had maintained a keen disinterest in all things having to do with kingship. He had never imagined himself occupying his father’s throne at Caer Cadarn or leading a host of men into battle. Those things, like the other chores of nobility, were the sole occupation of his father. Bran always had other pursuits. So far as Bran could tell, to reign was merely to invite a perpetual round of frustration and aggravation that lasted from the moment one took the crown until it was laid aside. Only a power-crazed thug like his father would solicit such travail. Any way he looked at it, sovreignty exacted a heavy price, which Bran had seen firsthand and which, now that it came to it, he found himself unwilling to pay.
“You will be king,” Iwan asserted again. “On my life, you will.”
Bran, reluctant to disappoint the injured champion with a facile denial, held his tongue. The three were silent again for a time, watching the flames and listening to the sounds of the wood around them as its various denizens prepared for night. Finally, Bran asked, “What if they will not see us in Lundein?”
“Oh,William the Red will see us, make no mistake.” Iwan raised his head and regarded Bran over the fluttering fire.
“You are a subject lord come to swear fealty. He will see you and be glad of it. He will welcome you as one king welcomes another.”
“I am not the king,” Bran pointed out.
“You are heir to the throne,” replied the champion. “It is the same thing.”
Ffreol said, “When we return to Elfael, we will observe the proper rites and ceremonies. But this will be the first duty of your reign—to place Elfael under the protection of the English throne and—”
“And all of us become boot-licking slaves of the stinking Ffreinc,” Bran said, his tone bitter and biting. “What is the stupid bloody point?”
“Nay, Bran,” said Ffreol. “We will pay tribute, yes, and count it a price worth paying to live our lives as we choose.”
“Pay tribute to the very brutes that would plunder us if we didn’t,” growled Bran. “That stinks to high heaven.”
“Does it stink worse than death?” asked Iwan. Bran, shamed by the taunt, merely glared.
“It is unjust,” granted Ffreol, trying to soothe, “but that is ever the way of things.”
“Did you think it would be different?” asked Iwan angrily.
“Saints and angels, Bran, it was never going to be easy.”
“It could at least be fair,” muttered Bran.
“Fair or not, you must do all you can to protect our lands and the lives of our people,” Ffreol told him. “To protect those least able to protect themselves. That much, at least, has not changed. That was ever the sole purpose and duty of kingship. Since the beginning of time it has not changed.”
Bran accepted this observation without further comment. He stared gloomily into the fire, wishing he had followed his first impulse to leave Elfael and all its troubles as far behind as possible.
After a time, Iwan asked about Lundein. Ffreol had been to the city several times on church business in years past, and he described for Bran and Iwan what they might expect to find when they arrived. As he talked, night deepened around them, and they continued to feed the fire until they grew too tired to keep their eyes open. They then wrapped themselves in their cloaks and fell asleep in the quiet grove.
Rising again at dawn, the travellers shook the leaves and dew from their cloaks, watered the horses, and continued on. The day passed much like the one before, except that the settlements became more numerous and the English presence in the land became more marked, until Bran was convinced that they had left Britain far behind and entered an alien country, where the houses were small and dark and crabbed, where grim-faced people dressed in curious garb made up of coarse dun-coloured cloth stood and stared at passing travellers with suspicion in their dull peasant eyes. Despite the sunlight streaming down from a clear blue sky, the land seemed dismal and unhappy. Even the animals, in their woven willow enclosures, appeared bedraggled and morose.
Nor was the aspect to improve. The farther south they went, the more abject the countryside appeared. Settlements of all kinds became more numerous—how the English loved their villages—but these were not wholesome places. Clustered together in what Bran considered suffocating proximity anywhere