explained Owain. “He sent us on ahead.” Catching Siarles’s disapproving glance, the young warrior added, “There was nothing we could do. There were just too many, and we didn’t have men or arrows enough to take ’em on.”
“We thought better to let be this once,” offered Rhoddi.
“Rhi Bran would have fought ’em,” said Siarles.
“Given men enough and clear warning to get set in place, aye,” agreed Rhoddi, “King Raven would have taken ’em on and no doubt won the day. But we en’t Bran, and we didn’t have men enough or time.”
Iwan had returned a little while later to confirm what the others had said. “So now, Bloody Hugo has fifty more knights to throw at us. I hope Bran and Tuck fare well on their errand—we’ll need all the help we can get. I just wish there was some way to get word to them.”
Now, as the sun beat down brightly upon their wildwood settlement, Mérian looked around at the quiet industry around her, Iwan’s words circling in her mind like restless birds. I might not be able to get word to Bran, she thought, but I can do better than that—I can raise troops myself. In that moment, she knew what she had to do: she would go to her father and persuade him to join Bran in the battle to drive the Ffreinc out of Elfael. Her father could command thirty, perhaps forty men, and each one trained to the longbow. Experienced archers would be more than welcome and, added to however many men Bran was able to raise, would form the beginnings of a fair army. She knew Bran’s feelings about involving her father, but he was wrong. She’d tried to persuade him otherwise and met with a stubborn—nay, prideful—resistance. But in this matter of life and death, she considered, the outcome was just too important to allow such petty concerns to cloud good judgement. They needed troops, her father had them, and that was that.
Bran, she knew, would forgive her when he saw the men she would bring. Moreover, if she left at once, she could be back in Cél Craidd with the promise of warriors or better, the warriors themselves, before Bran returned.
Having made up her mind, the urge to go reared up like a wild horse and she was borne along like a helpless rider clinging to its neck. She made short work of the arrow she was fletching, set it aside, and rose, brushing bits of feather from her lap. I can’t be wearing this home to meet my family, she decided, looking down at her stained and threadbare gown. Hurrying to her hut, she went inside and drew a bundle down from the rafters, untied it, and shook out the gown she had worn as an Italian noblewoman when accompanying Bran on the mission to rescue Will Scarlet. Though of the finest quality, the material was dark and heavy and made her look like an old woman; nevertheless, it was all she had and it would have to do. As she changed into the gown, she thought about what she would say to the family she had not seen for . . . how long had it been? Two years? Three? Too long, to be sure.
She brushed her hair and washed her face, and then hurried off to prepare a little something to eat on the way, and to ready a horse. Caer Rhodl was no great distance. It was still early; if she left at once and did not stop on the way, she could be there before nightfall.
“Are you certain, my lady?” said Noín with a frown when Mérian explained why she was saddling a horse while wearing her Italian gown. “Perhaps you should wait and speak to Iwan. Tell him what you plan.”
“I am only going to visit my family,” replied Mérian lightly. “Nothing ill can come of it.”
“Then tell Angharad. She should—” Mérian was already shaking her head. “But you must tell someone.”
“I am,” said Mérian. “I’m telling you, Noín. But I want you to promise me you won’t tell anyone else until this evening when I’m sure to be missed. Promise me.”
“Not even Will?”
“No,” said Mérian, “not a word to anyone—even Will. I should be at Caer Rhodl by the time anyone thinks to come looking for me, and by then there will be no need.”
“Take someone with you, at least,” suggested Noín, her voice taking on a note of pleading. “We could tell Will, and