Authors: Stephen R. Lawhead
I
am explaining about Bishop Asaph and our visit to Saint Tewdrig’s monastery and here is Odo, frowning. It is the ring he wants to hear about, only the ring.
“What’s wrong now, monk?” I ask him, sweet and innocent as a milkmaid’s smile. “You look like a fella that mistook a bolt of vinegar for ale.”
“I am certain that this bishop of yours is every bit as kind and holy as you claim,” he complains in that irritating whine that he uses when he thinks he is being long-suffering.
“Well then?”
“How did the bishop know about the stolen ring?”
“How did he know?” I say. “Odo, you dullard, the good bishop did not know the first thing about it.”
“Then why did you go to see him?”
“We went to find out what he knew,” I say, “and to show him the letter, and give him the stolen goods for safekeeping.” I spread my hands wide. “In the end, he knew nothing about the ring, he could not read the letter, and would not agree to keep the treasure for us.”
“Then you discovered exactly nothing,” concludes Odo. “A wasted journey.”
“God’s mill grinds slowly, my monkish friend, but it grinds exceedingly fine. Our ways are not his ways, and there’s a rare fact.”
Odo makes a sour face. “Then why tell—”
“All will come ’round in good time,” I say, squashing his objection in the egg.
Brother Scribe sighs like a broken bellows, and we trudge on . . .
W
ell, as we were alone in the bishop’s private quarters, we soon got down to showing the churchman the letter. He confirmed that it was indeed written in Ffreinc.
“Can you tell us what it says?” asked Siarles hopefully.
“I am sorry, my friend,” said the cleric with a thin smile. “That skill has defied this old head, I’m afraid.”
“Can you make nothing of it?” I said, annoyed and more than a little disappointed at having risked so much to come so far for no purpose.
The old man bent his head to the square of parchment and studied it once more, his nose almost touching the surface. “Ah, yes! Here,” he said, stabbing at a word in the middle of the page, “that is
carpe diem
.”
“Latin?” I said.
Asaph nodded. “It means ‘seize the day’—you might say an exhortation to be about your work, perhaps, or to make the most of your present opportunity.” He shrugged. “Something like that, anyway.”
So, aside from another scrap or two of Latin, we were no better off for our trouble save in one respect only: we knew that Count de Braose was that anxious for the return of his stolen goods that he would dare to hang the population of Elfael to get it.
“Is there nothing else you can tell us?” asked Siarles.
“I am sorry,” replied the old man as the bell sounded for evening prayers. “No one here can read Ffreinc, either.” He brightened with a thought. “Perhaps one of the monks at Saint Dyfrig’s could help you.”
But, having learned about de Braose’s cruel plans for the men and boys of Elfael, Siarles and I were loath to waste even so much as a day extending a chase that might not succeed. “We must move on at once,” my companion told him. “Could you take it, Father?”
The old man did not like the idea. Who could blame him? It was a cold and dangerous errand we were asking. But he was too much in his benefactor’s debt to say no outright. His pale eyes pleaded to be excused, and my heart went out to the old fella. Yet there was no other way. Even if we’d had the time to spare, neither of us knew anyone at Saint Dyfrig’s, nor which of them might be trusted. Bishop Asaph saw this too, I think, for in the end he allowed himself to be persuaded to take the letter for us. But, having agreed to that, he would not in any wise agree to hold the rest of the treasure in safekeeping at the monastery.
This he had decided, even though we had not yet shown him the parcel containing the ring and gloves. It made no difference; the old man would not be moved. “I don’t know what you have, or whence it came.” Siarles opened his mouth to tell him, but Asaph held up his hand to prevent him speaking. “Nor do I wish to know. But if something happened and any of those things were found here, my monks and those few forlorn souls under my care would suffer for it.” He shook his head, his mouth firm. “As shepherd of my flock, I cannot in good conscience allow it.”
That was that.
So we ate a hearty supper and took a little nap, resting ourselves as well as our horses. We were awake again at midnight and lit out under a cold winter moon for Cél Craidd. The Twelfth Night observance was six days away. We had only that much time and no more before the hangings began.
T
he sun was already down and a freezing mist was rising with the moon in the east by the time we reached our forest hideaway at Cél Craidd. We had pushed the horses hard all the way, and they were almost spent. Yet the Welsh breed a hardy little beast, as everyone knows, and they lifted their dragging feet once we came in sight of the greenwood, because they knew they were almost home.
The Grellon greeted our return with keen interest, assembling before the Council Oak as we rode into the glade. I swung down from the saddle, searching for the face I suddenly wanted to see above all others and, before I could find it, was taken by the shoulder and spun around.
“Nóin, I—” was all I got out before I was immediately folded into a sweetly robust embrace.
She kissed me once, very hard, and then again. “I have missed you, Will Scarlet.” She put her cheek against mine as she held me close. I could feel her shivering beneath her cloak, and thought it was not merely from the cold. “I was afraid something might happen to you.”
“Ah, now, nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t cure,” I replied lightly, clutching her tight to me.
“Siarles! Will!” Bran cried, striding across the clearing to greet us. Tuck, Iwan, and Mérian followed, slipping in the well-trodden snow. “What news?”
Without wasting a breath, Siarles told Bran and all the others about the hangings. “Fifty or sixty stand to forfeit their lives if we do not act quickly. It is for us to save them.”
This caused an outcry among the Grellon, who raised a clamour to be allowed to march on Castle Truan and free the prisoners. “That we will not do,” Bran said, raising his voice above the shouting. He called his council to attend him and for food and drink to be brought to help revive the travellers, and we all trooped off to join him in his hut.
This began a lengthy session of rumination about what we had learned, what it might mean, and what might be done about it. “Asaph refused to accept the ring and gloves for safekeeping,” Siarles explained, returning the leather-wrapped bundle to Bran. “Nor could he read the letter.”
“But we prevailed upon him to take the parchment to the abbey to see if someone there might help us,” I offered. “We would have taken it ourselves, but seeing as the abbot means to start hanging half of Elfael, we thought best to hightail it home.”
“You did well,” Bran said. “It is, no doubt, what I would have done.”
Iwan and the others agreed, and they began to discuss the hangings and what could be done to prevent them. I endured as long as I could, but soon the warmth of the hearth and the food combined to club me over the head and pull me down. Bran noticed my yawning and, thanking me for my diligence in bringing the news so quickly, ordered me to go and get some rest.
Creeping from Bran’s hearth, I went to Nóin and found her waiting at her own small fire in her hut. Little Nia was asleep on her mat in the corner, and Nóin was idly feeding twigs into the flames. She turned and smiled as I entered. “They kept you long,” she said.
“They did, but I am here now.” I settled on the roebuck hide beside her. “Ah,” I sighed, “there is nothing like a warm fire and a roof over your head at the end of the day.”
“And you a brave forester,” she chided lightly, lifting a warm hand to my face. “Well, rest yourself, Will Scarlet.” She paused and smiled. “You need not stir until tomorrow’s light if that is what you wish.”
We kissed then and she nestled in my arms. We talked a little then—but, try as I might, I could not keep my eyes open. I fell asleep with Nóin in my embrace.
I awoke the next morning wrapped in her cloak. When I sat up who should be watching me but little Nia, her pixie face shining with some sort of happiness known only to herself. “Hello, blossom,” I said, rolling up onto my elbow. “Where has your mam gone?”
The little darling giggled and pointed to the door. “Come here, sprite,” I said, holding my arms out to her. She needed no coaxing. Up she jumped and dashed into my arms, her bare feet slapping the beaten earth. I gave her a hug and settled her in my lap. We sat together and broke branches and bits of bark into the coals on the hearth to build up the fire again. By the time we had a small blaze going, Nóin returned with freshly baked loaves of barley bread, a knob of new butter, and a jar of honey. She planted a kiss on my rough cheek, then busied herself preparing the food to break our fast.
“I must have fallen asleep,” I said as she spread a cloth on the floor next to the hearth, “but I don’t remember.”
“I’m not surprised,” she replied. “You were already halfway gone when you sat down. It did not take much to send you on your way.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How so? You were near worn through from your journey.” Nóin smiled, more to herself than to me. “I have no cause to blame you, Will, nor do I.”
That was good enough for me. She broke open a steaming loaf, slathered it with butter, and dribbled honey over it. “You know,” I said, trying to sound as if I had just thought of it, “you are a right fine woman who needs a man, and I am a fella without a wife. If we got married that would fell two birds with a single stone.”
“Oh, would it now?” she said, turning to regard me with a look I could not quite read. She folded her hands in her lap. “What makes you think I care to get married?”
“Well, I . . . I don’t know. Do you?”
She said nothing, but tore off a bit of the prepared half loaf and passed it to Nia, handing the remaining portion to me.
“Nóin, I’m asking you to be my wife if . . . if you’ll have me, that is.”
“Shush! Will I have you? Do you have to ask?” She smiled and began buttering the second half of the warm loaf. “Was I not thinking the same thing the moment I laid eyes on you?”
This was news to me. “Were you?”
“If you’re a man of your word,Will Scarlet, our friar could marry us tomorrow.”
“He could,” I agreed, my head swimming a little at the turn this conversation had taken.
“I’ve already spoken to him. We talked while you were gone.”
“And?” I asked, thinking this was all happening far faster than I could have imagined.
“He said he could not do it,” she replied just like that. “He said that he would give up Holy Orders before he allowed the likes of you to tie the knot.”
“What? He said that?” I started up, climbing to my feet. “He has no cause to—”
“Oh, sit down, you big ox.” She laughed. “What do you think he said?”
“Well, knowing him,” I conceded, “it might be anything.”
“He said he would be honoured to do it. We have but to name the day and it is good as done.” She handed me the bread. “So? What day shall we tell him?”
“Tomorrow it is,” I said.
“Tomorrow,” said Nóin, and now the doubt crept into her voice. “Are you certain that is what you want?”
“No, of course not. Today! That is better still.”
“William!” she cried. “It can’t be today.”
“Why not?” I reached for her and pulled her close. “The sooner the better, I say.”
“There are things to be done!” she exclaimed, pushing me away.“ Eat your bread and stop talking nonsense.”
“Tomorrow, then.” I reached down and cupped Nia’s face in my hand. “What do you say, snowdrop? Shall your mam and me get married tomorrow?”
The little mite laughed and hid behind her mother’s shoulder.
“See? She likes the idea. I’m going to go hunt the biggest stag in the forest for our wedding supper—and a boar or two, as well.”
“Listen to you,” Nóin said, beaming with pleasure at my bold talk. “Eat.” She pushed a chunk of honeyed bread into my mouth and kissed the sweetness on my lips.
“One day more, then,” I murmured, drawing her close, “and we will be together always.”
Oh! Would that I had said anything but that, for the bread and honey was still warm in my mouth when Iwan appeared at the door. “Will Scarlet? Are you in there, Will?”
“Aye, I am,” I called in reply. “Come in if you can. We have bread and honey if you’re hungry.”
He opened the narrow plank door and put his head into the hut. I don’t know what he expected to find. “Oh,” he said when he saw Nóin, “beg pardon, I—” He lowered his eyes with embarrassment. “I must pull Will away. Lord Bran has summoned a council of war.”
“That sounds right dire,” said I, taking another bit of bread as I rose to follow him. “Soldiers never rest,” I sighed, and bent to steal another kiss.
“Go,” she said, sending me on my way with a quick peck, “the sooner to return.”
Outside, I fell into step beside Iwan. “A handsome woman there,” he said thoughtfully. “You’re that much a lucky man, Will.”
“And I know it. Pray God, I never forget.”
“There’s some as would have plucked that flower for themselves.”
“Aye,” I allowed, “Siarles for one, I think. But do you mean you would have done likewise?”
“The thought occurred to me,” he confessed. “But, no, no . . . ,” he sighed. “I am too old.”
“Too old?” I scoffed. “Job’s bones! Where did you ever pick up a two-headed notion like that? Have you been listening to Siarles?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, it is a wicked falsehood, Iwan, my friend. Stop up your ears to such odious blather; it will fair addle what little is left of the brain God gave you.”
The others were already gathered in Bran’s hut by the time we arrived, and we entered to take our places around the hearth. Angharad had not returned from her sojourn in the cave, but Tuck took her place on Bran’s right hand, with Mérian at his left. I found a place beside the door and waited to see what the others would decide. When we were all settled, Bran nodded to Tuck, and he began a long invocation.
Tilting his round face towards the unseen heavens, he said, “Eternal Encompasser, Fair Redeemer, Holy Friend the All-Wise Three in One, hear our prayer! Our enemies are many, and their strength is mighty. Bless our deliberations on this fairest of mornings that we may search your will for us in the days to come, and searching, find, and finding, make fast. Protect us from the foul deceptions of the evil one, and from the weapons of all who wish us harm. Be our fortress and our shield in the hour of our sorest trial . . .” His lips moved a moment longer, but his voice could no longer be heard.
In the silence of the moment, Bran said, “By the power just bespoken, we seek justice for our people and freedom from the usurper and all who would oppress. We ask the Almighty Lord, who is ever swift to aid his children, to guide us in the task before us and grant us assurance of victory.”
We all added our
amen
s to that. And then Bran smiled.
Oh, he could change quick as water! That smile was dark as the fearsome gleam in his eye. He was steeped in mischief as any imp, and itching to begin spreading discord and disorder among our enemies. He was that keen, I felt my own blood warm to the chase just the same as if we’d been out tramping the forest runs and spotted a fine, big stag to bring home.
“There is much we do not know about this,” he said, pulling up the loop on which the ring hung around his neck, “but I am persuaded that we will not learn more by keeping it here in the forest. It has already caused death and destruction; I will not stand by and let it harm the people of Elfael more than it has already.”
“Hear him! Hear him!” boomed Iwan heartily. No doubt, it had chafed him to remain behind while Siarles and I were away, and disappointed as we were that our journey had been for naught. Now that there was a prospect of something to be done, he was for it, every British scrap of him.
“Well and good,” affirmed Tuck. “And what do you propose to do?”
“We will give back the treasures taken in the raid.”
“Give ’em back!” cried Siarles. “My lord, think what you are saying!”
Bran silenced him with a glance. “I propose to return them before the sheriff hangs anyone.” Siarles huffed and rolled his eyes, but Bran’s smile deepened. “See here, we still have five days until Twelfth Night—five days before we give up the treasure,” he said. “Five days to learn why the Ffreinc place such high value on it.”
“Good,” said Mérian. “That is the most sensible thing I have heard since Christmas. But if anyone thinks the sheriff will just let you walk into the castle and hand it over, you best think again.” She regarded us with a high and haughty glance. “Well, does anyone have any idea how to give back what was stolen without getting hung for a thief ? Does anyone have a plan?”
Bran heard the iron in her tone and said, “You are right to remind us of the danger, my lady. And have you conceived such a plan?”
“As it happens,” she answered, her satisfaction manifest, “I have.”
“And will you yet tell us this plan?”
“Gladly,” she answered, lowering her shapely head a little in deference to him. Turning again to those of us gathered around the king’s hearth, she added, “However, I am certain that once you have heard what I have to say, you will contrive an even better banquet on the bare boards I lay before you . . .”
W
hat did she say?” asks Odo. He raises his head and rubs the side of his nose in anticipation.
“That,” I say with a great, gaping yawn, “must wait until tomorrow.”
“Oh!” he whines. “You did that deliberately to spite me.”
“We have talked long, brother monk, and I am tired,” I reply, drawing a hand down my face. “Leave me to my rest.”
“You are a mean and spiteful man, Will Scarlet,” grumps Odo as he gathers up his inkpot and parchment.
I roll onto my side and face the damp stone wall. “Close the door behind you,” I tell him as if already half asleep. “It does get cold down here of a night.”
He hesitates at the door and says, “God with you this night, Will.” He shuffles off and I listen until his slow footfall has died away. Then I am alone in the dark with my thoughts once more.