small box, which she opened, drawing out the richly embroidered gloves and passing them to the friar.
“Well, well, lookee here,” chirped the priest, “what a fine pair of mittens.” Seizing them, he pulled them tightly over his chubby hands and held them up for all to see. “Goatskin, if I’m not mistaken,” he said, “and made in France, I shouldn’t wonder.” He withdrew his hands and stroked the leather flat again. “Someone will be missing these sorely.”
“Aye, but who?” asked Bran. “Abbot Hugo?”
“For him?” wondered Tuck. “Possibly. It would not surprise me that he holds himself so highly. But see here—” he indicated the cross on the right hand and, on the left glove, a curious symbol shaped something like a cross, but with two extra arms and a closed loop at its head. “That is the Chi Rho,” he told us, “and most often seen on the vestments of high priests of one kind or another.” He passed the gloves back to Mérian. “If you asked me, I’d say these were made for a prince among priests—an archbishop or cardinal, at least.”
“Then what are they doing here?” asked Iwan.
“Perhaps our humble abbot has more exalted ambitions,” replied Bran.
“Was there ever any doubt?” quipped Tuck. His smooth brow wrinkled with thought. “Ring and gauntlets,” he mused. “It must mean something. But for the love of Peter, I cannot think what it might be.”
“We were hoping you would have an idea,” sighed Mérian.
“Nay, lass,” replied the friar. “You will have to find a better and wiser man than the one that sits before you to get an answer.”
“There is one other thing,” said Bran. Reaching into the box, he brought out the square of parchment and passed that to the priest.
In the hurly-burly of the feast and later attack, I had mostly forgotten all about that thick folded square of lambskin. I looked at it now—I think we all did—as the very thing needed to explain the mystery to us.
“Why didn’t you say you had this?” said Tuck. He turned it over in his hands. “You haven’t opened it.”
“No,” answered Bran. “You may have the honour.”
We all edged close as the friar’s stubby fingers fumbled with the blue cord. When he had untied it, he laid it in his lap and looked around at the circle of faces hovering above him. “If we break this,” he said, fingering the wax seal, “there is no going back.”
“Break it,” commanded Bran. “It has already cost the lives of a score of men or more. We will see what it is that the abbot and sheriff value at such a high price.”
Drawing a breath, Tuck cracked the heavy wax seal and carefully unfolded the parchment, spreading it before him on the rush-strewn floor of the hut.
“What is it?” asked Iwan.
“What does it say?” said Siarles.
“Shh!” hissed Mérian. “Give the man a chance.” To Tuck she said, “Take your time.” Then, when he appeared to do just that, she added, “Well, what does it say?”
Lifting his face, he shook his head.
“Bad news?” wondered Bran.
“I don’t know,” replied the priest slowly.
Bran leaned close. “What then?”
“God knows,” Tuck lifted the parchment to pass around. “It is written fair enough, but not in Latin. I cannot read the bloody thing.”
“Are you certain?”
“I think so. I read little enough Latin, to be sure. But I cannot make out a word of that.” He shook his round head. “I don’t know what it is.”
We passed the parchment hand to hand, and as it came to me, I saw the entire surface covered with a fine, flowing script in dark brown ink. As I had never acquired the knack of reading—not English, nor Latin either—I had nothing to say about it. But it seemed to me that the words were well formed, the letters long and graceful—it put me in mind of ivy and how it loops and curls around all it touches. The skin was fine-grained and well prepared; there were hardly any grease smudges or ink spatters at all.
“I think it is Ffreinc,” Mérian decided, holding it up to the light and bending her head close. “I can speak it well enough, but I have only seen it written once or twice, mind.” She concluded, “It looks very like Ffreinc to me.”
“Yes, well, that would make sense,” mused Tuck, taking back the parchment. The two of them proceeded to examine it closely, tracing various letters with their fingers and muttering over it. “See, here that is a D,” said