hand and raising it to his lips. “May the Good Lord repay your kindness a thousand times.”
It happened so fast the little friar had no time to snatch his hand away again before the teary-eyed fellow had kissed it. “Here now! Stop that!”
“Bless you, good gents all,” he said, lapsing into the accents of the street once more. “Alan a’Dale en’t one to fergit a good turn.”
He sat down on the ground at the base of the pillar and began to eat, stuffing his mouth hungrily and smacking his lips with each bite. Bran sent Ifor and Brocmael to water the horses while they waited, and then asked Tuck to find out what he could from their hungry guide. “Tell him who we are, Tuck, and let’s see how he takes it.”
“My lord wants you to know that you are in the service of an esteemed and wealthy foreign nobleman in need of your aid. Perform your service well and you will be amply rewarded. He gives you good greeting.”
At this, Alan carefully laid his pie aside, rose to his knees, swiped off his hat, and bowed his head. “You honour your servant, m’lord. May God be good to you.”
“Give him our thanks,” Bran said, “and ask him how long he’s been in the town, and what news of the earl and his court.”
Turning to Alan, Tuck relayed Bran’s question. “My lord thanks you and wishes to know how long you have sojourned in this place.”
Alan raised his eyes heavenward, his lips moving as he made his calculations. “In all, three year—give or take. No more than four.”
“And how do you find the lord here—Earl Hugh?” Tuck asked, then added, “Please, finish your meal. We will talk while you eat.”
“Aye, that’s him,” replied their guide, settling himself against the pillar once more. He picked up the pie and bit into it. “Fat Hugh, they call him—aye, and well-named, he. There’s one hog wants the whole wallow all to himself, if ye ken.”
“A greedy man?”
“Greedy?” he mused, taking another bite and chewing thoughtfully. “If a pig be greedy, then he’s the Emperor o’ Swine.”
“Is he now?” Tuck replied, and translated his words for the Cymry speakers, who chuckled at the thought.
“That tallies with what we’ve heard already,” replied Bran. “Ask him if he knows the castle—has he ever been inside it?”
“Aye,” nodded Alan when Tuck finished. “I ken the bloody heap right well. Lord have mercy, I been up there a few times.” He crinkled up his eyes and asked, “Why would a bunch o’ God fearin’ folk like yerselves want to go up there anyway?”
“We have a little business with the earl,” explained Tuck.
“Bad business, then,” observed Alan. “Still, I don’t suppose you can be blamed for not knowing what goes on hereabouts . . .” He tutted to himself. “Mark me, you’d be better off forgetting you ever heard of Wolf d’Avranches.”
“If it’s as bad as all that,” Tuck ventured, “then why did you agree to take us there so quickly?”
“I didn’t ken ye was God-fearin’ gents right off, did I?” he said. “I maybe thought you were like his nibs up there, an’ ye’d give as good as get, ye ken?”
“And now?”
“Now I ken different-like. Ye en’t like them rascals up t’castle. Devil take ’em, but even Ol’ Scratch won’t have ’em, I daresay.” Alan gazed at the strangers with pleading eyes. “Ye sure ye want to go up there?”
“We thank you for the warning. If we had any other choice, no doubt we’d take your advice,” Tuck told him. “But circumstances force us to go, and go we must.”
“Well, don’t ye worry,” said Alan, brushing crumbs from his clothes as he climbed to his feet. “I’ll still see ye right, no matter. An’ what’s more, I’ll say a prayer for yer safe return.”
“Thank you, Alan,” Tuck said. “That’s most thoughtful.”
“Hold tight to yer thanks,” he replied. “For ye might soon be a’thinkin’ otherwise.”
With that subtle warning still hanging in the air, the visitors and their rascal of a guide set off.
PART THREE
“But where is Will Scadlocke?” quod Rhiban to John,
When he had rallied them all to the forest,
“One of these ten score is missing who should
Be stood at the fore with the best.”
“Of Scadlocke,” spoke young Much, “sad tidings I give,