all hunting rights to themselves, Siarles had fled to the forest rather than serve a Ffreinc lord. He had assumed the position of Iwan’s second. “De Braose has hundreds of horses. We’ll raise a thousand,” he said, exuberance getting the better of him. He considered this for a moment and then amended it, saying, “Not every warrior will need a horse, mind. To be sure, we must have footmen as well.”
The mere thought of trying to find so many men and horses was laughable to Bran. Even if men in such numbers could somehow be found, arming and equipping a warband of that size could well take a year or more—and they must be housed and fed in the meantime. It was absurd, and Bran pitied his friends for their hopeless, pathetic dream; it might make the British heart beat faster, but it was doomed to failure. The Ffreinc were bred for battle; they were better armed, better trained, better horsed. Engaging them in open battle was certain disaster; every British death strengthened their hold on the land that much more and increased misery and oppression for everyone. To think otherwise was folly.
Listening to Iwan and Siarles, Bran grew more certain than ever that his future lay in the north amongst his mother’s kinsmen. Elfael was lost—it had been so from the moment his father was cut down in the road—and there was nothing he could do to change that. Better to accept the grim reality and live than to die chasing a glorious delusion.
He looked sadly at the two men across from him, their faces eager in the firelight. They burned with zeal to drive the enemy from the valley and redeem their homeland. Why stop there? Bran thought. They might as well hope to reclaim Cymru, England, and Scotland, too—for all the good it would do them. Unable to endure the futile hope of those keen expressions, Bran rose suddenly and left the hut.
He stepped out into the moonlight and stood for a moment, feeling the cool night air wash over him. Gradually, he became aware that he was not alone. Angharad was sitting on a stump beside the door. “They have no one else,” she said. “And nowhere else to go.”
“What they want—,” Bran began, then halted. Did anyone have even the slightest notion of the effort in time and money that it would take to raise a sufficiently large army to do what Iwan suggested? “It is impossible,” he declared after a moment. “They are deluded.”
“Then you must tell them. Tell them now. Explain why they are wrong to want what they want. Then you can leave knowing that, as their king, you did all you could.”
Her words rankled. “What do you expect of me, Angharad?” He spoke softly so those inside would not overhear. “What they propose is madness—as you and I know.”
“Perhaps,” she conceded. “But they have nothing else.
They have no kinsmen in the north waiting to take them in.
Elfael is all they have. It is all they know. If their hope is mistaken, you must tell them.”
“I will,” said Bran, drawing himself up, “and let that be the end.” He went back into the hut, taking his place at the fire once more.
“We could go to Lord Rhys in the south,” Iwan was saying. “He has returned from Ireland with a large warband. If we convinced him to help us, he might loan us the troops we need.”
“No,” Bran said quietly. “There is no plunder to be had, and we have nothing to offer them. King Rhys ap Tewdwr will not get dragged into a war for nothing, and he has enough worries of his own.”
“What do you suggest?” asked Iwan. “Is there someone else?”
Bran looked at his friend, the light still burning in his eyes; he could not bring himself to snuff out that fragile flame.
Angharad was right: the people had no one to lead them and nowhere else to go. For Iwan, and for them all, it was Elfael or nothing.
Bran hesitated, wrestling with the decision. God have mercy, he thought, I cannot abandon them. In that instant, a new path opened before him, and Bran saw the way ahead. “We don’t have to fight the Ffreinc,” he declared abruptly.
“No?” wondered Iwan. “I think they won’t surrender for asking—a pleasant thought even so.”
“Have you forgotten, Iwan? We went to Lundein and spoke to the king’s justiciar,” Bran said. “Do you remember what he said?”