beside the injured warrior, he helped raise him to his feet.
“Oh my soul, I didn’t mean to hurt the big ’un,” he sighed. To Ffreol, he said, “Aye, I am priest here now.Who are you?”
“I am Brother Ffreol of Llanelli in Elfael.”
“Never heard of it,” declared the brown-robed priest.
“It is in Cymru,” Bran offered in a snide tone, “which you sons of Saecsens call Wales.”
“Careful, boy,” snipped the priest. “Come over highhanded with me, and I’ll give you a thump to remind you of your manners. Don’t think I won’t.”
“Go on, then,” Bran taunted, thrusting forward. “I’ll have that stick of yours so far up your—”
“Peace!” cried Ffreol, rushing forward to place himself between Bran and the brown priest. “We mean no harm. Pray, forgive my quick-tempered friends. We have suffered a grave calamity in the last days, and I fear it has clouded our better judgement.” This last was said with a glare of disapproval at Bran and Iwan. “Please forgive us.”
“Very well, since you ask,” the priest granted with a sudden smile. “I forgive you.” Laying his staff aside, he said, “So now! We know whence you came, but we still lack names for you all. Do they have proper names in Elfael? Or are they in such short supply that you must hoard them and keep them to yourselves?”
“Allow me to present Bran ap Brychan, prince and heir of Elfael,” said Ffreol, drawing himself upright. “And this is Iwan ap Iestyn, champion and battlechief.”
“Hail and welcome, friends,” replied the little friar, raising his hands in declamation. “The blessings of a warm hearth beneath a dry roof are yours tonight. May it be so always.”
Now it was Bran’s turn to be amazed. “How is it that you speak Cymry?”
The brown priest gave him a wink. “And here was I, thinking you hotheaded sons of the valleys were as stupid as stumps.” He chuckled and shook his head. “It took you long enough. Indeed, sire, I speak the tongue of the blessed.”
“But you’re English,” Bran pointed out.
“Aye, English as the sky is blue,” said the friar, “but I was carried off as a boy to Powys, was I not? I was put to work in a copper mine up there and slaved away until I was old enough and bold enough to escape. Almost froze to death, I did, for it was a full harsh winter, but the brothers at Llandewi took me in, did they not? And that is where I found my vocation and took my vows.” He smiled a winsome, toothy grin and bowed, his round belly almost touching his knees. “I am Brother Aethelfrith,” he declared proudly. “Thirty years in God’s service.” To Iwan, he said, “I’m sorry if I smacked you too hard.”
“No harm done, Brother Eathel . . . Aelith . . . ,” Iwan stuttered, trying to get his British tongue around the Saxon name.
“Aethelfrith,” the priest repeated. “It means ‘nobility and peace,’ or some such nonsense.” He grinned at his guests. “Here now, what have you brought me?”
“Brought you?” asked Bran. “We haven’t brought you anything.”
“Everyone who seeks shelter here brings me something,” explained the priest.
“We didn’t know we were coming,” said Bran.
“Yet here you are.” The fat priest stuck out his hand.
“Perhaps a coin might suffice?” said Ffreol. “We would be grateful for a meal and a bed.”
“Aye, a coin is acceptable,” allowed Aethelfrith doubtfully. “Two is better, of course. Three, now! For three pennies I sing a psalm and say a prayer for all of you—and we will have wine with our dinner.”
“Three it is!” agreed Ffreol.
The brown priest turned to Bran expectantly and held out his hand.
Bran, irked by the friar’s brash insistence, frowned. “You want the money now?”
“Oh, aye.”
With a pained sigh, Bran turned his back on the priest and drew the purse from his belt. Opening the drawstring, he shook out a handful of coins, looking for any clipped coins amongst the whole. He found two half pennies and was looking for a third when Aethelfrith appeared beside him and said, “Splendid! I’ll take those.”
Before Bran could stop him, the priest had snatched up three bright new pennies. “Here, boyo!” he said, handing Bran the two fat hares on the strap. “You get these coneys skinned and cleaned and ready to roast when I get back.”
“Wait!” said Bran, trying to snatch back the coins. “Give those back!”
“Hurry now,” said Aethelfrith, darting away with surprising speed on his ludicrous bowed legs. “It will be dark soon, and