“That you are, Aethelfrith!” said the creature, releasing him at once.
“Pax vobiscum!” cried the priest, scrambling to his feet. “I mean no harm. I only thought to—”
“Tuck!” exclaimed the man in the leafy cloak.
Reaching up a black-gloved hand, the creature took hold of the sharp raven beak and lifted it to reveal a man’s face beneath.
“Blesséd Jesus,” gasped the astonished friar. “Is it Bran?”
“Greetings, Tuck,” laughed Bran. “What brings you to our wood?”
“You are dead!”
“Not as dead as some might wish,” he said, removing the high-crested hood from his head. “Tell us quickly now—how did you come to be here?”
“A hood!” cried the friar, relief bubbling over into exultation. “It is just a hood!”
“A hood, nothing more,” admitted Bran. “Why are you here?”
“I came to find you, did I not?” The friar stared at the strangely costumed man in amazement. “And here you are.
Sweet Peter’s beard, but you do not half frighten a body!”
“Friar Tuck!” called Iwan, stepping close. He gave the priest a thump on the back. “You held your life in your hands just then. What of the others—the men at the ford—did they see you?”
“Nay, John. They all ran away clutching their bowels.” He smiled at the memory. “You put the fear of the devil in them, no mistake.”
Bran smiled. “Good.” To Iwan he said, “Bring the horses.
We will meet Siarles as planned.”
“Tuck, too?” wondered Iwan.
“Of course.” Bran turned and started away.
“Wait,” called the cleric. “I came to Elfael to find you. I have something important to say.”
“Later,” Bran told him. “We must be miles from here before midday. Our day’s work has only begun. Come along,” he said, beckoning the priest to follow. “Watch and learn.”
The game run was narrow, and the horses were fast, pounding along the ridgetop track as the outreaching hazel branches whipped past. Bran, following Iwan’s lead, slashed his mount across the withers with his reins, careering through the forest. The trail continued to climb as the ridge rose, bending around to the north; upon reaching the summit, they abandoned the run and struck off along another trail, moving west toward the edge of the forest. The riders might have travelled more quickly but for the extra weight behind Bran, clinging on for dear life.
The trail dropped sharply into a rocky defile. The pathway became rough under hoof, and the riders slowed. Stones the size of houses rose abruptly on each hand, forming a winding and shadowed corridor through which they had to pick their way carefully. When the path grew too narrow, they abandoned their mounts, tying them to a small pine tree growing in a crevice, and then proceeded on foot.
Silently, they stalked along a stone gallery so close they could have touched both sides with arms outstretched. This trail ended, and they stepped out into a small clearing, where they were met by another man—also dressed in a long, hooded cloak of green tatters. “Where have you been?” he whispered sharply. He saw the bandy-legged priest toiling along in Bran’s wake and asked, “Where did you find that?”
Ignoring the question, Bran asked, “Are they here?”
“Aye,” answered the man, “but they will soon be moving on—if they are not already gone.” He darted away. “Hurry!”
Bran turned to his visitor and said, “You must swear a sacred oath to hold your tongue and keep silent.”
“Why? What is going to happen?” asked Aethelfrith.
“Swear it!” insisted Bran. “Whatever happens, you must swear.”
“On my naked soul, I swear silence,” the friar replied. “May all the saints bear witness.”
“Now stay out of sight.” To Iwan, looking on, he said, “Take up your position. You know what to do.”
All three moved off at a fast trot. Brother Aethelfrith stood for a moment, catching his breath, and then hurried after them.
Soon the surrounding wood began to thin somewhat, and they came to a dell with huge boulders strewn amongst the standing trees like miniature mountains. At the far end of the dell, the forest ended, and the Vale of Elfael opened before them.
Beneath a great spreading beech tree at the forest’s edge, three swineherds were taking their midday meal—two men and a boy, eating from a tuck bag they passed between them. All around them their scattered herd—thirty or more large grey-and-black-spotted swine—grubbed and rooted for last year’s acorns and beech mast beneath the trees.
Without a word, Bran and his two companions left the trail, quickly melting into the shadowed greenwood. Aethelfrith knelt down on the path to catch his breath