now and again so close they could almost snatch leaves from the passing branches.
On the third day, having skirted the north coast of Wales and then proceeded inland by way of the River Dee, the ship and its passengers and cargo reached the wharf at Caer Cestre. After changing their clothes for the finery bought at some expense in Bangor, the four prepared to disembark.
All during the voyage, Bran had laboured over the tale they were to tell, and all knew well what was expected of them. “Not a cleric this time,” Bran had decided on the morning of the second day out. He had been observing the ship’s master and was in thrall of a new and, he considered, better idea.
“God love you, man,” sighed Tuck. “Changing horses in the middle of the stream—is this a good idea, I ask myself ?”
“From what you say, Friar,” replied Bran, “Wolf Hugh is no respecter of the church. Good Father Dominic may not receive the welcome he so rightly deserves.”
“Who would fare better?” wondered Tuck.
“Count Rexindo!” announced Bran, taking the name of a Spanish nobleman mentioned by the ship’s master.
Tuck moaned. “All very well for you, my lord. You can change like water as mood and whim and fits of fancy take you. God knows you enjoy it.”
“I confess I do,” agreed Bran, his twisted smile widening even more.
“I, on the other hand, am a very big fish out of water. For all, I am a poor, humble mendicant whom God has seen fit to bless with a stooped back, a face that frightens young ’uns, and knees that have never had fellowship one with the other. I am not used to such high-flown japes, and it makes me that uneasy—strutting about in someone else’s robes, making airs like a blue-feathered popinjay.”
“No one would think you a popinjay,” countered Bran. “You worry too much, Tuck.”
“And you not enough, Rhi Bran.”
“All will be well. You’ll see.”
Now, as they waited for the horses to be taken off, Bran gathered his crew close. “Look at you—if a fella knew no better,” he said, “he’d think you had just sailed in from Spain. Is everyone ready?” Receiving the nodded affirmation from each in turn, he declared, “Good. Let the chase begin.”
“And may God have mercy on us all,” Tuck added and, bidding their captain and crew farewell, turned and led the landing party down the gangplank. Bran came on a step or two behind, and the two young Welshmen, doing their best to look sombre and unimpressed with their surroundings, came along behind, leading the horses.
Their time aboard the Spanish ship had served Bran well, it had to be admitted. The moment his feet touched the timber planks on the landing dock, Bran was a man transformed. Dressed in his finery—improved by garments he’d purchased from the trading stock Captain Armando carried—he appeared every inch the Spanish nobleman. Tuck marvelled to see him, as did the two young noblemen who were inspired to adopt some of Bran’s lofty ways so that to the unsuspecting folk of Caer Cestre, they did appear to be a company of foreign noblemen. They were marked accordingly and soon drew a veritable crowd of volunteers eager to offer their services as guides for a price.
“French!” called Tuck above the clamour. “Anyone here speak French?”
No one did, it seemed; despite the years of Norman domination, Caer Cestre remained an English-speaking town. The disappointed crowd began to thin as people fell away.
“We’ll probably have better luck in the town,” said Bran. “But offer a penny or two.”
So they proceeded up the steep street leading to the town square, and Tuck amended his cry accordingly. “A penny! A penny to anyone who speaks French,” he called at the top of his voice. “A penny for a French speaker! A penny!”
At the end of the street stood two great stone pillars, ancient things that at one time had belonged to a basilica or some such edifice but now served as the entrance to the market square. Though it was not market day, there were still many people around, most paying visits to the butcher or baker or ironmonger who kept stalls on the square. A tired old dog lay beside the butcher’s hut, and two plough horses stood with drooping heads outside a blacksmith’s forge at the far end of the square, giving the place a deceptively sleepy air.
Tuck strode boldly out into the open square, offering silver for service, and his cry was