of his travels in the service of the Holy Father and his dealings with kings and cardinals. It fell to Tuck, of course, to translate his stories for the benefit of his listeners since Bran spoke in the curious, chiefly meaningless jibber-jabber of broken Latin that passed for the language of the Italian nobility among folk who had never heard it. Tuck was able to keep one step ahead of his listeners by his many sudden consultations—to clarify some word or thought—where Bran, as Father Dominic, would then whisper the bare bones of what his struggling translator was to say next. Such was Father Dominic’s winsome manner that Tuck found himself almost believing in the charming lies, even knowing them to be spun of purest nonsense and embellished by his own ready tongue.
Father Dominic revealed that he was on a mission from Rome, and explained that he had come to the region to make acquaintance with churchmen among the tribes of Britain who remained outside Norman influence. This was announced in a casual way, but the subtlety was not lost on his listeners. Father Dominic, speaking through Tuck, told them that because of the delicate nature of his inquiry, he was pleased to travel without his usual large entourage to enable him to go where he would, unnoticed and unannounced. The Mother Church was reaching out to all her children in Britain, he said, the silent and suffering as well their noisier, more overbearing, and belligerent brothers.
All the while, their distracted host would glance towards the empty doorway. Finally, when Bran’s absence could no longer be comfortably ignored, Llewelyn spoke up. “Forgive me for asking, Friar Aethelfrith, but I begin to worry about our cousin. Is he well? Perhaps he has fallen ill and requires attention.”
Bran ap Brychan’s kinsmen had done him the honour of travelling a considerable distance to greet their cousin from the south, and although beguiled by the unexpected arrival of a genuine emissary of the pope in Rome, they could not help but wonder about their cousin’s puzzling absence. Father Dominic heard Llewelyn’s question, too, and without giving any indication that he knew what had been said, he smiled, raised his hands in blessing to those who sat at the table with him, then begged to be excused, as he was feeling somewhat tired from his journey.
“Certainly, we understand,” said Llewelyn, jumping to his feet. “I will have quarters prepared for you at once. If you will kindly wait but a moment—”
Father Dominic waved off his host, saying, through Tuck, “Pray do not trouble yourself. I shall find my own way.”
With that he turned and, despite Llewelyn’s continued protests, walked to the door of the hall, where he paused with his hand on the latch. He stood there for a moment. Then, with the others looking on, stepped back from the door, shook himself around and—wonder of wonders—seemed to grow both larger and stronger before the startled eyes of his audience. When he turned around it was no longer Father Dominic who stood before them, but Bran himself once more—albeit berobed as a priest, and with a shorn and shaven pate.
Llewelyn was speechless, and all around the board stared in astonishment at the deception so skilfully executed under their very noses. They looked at one another in baffled bemusement. When Llewelyn finally recovered his tongue, he contrived to sound angry—though his tone fell short by a long throw. “How now, Cousin? What is this devilment?”
“Forgive me if I have caused offence,” said Bran, finding his own true voice at last, “but I knew no better way to convince you all.”
“Convince?” wondered Llewelyn. “And what, pray, are we to be convinced of, Cousin?”
Bran shrugged off the black robe, resumed his place at the board, and poured himself a cup of ale, saying, “That I will tell, and gladly.” Smiling broadly, he raised his cup to the men around the board. “First, I would know these kinsmen of mine a little better.”
“As soon said as done,” replied Llewelyn, some of his former goodwill returning. Indicating the elder man sitting beside him, he said, “This is Hywel Hen, Bishop of Bangor, and the granduncle of young Brocmael beside him; Hywel was brother to your mother’s father. Next is Cynwrig, from Aberffraw, and his son Ifor. Then we have Trahaern, Meurig, and Llygad from Ynys Môn. Meurig is married to your mother’s younger cousin, Myfanwy.”
“God with you all,” said Bran. “I know your names, and I see my dear mother