“Tell me all that has happened while I’ve been away.”
They talked then, and the twilight deepened around them. They were still talking when Tuck came upon them. Unwilling to intrude on their intimate moment, he settled himself on the root of a tree to wait, thinking what a strange and wonderful day it had been. And here were Bran and Mérian, such a good match. There would be a wedding soon if he had anything to say about it . . . and, he thought, if they were all still alive this time tomorrow.
Leaning back against the rough bole of the old elm, he closed his eyes. From the depths of misery over the recent loss of Angharad, Tomas, and Nia, who could have foreseen that their fortunes would rise to such heights so quickly? Even so, the victory was not yet won—far from it. There were battles to be fought, and the lives of many swung in the balance. Death and destruction would be great indeed. Oh, Merciful Lord, he sighed inwardly, if that could somehow be prevented . . . “Let this cup pass from us,” he prayed softly.
“Ah, Tuck,” said Bran, interrupting the friar’s meditation, “you’re here—good.” Still holding Mérian, he turned to the little friar. “I have a job for you.”
CHAPTER 40
Dawn was still but a whisper in the pale eastern sky when Tuck finally reached Saint Martin’s. He paused below the brow of a hill a short distance from the little town and dismounted. He trudged wearily up to the top of the hill and there stood for a time to observe. The moon, bright still, illuminated the hills and filled the valleys with soft shadows. Nothing moved anywhere.
He yawned and rubbed his face with his hands. “This friar is getting too old for these midnight rambles.” His empty stomach growled. “Too right,” he muttered.
At Bran’s behest, Tuck had ridden all night, making a wide, careful circuit of the valley to avoid being seen by any Ffreinc sentries or watchmen posted on the outer perimeter of King William’s sprawling encampment, which lay between the forest and Elfael’s fortress, Caer Cadarn. Now, coming upon the town from the north, he paused to make certain he could continue to the completion of his mission. Having come this far, it would not do to be caught now.
There did not seem to be any Ffreinc troops around; he could not see anyone moving about the low walls. The town was quiet, asleep. “Well, Tuck, my man, time to beard the lion in his den.”
Struggling back into the saddle, he resumed his errand, descending the hill and starting up the gentle slope to the town, keeping his eyes open for any sign of discovery at his approach. But there was no one about, and he entered the town alone and, for all he could tell, unobserved. He dismounted and tethered the horse to an iron ring set in the wall of the guardhouse, then quickly and quietly started across the deserted market square towards the abbey.
The abbey gates were closed, but he rapped gently on the door and eventually managed to rouse the porter. “I have a matter of utmost urgency for the bishop,” he announced to the priest who unlatched the door. “Take me to him at once.”
The young monk, yawning, shook his head. It was then Tuck recognized him. “Odo! Wake up, boyo. It’s me, Tuck. I have to see Bishop Asaph without delay.”
“God with you, Friar,” said Odo, rubbing his eyes. “The bishop will be asleep.”
“There is no time,” said Tuck, pressing himself through the gap. “It is life and death, Odo. We’ll have to wake him.”
Tuck took the young monk’s elbow, spun him around, and started walking towards the palatial lodge Abbot Hugo had built for himself. “Never fear, Brother, I would not disturb the good bishop’s rest if it was not of highest importance.”
“This way, then,” said Odo, and led Tuck not to the main entrance, but around the side to a small room where the secnab had lodged. “He prefers a less ostentatious cell,” explained the young scribe, knocking on the door.
There came a sleepy voice asking them to wait, and in a moment the door opened. There stood the wizened, elderly priest, barefoot, his haze of white hair a wispy nimbus on his head. One look at Tuck and he said, “How may I serve you, Brother?”
“Bishop Asaph,” said Tuck, “it is Brother Aethelfrith—do you remember me?”