had left all the warbows behind. He picked one up, tried it, and slung it over his shoulder. He tucked a red-rusted sword into his belt, grabbed up a sheaf of arrows and several of the least blunt spears, and then raced to the stables. Dumping the weapons on the floor, Bran commanded Cefn to saddle another of the mares. “When you’re finished, bring it to the yard. Brother Ffreol is on his way here by foot; I want to leave the moment he arrives.”
Cefn, wan and distraught, made no move to obey. “Is it true?”
“The massacre?” Bran asked. “Yes, it’s true. Ffreol and I ride now to Lundein to see the Red King, swear allegiance, and secure the return of our lands. As soon as I leave, run and find Maelgwnt—do everything he says.We’re moving everything to the monastery. Never fear, you will be safe there. Understand?”
Cefn nodded.
“Good. Hurry now. There is not much time.”
Bran returned to the kitchen to find the old cook comforting her young helpers. They were huddled beneath her ample arms like chicks beneath the wings of a hen, and she held them, patting their shoulders and stroking their heads.
“Mairead, I need provisions,” Bran said, striding quickly into the room. “Brother Ffreol and I are riding to Lundein at once.”
“Bran! Oh, Bran!” wailed the woman. “Rhi Brychan is dead!”
“He is,” Bran replied, pulling the two whimpering girls from her grasp.
“And all who rode with him?”
“Gone,” he confirmed. “And we will mourn them properly when we have rid ourselves of these scabby Ffreinc thieves. But you must listen to me now. As soon as I am gone, Maelgwnt will take everyone to Llanelli. Stay there until I return. The Ffreinc will not harm you if you remain at the monastery with the monks. Do you hear me?”
The woman nodded, her eyes filled with unshed tears. Bran turned her and pushed her gently away. “Off with you now! Hurry and bring the food to the yard.”
Next, Bran dashed to his father’s chamber and to the small wooden casket where the king kept his ready money. The real treasure was kept in the strongbox that Maelgwnt would see hidden at the monastery—two hundred marks in English silver. The smaller casket contained but a few marks used for buying at the market, paying for favours, bestowing largesse on the tenants, and other occasional uses.
There were four bags of coins in all—more than enough to see them safely to Lundein and back. Bran scooped up the little leather bags, stuffed them into his shirt, then ran back out to the yard, where Brother Ffreol was just coming through the gate, leading Iwan on horseback behind him.
“Iwan, what are you doing here?” Bran asked, running to meet them. “You should stay at the monastery where they can tend you.”
“Save your breath,” advised Ffreol. “I’ve already tried to dissuade him, but he refuses to heed a word I say.”
“I am going with you,” the battlechief declared flatly.
“That is the end of it.”
“You are wounded,” Bran pointed out needlessly.
“Not so badly that I cannot sit in a saddle,” answered the big man. “I want to see the look in the Red King’s eye when we stand before him and demand justice. And,” he added, “if a witness to this outrage is required, then you will have one.”
Bran opened his mouth to object once more, but Ffreol said, “Let him be. If he feels that way about it, nothing we say will discourage him, and stubborn as he is, he’d only follow us anyway.”
Glancing toward the stable, Bran muttered, “What is keeping Cefn?” He shouted for the groom to hurry; when that brought no response, he started for the stable to see what was taking so long.
Brother Ffreol held him back, saying, “Calm yourself, Bran. You’ve been running all day. Rest when you can. We will be on our way soon enough.”
“Not soon enough for me,” he cried, racing off to the stable to help Cefn finish saddling the horses. They were leading two mares into the yard when Mairead appeared with her two kitchen helpers, each carrying a cloth sack bulging with provisions. While the priest blessed the women and prayed over them, Bran and Cefn arranged the tuck bags behind the saddles and strapped them down, secreting the money in the folds. “Come, Ffreol,” Bran said, taking the reins from the groom and mounting the saddle, “if they catch us here, all is lost.”