Ffreol stood with him until he finished.When Bran could stand again, the priest turned to the death mound and sank to his knees in the soft earth. Bran knelt beside him, and Iwan painfully dismounted and knelt beside his horse as Brother Ffreol spread his arms, palms upward in abject supplication.
Closing his eyes and turning his face to heaven, the priest said, “Merciful Father, our hearts are pierced with the sharp arrow of grief. Our words fail; our souls quail; our spirits recoil before the injustice of this hateful iniquity. We are undone.
“God and Creator, gather the souls of our kinsmen to your Great Hall, forgive their sins and remember only their virtues, and bind them to yourself with the strong bands of fellowship.
“For ourselves, Mighty Father, I pray you keep us from the sin of hatred, keep us from the sin of vengeance, keep us from the sin of despair, but protect us from the wicked schemes of our enemies. Walk with us now on this uncertain road. Send angels to go before us, angels to go behind, angels on either side, angels above and below—guarding, shielding, encompassing.” He paused for a moment and then added, “May the Holy One give us the courage of righteousness and grant us strength for this day and through all things whatsoever shall befall us. Amen.”
Bran, kneeling beside him, stared at the ground and tried to add his “Amen,” but the word clotted and died in his throat. After a moment, he raised his head and gazed for the last time on the heap of corpses before turning his face away.
Then, while Bran bathed in the river to wash the stink of death and gore from his hands and clothes, Ffreol and Iwan covered the bodies once more with fresh-cut branches of hazel and holly, the better to keep the birds away. Bran finished, and the three grief-sick men remounted and rode on as the cacophony of carrion feeders renewed behind them. Just after midday they crossed the border into England and a short while later approached the English town of Hereford. The town was full of Ffreinc now, so they moved on quickly without stopping. From Hereford, the road was wide and well used, if deeply rutted. They encountered few people and spoke to none, pretending to be deep in conversation with one another whenever they saw anyone approaching, all the while remaining watchful and wary.
Beyond Hereford, the land sloped gently down toward the lowlands and the wide Lundein estuary still some way beyond the distant horizon of rumpled, cultivated hills. As daylight began to fail, they took refuge in a beech grove beside the road near the next ford; while Bran watered the horses, Ffreol prepared a meal from the provisions in their tuck bags. They ate in silence, and Bran listened to the rooks flocking to the woods for the night. The sound of their coarse calls renewed the horror of the day. He saw the broken bodies of his friends once more. With an effort, he concentrated on the fire, holding the hateful images at bay.
“It will take time,” Ffreol said, the sound of his voice a distant buzz in Bran’s ears, “but the memory will fade, believe me.” At the sound of his voice, Bran struggled back from the brink. “The memory of this black day will fade,” Ffreol was saying as he broke twigs and fed them to the fire. “It will vanish like a bad taste in your mouth. One day it will be gone, and you will be left with only the sweetness.”
“There was little sweetness,” sniffed Bran. “My father, the king, was not an easy man.”
“I was talking about the others—your friends in the war-band.” Bran acknowledged the remark with a grunt.
“But you are right,” Ffreol continued; he snapped another twig. “Brychan was not an easy man. God be praised, you have the chance to do something about that. You can be a better king than your father.”
“No.” Bran picked up the dried husk of a beechnut and tossed it into the fire as if consigning his own fragile future to the flames. He cared little enough for the throne and all its attendant difficulties. What difference did it make who was king anyway? “That’s over now. Finished.”
“You will be king,” declared Iwan, stirring himself from his bleak reverie. “The kingdom will be restored. Never doubt it.”