“They have to know that they are not simply cutting their own throats,” she insisted.
“I understand,” Bran replied. “And I agree. Go on.”
“It must be something they can trust,” she continued, “even if they don’t trust you.”
“Granted, Mérian,” said Bran, exasperation edging into his voice. “What do you suggest?”
“Well”—she bit her lip—“I don’t know.”
“Maybe we could get the abbot at Saint Dyfrig’s to oversee the truce,” suggested Noín. “He is a good man, and they know him.”
“After what happened in the square on Twelfth Night, I cannot think they would trust any of us any farther than they could spit a mouthful of nails,” Scarlet said, shaking his head.
“It must be someone they know, someone they can rely on to be fair.”
Mérian’s face clenched in thought. “I know!” she said, glancing up quickly. “We could ask my father . . .”
“Your father—what possible reason could Hugo have for trusting him?”
“Because he is a loyal vassal of King William, as is the abbot himself . . .”
“No,” said Bran, jumping up quickly. “This is absurd.” He began stalking around the stump. “It won’t work.”
“Why—because you did not think of it?”
“Your father hates me,” Bran said. “And that was before I abducted you! God alone knows what he thinks of me now. If that was not enough, Lord Cadwgan answers to Baron Neufmarché, his liege lord—and if the baron were to get wind of this there is no way we could keep him out of it.”
“The Ffreinc would trust the baron,” Mérian said.
“They might, but could we?” wondered Scarlet.
“Have you forgotten Neufmarché tried to kill me last time I went to him for help?” said Bran. “If it is all the same to you, I’d rather not give him another chance.”
Mérian frowned. “That was unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate!” cried Bran. “Woman, the man is a two-faced Judas. He betrayed me outright. Indeed, he betrayed us both. Your own life was none too secure, if you’ll recall.”
“What you say is true,” she conceded. “I’ll not argue. Still, he is a Ffreinc nobleman and if—together with my father, of course—we could convince him that it was in his own best interest to help us, I know he’d agree.”
“Oh, he’d agree,” Bran retorted, “agree to help empty Elfael of his rivals so he could have it all to himself. We’d just be exchanging one tyrant for an even bigger, more powerful tyrant.” Bran gave a sharp chop of his hand, dismissing the suggestion. “No. If the Ffreinc require assurance that we will hold to our word, we will appeal to Abbot Daffyd to swear for us and they will have to accept that.” He sat back down. “Now then, what do we want Tuck to tell them?”
They fell to discussing the substance of the message and soon hammered out a simple, straightforward appeal to meet and discuss the proposed offer of peace. By the time Siarles came to say that the horse was ready, the Ffreinc scribe, Odo, had schooled and corrected Tuck’s creaky Latin so there would be no mistake. “I have some of the Norman tongue too,” Tuck pointed out in French. “Picked up a fair bit in my years in Hereford.”
“Not enough, God knows,” snipped Odo.
“I understand far more than I can speak,” said Tuck.
“Even so,” allowed the scribe, “it is not what you understand that will lead you to difficulty, but what you are likely to say.”
“Perhaps you should come with me, then,” suggested Tuck. “To keep a poor friar from stumbling over the rocky places.”
The colour drained from the already pasty face of the young cleric.
“I thought not,” replied Tuck. “’Tis better I go alone.”
“Ah!” said Odo. “I will write it down for you so the abbot can read it for himself if you go astray.” He bustled off to find his writing utensils and a scrap of something to carry the ink.
“All is well?” asked Bran, seeing the scribe depart on the run.
“Right as rain in merry May,” replied Tuck. “Odo is going to write it for me so if all else fails I have something to push under the abbot’s nose.”
“Scarlet is right—this is dangerous. Hugo could seize you and have you hung, or worse. You don’t have to go. We can find another way to get a message through.”
“The Lord is my shield and defender,” replied Tuck. “Of whom shall I be afraid?”
“Well then,” Bran concluded, “God with you, Tuck. Siarles and I will see you to the edge of the forest at