of Gwynedd a captive to Earl Hugh and riding into Caer Cestre to free him. “The long and short of it,” he continued, “is that we failed to persuade King Gruffydd to rally the tribes to our support. We cannot count on them for any men.”
The old woman considered this, nodded, but said nothing.
“Not one,” said Bran. “We are worse off than when we began,” he concluded gloomily.
Into the fraught and fretted silence of the hut there drifted a soft, lilting melody sung by a clear and steady voice—a sound not unfamiliar in Cél Craidd, but this one was different. Angharad went to the door of the hut, opened it, and stepped outside. Bran followed and felt his anger and disappointment begin to melt away in the refrains of the tune. There, surrounded by the forest-dwellers, his head lifted high and with a voice to set the glade shimmering, Alan was singing his song about Rhi Bran and the Wolf of Cestre.
CHAPTER 24
When Bran learned that Sheriff de Glanville had returned to Saint Martin’s with a force of fifty soldiers, he said nothing, but took his bow and went alone into the greenwood. Siarles was all for going after him, but Angharad advised against it, saying, “Think yourself a king to bear a king’s burden? His own counsel he must keep, if his own mind he would know.” And, to be sure, Rhi Bran returned that evening with a yearling buck and a battle plan.
First, he determined to do what he could to even the odds against him. The fine, dry summer had given way to a blessedly mild autumn, and the harvest in the valleys had been good. Most of the crops would be gathered in now against the lean seasons to follow. The granaries and storehouses would be bulging. Bran decided to help his people and, at the same time, hit the Ffreinc where it would hurt the most. He would attack in the dead heart of the darkest night of the month.
The moon had been on the wane for several days, and tonight there would be a new one; the darkness would be heavy and would aid his design. Early in the morning, Bran sent spies into the town to see what could be learned of the disposition of the sheriff ’s troops. Noín and Alan had been chosen—much to Will’s displeasure. “I have no objection,” Scarlet complained, “so long as I go along.”
“They know you too well,” Bran reminded him. “I don’t want to see you end up in that pit again—or worse. One glimpse is all the sheriff would need to put your head on a spike.”
“But you don’t mind if my Noín’s sweet face ends up decorating that bloody spike,” he griped.
“Scarlet!” The sound was sharp as a slap. “You go too far.” Angharad shuffled forth, wagging a bony finger. “A proper respect for your king would well become you.”
Will glared at her, his jaw set.
“Now, William Scatlocke!”
“Forgive me, Sire,” offered Will, striving to sound suitably contrite. “If I have spoken above myself, I do most humbly beg your pardon.”
“Pardon granted, Will,” Bran told him. “A man would have a heart of stone who did not care for his wife. But the raids I have in mind succeed or fail on what we learn. We need to know how things sit in the town before we go rushing down there.”
Will nodded and glanced to Noín, who pressed his hand. “I have gone to market before, you know. That’s all it is—just two folk going to market.”
“You had best leave now,” said Bran. “Stay only as long as it takes to find out what we need and then hurry back. We will wait for you at the ford.”
“There and back and no one the wiser, m’lord,” Alan volunteered. “Alan a’Dale will see to it.” To Scarlet, he said, “They’ve never seen me before, and I can talk the legs off a donkey if I have to. We’ll be back safe and sound before you know it.”
Bran commended them to their task, and Angharad spoke a brief blessing of protection over them and the two departed. The rest of the Grellon began preparing for the night’s activities: weapons and ropes were readied, and five riders were sent to the holdings and farms in the valley to warn the folk about King Raven’s plans and to enlist any aid they could find. In the end, there were so many willing volunteers that they chose only the most