monks will take you there."

"Where are you going, Abbot?"

"Marshal Guy and I will go to the baron and see if he is of a mood to receive us. If all goes well, I will send for you as soon as suitable arrangements can be made."

The captain, who had risked life and limb in the abbot's service, and whose troops bore the brunt of the failure to roust King Raven from his roost, was not best pleased to be shut out of the proceedings now. But Aloin was too tired to argue, so agreed-if only that he might find a cool place to sit down that much sooner. He waved the marshal and abbot away, ordered his men to go with the monks and fetch food and drink from the abbey and bring some back for him; and then, sitting himself down in the shade of the stone archway leading into the town square, he pulled off his boots and closed his eyes. Before he drifted off to sleep, it occurred to him that this was likely the last he would see of the abbot. This caused him fleeting concern. Yet, close on this first thought was another: if he never saw that grasping, arrogant, conniving churchman again… well, all things considered, that was fine too.

Meanwhile, Bernard Neufmarche, Lord of Hereford and Gloucester, was sitting in his private courtyard gazing up at the sky for no other reason than that he thought a shadow had passed over him and he felt a sudden chill. He glanced up to see if an errant cloud had obscured the sun for a moment, but there were no clouds, and the sun shone as brightly as ever. The baron was not a man for omens or portents, but it did seem to him that lately-at least, ever since his lady wife had become smitten with all things Welsh-he often had odd feelings and sudden urges to do things he had never done before, such as sit quietly alone with his thoughts in his pleasant courtyard. Moreover, he often entertained the notion that strange forces were swirling around him, moving him towards destinations and destinies unknown.

He smiled at his own superstitious nature-something else he never did.

When Remey, his red-capped seneschal, appeared in the doorway to tell him that he had visitors, he felt the intrusion like a clammy dampness in the small of his back. Odd, that. "Who is it?" he asked, and before Remey could reply, he added, "Send them away. I do not wish to see anyone today."

"Of course, my lord baron," replied the seneschal smoothly, "but you may wish to reconsider when I tell you that Abbot Hugo de Rainault and Marshal Guy de Gysburne have arrived on foot, alone, and wish to speak to you most urgently."

"Indeed?" wondered the baron, intrigued now. "Very well." He sighed, rising from his warm bench. "Give them something to drink, and I will join them in the hall. I want to speak to Father Gervais first."

"Very wise, my lord." Remey withdrew to find the steward and order some refreshments for the baron's unexpected guests.

When his servant had gone, the baron walked slowly across the courtyard to an opposite doorway which led onto the porch of the little chapel, where he found the family's elderly priest sitting in a pool of light from the courtyard and nodding over a small parchment chapbook in his lap. The baron picked up the book; it was the Gospel of Saint Matthew in Latin. He was able to pick out a few words here and there, and the thought came to him that perhaps it was time he learned to read properly-not like a barnyard chicken pecking seeds willy-nilly.

The old priest awoke with a start. "Oh! Bless me, I must have dozed off. Good day to you, my son, and God's rich blessing."

"Very well, Father," replied the baron, and thanked the priest. "I would not disturb your meditations, but we have visitors-Abbot Hugo de Rainault and his marshal, Guy of some such. I believe you know the abbot?"

"I had dealings with him now and then," replied the priest, "but that was a long time ago. I would not say I knew him."

The baron considered this and turned another page of the book in his hand. "There must be trouble in Elfael," mused the baron idly. "I can think of no other reason de Rainault would turn up at my door."

The priest considered this. "Yes," he agreed slowly, "no doubt you are right about that. Then again, it has been very quiet of late. We would have heard about any trouble, I think."

"Perhaps not," countered the baron. "The outlaws own the King's Road through the forest. Nothing moves in or out of Wales that they do not allow-which is why I expect this visit means trouble."

"You know best, Bernard."

"Well, in any event we'll soon find out," said the baron with a sigh. "I'm going to see them now, but I wanted to ask if you would come with me to greet them. I'd like to have you there, Father."

"Certainly, my son. I'd be delighted."

The baron held out his hand to the elder man and helped him to his feet.

"These old bones get slower every day," said the priest, rising heavily.

"Nonsense, Father," replied Baron Neufmarche. "The years touch you but lightly."

"Bah! Now who is speaking nonsense?"

They strolled amiably to the baron's great hall, where, at a table near the wide double door leading to the castle's main yard, a very dusty Gysburne and travel-soiled abbot were finishing their wine and cheese. "My lord baron!" declared Gysburne, standing quickly and brushing crumbs from his tunic. "God be good to you, Sire. My thanks for your inestimable hospitality."