and emptied it over the table, drenching the cardinal, his clerks, and their stacks of parchment. As the irate courtiers spluttered, Bran calmly withdrew an oil-soaked parchment from the pile; he held it to a torch in a wall sconce and set it ablaze. He blew on it to strengthen the flame, then tossed it back onto the table. The oil flared, igniting the table, parchments, and men in a single conflagration. The clerks pawed at the flames with their hands and succeeded only in spreading them. The cardinal, gripped with terror, cried out like a child as tongues of fire leapt to his hair and turned the rich fox fur trim into a collar of living flame. Bran glimpsed himself standing gaunt and grim as the howling clerics fled the room, each oil-soaked footprint alighting behind them as they ran. He saw Ranulf of Bayeux’s face bubble and crack like the skin of a pig on a spit, and as the cardinal fought for his last breath—
“Abeyance, my lord,” said Ffreol. “Forgive me, but does that mean Baron de Braose keeps the land?”
At the sound of Ffreol’s voice, Bran came to himself once more. He felt drained and somewhat light-headed. Without awaiting the cardinal’s reply, he turned on his heel and strode from the chamber.
“Until the money is paid, yes,” Cardinal Ranulf replied to Ffreol. He reached for a small bronze bell to summon the porter. “Do not bother to return here until you have the silver in hand.” He rang the bell to end the audience, saying, “God grant you a good day and pleasant journey home.”
CHAPTER 9
And a pleasant journey home,” minced Aethelfrith in rude parody of Cardinal Ranulf. “Bring me my staff, and I will give that bloated toad a pleasant journey hence!”
Bran, scowling darkly, said nothing and walked on through the gates, leaving the White Tower without a backward glance. The unfairness, the monstrous injustice of the cardinal’s demand sent waves of anger surging through him. Into his mind flashed the memory of a time years ago when a similar injustice had driven him down and defeated him: Bran had been out with some of the men; as they rode along the top of a ridgeway, they spied in the valley below a band of Irish raiders herding stolen cattle across the cantref. Outnumbered and lightly armed, Bran had let the raiders pass unchallenged and then hurried back to the caer to tell his father. They met the king in the yard, along with the rest of the warriors of the warband. “You let them go—and yet dare to show your face to me?” growled the king when Bran told him what had happened.
“We would have been slaughtered outright,” Bran explained, backing away. “There were too many of them.”
“You worthless little coward!” the king shouted. The warriors gathered in the yard looked on as the king drew back his hand and let fly, catching Bran on the side of the head. The blow sent the boy spinning to the ground. “Better to die in battle than live as a coward!” the king roared. “Get up!”
“Lose ten good men for the sake of a few cows?” countered Bran, climbing to his feet. “Only a fool would think that was better.”
“You snivelling brat!” roared Brychan, lashing out again. Bran stood to the blow this time, which only enraged his father the more. The king struck him again and yet again— until Bran, unable to bear the abuse any longer, turned and fled the yard, sobbing with pain and frustration.
The bruises from that encounter lasted a long time, the humiliation longer still. Any ambition Bran might have held for the crown died that day; the throne of Elfael could crumble to dust for all he cared.
They did not stay in Lundein again that night but fled the city sprawl as if pursued by demons. The moon rose nearly full and the sky remained clear, so they rode on through the night, stopping only a little before dawn to rest the horses and sleep. Bran had little to say the next day or the day after. They reached the oratory, and Brother Aethelfrith prevailed upon them to spend the night under his roof, and for the sake of wounded Iwan, Bran agreed.While the friar scurried about to prepare a meal for his guests, Bran and Ffreol took care of the horses and settled them for the night.
“It isn’t fair,” muttered Bran, securing the tether line to the slender trunk