“It’ll be ten thousand tomorrow, and twenty the day after! It is always more, Tuck, and still more. There is not enough silver in all England to satisfy them. They’ll never let us have Elfael.”
“Not now,” Tuck snapped. “You made fair certain of that, did you not?”
Bran, glaring at the fat priest, turned his face away.
Iwan and Siarles, leading the packhorses, reined up then.
“Sire,” said Iwan, “what about the money? What are we going to do now?”
“Why ask me?” Bran replied, not taking his eyes from the far horizon. “I had one idea and risked everything to make it work—we all did—but it failed. I failed. I have nothing else.”
“But you will think of something,” said Siarles. “You can always come up with something.”
“Aye, and it had better be quick,” Friar Tuck pointed out.
“After what happened back there, the Ffreinc will be fast on our trail. We cannot stand here in the middle of the road.
What are we going to do?”
Can’t you see? thought Bran. We tried and failed. It is over.
Finished. The Ffreinc rule now, and they are too powerful. The best we can do is take the money and divide it out amongst the people. They can use it to start new lives somewhere else. For myself, I will go to Gwynedd and forget all about Elfael.
“Bran?” said Iwan quietly. “You know we will follow you anywhere. Just tell us what you want to do.”
Bran turned to his friends. He saw the need in their eyes.
It was as Angharad had said: they had no one else and nowhere else to go. For better or worse, beleaguered Elfael was their home, and he was all the king they had.
Well, he was a sorry excuse for a king—and no better than his father. King Brychan had cared little enough for his people, pursuing his own way all his life. “You are not your father,” Angharad had told him. “You could be twice the king he was—and ten times the man—if you so desired.”
Yet here he was, set to follow in his father’s footsteps and go his own way. Was this his fate? Or was there another way?
Competing thoughts roiled in his mind until one finally won out: he was not his father; it was not too late; he could still choose a better way.
God in heaven, thought Bran, I cannot leave them. What am I to do?
“What are you thinking, Bran?” asked Aethelfrith.
“I was just thinking that the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” said Bran as the words came to him.
“Indeed?” Tuck wondered, regarding him askance. “And who is this dubious friend of yours?”
“Neufmarché,” said Bran. “You said the baron had called a council of his vassals and liege men—”
“Yes, but—”
“The place where they are meeting, could you find it?”
“It would not be difficult, but—”
“Then lead me to him.”
“See here, Bran,” Tuck remonstrated, “let us talk this over.”
“You said the Ffreinc will be searching for us,” he countered. “They will not think to look for us in the baron’s camp.”
“But, Bran, what have we to do with the baron?”
“There is no justice to be had of England’s king,” Bran answered, his voice cutting. “Therefore, we must make our appeal wherever we find a ready ear.”
Turning in the saddle, the priest appealed to Iwan. “Talk to him, John. I’ve grown fond of this splendid neck of mine, and before I risk it riding into the enemy’s camp, I would know the reason.”
“He has a fair point, Bran,” said the champion. “What have we to do with Neufmarché?”
Bran turned his horse around to address them. “The king weighs heavily on de Braose’s side,” he said, his face aglow in the golden light of the setting sun. “With the two of them joined against us, we need a powerful ally to even the balance.” Regarding Tuck, he said, “You have said yourself that Neufmarché and de Braose are rivals—”
“Rivals, yes,” agreed Tuck, “who would carve up Cymru between them—and then squabble over which one had the most.” He shook his head solemnly. “Neufmarché may hate de Braose every mite and morsel as much as we do, but he is no friend to us.”
“If we make alliance with him,” said Bran, “he will be obliged to help us. He has the power and means to rid us of de Braose.”
“Tuck is right,” said Iwan. “Besides, how can we persuade him to ally with us? We have nothing to offer him that he wants.”
“Even so,” said Siarles, “would Neufmarché make such a bargain?”
“Aye,