"Then trust God with it and that which is given you, do."
"You are right, of course," he said at last.
Angharad regarded the friar with a kindly expression. The little priest with his rotund, bandy-legged form, his shaggy tonsure, his stained and tattered robe-smelling of smoke and sweat and who knows what else-there was that much like a donkey about him. And like the humble beast of burden, he was loyal and long-suffering, able to bear the heavy load of responsibility placed upon him now. "As God is our lord and leader," she said, "it is our portion to obey and follow. We trust him to lead us aright. As with our Heavenly Lord, so with Bran. More we cannot do just now, but we must do that at least."
"Ah, but earthly vessels are all too fragile, are they not? We trust them at our peril."
The old woman smiled gently. "Yet it is all we have."
"Too true," Tuck agreed.
"So we trust and pray-never knowing which is the more needful."
Tuck accepted her counsel and made his way to the edge of the forest settlement, where he found Bran and Merian sitting knee to knee on stumps facing one another as if in contest, while Will, Noin, and Odo stood looking on. "They know we will fight," Merian was saying. "If ever there was the smallest doubt, we showed them in the grove. But you must give them some assurance that we will not seek revenge if they accept your offer."
Bran nodded, conceding the point.
"They have to know that they are not simply cutting their own throats," she insisted.
"I understand," Bran replied. "And I agree. Go on."
"It must be something they can trust," she continued, "even if they don't trust you."
"Granted, Merian," said Bran, exasperation edging into his voice. "What do you suggest?"
"Well"-she bit her lip-"I don't know."
"Maybe we could get the abbot at Saint Dyfrig's to oversee the truce," suggested Noin. "He is a good man, and they know him."
"After what happened in the square on Twelfth Night, I cannot think they would trust any of us any farther than they could spit a mouthful of nails," Scarlet said, shaking his head.
"It must be someone they know, someone they can rely on to be fair."
Merian's face clenched in thought. "I know!" she said, glancing up quickly. "We could ask my father…"
"Your father-what possible reason could Hugo have for trusting him?"
"Because he is a loyal vassal of King William, as is the abbot himself…"
"No," said Bran, jumping up quickly. "This is absurd." He began stalking around the stump. "It won't work."
"Why-because you did not think of it?"
"Your father hates me," Bran said. "And that was before I abducted you! God alone knows what he thinks of me now. If that was not enough, Lord Cadwgan answers to Baron Neufmarche, his liege lord-and if the baron were to get wind of this there is no way we could keep him out of it."
"The Ffreinc would trust the baron," Merian said.
"They might, but could we?" wondered Scarlet.
"Have you forgotten Neufmarche tried to kill me last time I went to him for help?" said Bran. "If it is all the same to you, I'd rather not give him another chance."
Merian frowned. "That was unfortunate."
"Unfortunate!" cried Bran. "Woman, the man is a two-faced Judas. He betrayed me outright. Indeed, he betrayed us both. Your own life was none too secure, if you'll recall."
"What you say is true," she conceded. "I'll not argue. Still, he is a Ffreinc nobleman and if-together with my father, of course-we could convince him that it was in his own best interest to help us, I know he'd agree."
"Oh, he'd agree," Bran retorted, "agree to help empty Elfael of his rivals so he could have it all to himself. We'd just be exchanging one tyrant for an even bigger, more powerful tyrant." Bran gave a sharp chop of his hand, dismissing the suggestion. "No. If the Ffreinc require assurance that we will hold to our word, we will appeal to Abbot Daffyd to swear for us and they will have to accept that." He sat back down. "Now then, what do we want Tuck to tell them?"
They fell to discussing the substance of the message and soon hammered out a simple, straightforward appeal to meet and discuss the proposed offer of peace. By the time Siarles came to say that the horse was ready, the Ffreinc scribe, Odo, had schooled and corrected Tuck's creaky Latin so there would be no mistake. "I have some of the Norman tongue too," Tuck pointed out in French. "Picked up a fair bit in my years in Hereford."
"Not enough, God knows," snipped Odo.
"I understand far more than I can speak," said Tuck.
"Even so," allowed the scribe, "it is not what you understand that will lead you to difficulty, but what you are likely to say."
"Perhaps you should come with me, then," suggested Tuck. "To keep a poor friar from stumbling over the rocky places."
The colour drained from the already pasty face of the young cleric.
"I thought not," replied Tuck. "'Tis better I go alone."
"Ah!" said Odo. "I will write it down for you so the abbot can read it for himself if you go astray." He bustled off to find his writing utensils and a scrap of something to carry the ink.
"All is well?" asked Bran, seeing the scribe depart on the run.
"Right as rain in merry May," replied Tuck. "Odo is going to write it for me so if all else fails I have something to push under the abbot's nose."
"Scarlet is right-this is dangerous. Hugo could seize you and have you hung, or worse. You don't have to go. We can find another way to get a message through."
"The Lord is my shield and defender," replied Tuck. "Of whom shall I be afraid?"
"Well then," Bran concluded, "God with you, Tuck. Siarles and I will see you to the edge of the forest at least."
A short while later, the would-be peacemakers paused at the place where the King's Road crossed the ford and started down into the valley. Bran and Siarles were each armed with a bow and bag of arrows, and Tuck carried a new-made quarterstaff. In the distance they could see Caer Cadarn on its hump of rock, guarding the Vale of Elfael. "I do not expect the abbot will have let the fortress stand abandoned for long," Bran surmised. "He would have moved men into it as soon as Count Falkes had gone."
"If any should see me, they will only see a poor fat friar on a skinny horse making for town-nothing to alarm anyone."
"And if they should take exception and stop you?" asked Siarles.
"I will tell them I bring a word of greeting and hope to Abbot Hugo," replied Tuck. "And that is God's own truth."
"Then off with you," said Bran, "and hurry back. We'll wait for you here."
It took Tuck longer to reach the town than he had reckoned, and the sun was already beginning its descent as he entered the market square-all but empty, with only a few folk about and no soldiers that he could see. Always before there had been soldiers. Indeed, the town had a tired, deserted air about it. He tied his mount to an iron ring set in a wall, drew a deep breath, hitched up his robe, and strode boldly across the square to stand before the whitewashed walls of the abbey. He pounded on the timber door with the flat of his hand and waited. A few moments later, the door opened, and the white-haired old porter peered out.
"Nous avons un message pour l'abbe," Tuck intoned politely. "Prier, l'amene tout de suite."
Brother porter ducked his head respectfully and hurried away.
"Thank you, Lord," said Tuck, breathing a sigh of relief to have passed the first test.
Tuck waited, growing more and more uneasy with each passing moment. Finally, the door in the abbey gate opened once more and the porter beckoned him to come inside, where he was led across the yard to the abbot's lodge. A few of the monks stopped to stare as he passed-perhaps, thought Tuck, recognizing him from their previous encounter in King William's yard not too many days ago.