A short while later, the would-be peacemakers paused at the place where the King’s Road crossed the ford and started down into the valley. Bran and Siarles were each armed with a bow and bag of arrows, and Tuck carried a new-made quarterstaff. In the distance they could see Caer Cadarn on its hump of rock, guarding the Vale of Elfael. “I do not expect the abbot will have let the fortress stand abandoned for long,” Bran surmised. “He would have moved men into it as soon as Count Falkes had gone.”
“If any should see me, they will only see a poor fat friar on a skinny horse making for town—nothing to alarm anyone.”
“And if they should take exception and stop you?” asked Siarles.
“I will tell them I bring a word of greeting and hope to Abbot Hugo,” replied Tuck. “And that is God’s own truth.”
“Then off with you,” said Bran, “and hurry back. We’ll wait for you here.”
It took Tuck longer to reach the town than he had reckoned, and the sun was already beginning its descent as he entered the market square—all but empty, with only a few folk about and no soldiers that he could see. Always before there had been soldiers. Indeed, the town had a tired, deserted air about it. He tied his mount to an iron ring set in a wall, drew a deep breath, hitched up his robe, and strode boldly across the square to stand before the whitewashed walls of the abbey. He pounded on the timber door with the flat of his hand and waited. A few moments later, the door opened, and the white-haired old porter peered out.
“Nous avons un message pour l’abbé,” Tuck intoned politely. “Prier, l’amène tout de suite.”
Brother porter ducked his head respectfully and hurried away.
“Thank you, Lord,” said Tuck, breathing a sigh of relief to have passed the first test.
Tuck waited, growing more and more uneasy with each passing moment. Finally, the door in the abbey gate opened once more and the porter beckoned him to come inside, where he was led across the yard to the abbot’s lodge. A few of the monks stopped to stare as he passed—perhaps, thought Tuck, recognizing him from their previous encounter in King William’s yard not too many days ago.
Once inside, he was conducted through a dark corridor and brought to stand before a panelled door. The porter knocked and received the summons to enter. He pushed open the door and indicated that Tuck should go in.
The abbot was standing over a table on which was spread a simple supper. He was spearing a piece of cheese with a long fork as Tuck entered. Glancing up, Hugo stopped, his mouth agape. Then, collecting himself, he said in a low voice, “Vous devez être fou. Venir ici comme ceci. Que voulez-vous?”
Tuck understood this to mean that the abbot thought he must be insane to come there, and demanded to know what he wanted.
At this, Tuck, speaking in measured tones and with many haltings as he searched for the words, began his prepared speech. He appealed to Abbot Hugo as a brother in their common calling as priests of the church, and thanked the abbot for allowing him to speak. He then said that he had come with an offer of peace from the forest-dwellers. When words began to fail, he took out the little scrap of parchment Odo had prepared for him, listing the central stipulations of the plan. The abbot’s face grew red as he listened, but he held his tongue. Tuck concluded, saying, “You have until midday tomorrow to give your answer. If you accept Bran’s offer, you will ring the abbey bell nine times—three peals of three. Then, come to the edge of the forest, where you will be told what to do next. Do you understand?”
To which the abbot replied, “I do not know which offends me the more—your uncouth speech or the crudeness of your appearance.” He waved a hand in front of his nose. “You smell worse than a stable hound.”
Tuck bore the insult with a smile. He’d not expected an easy ride through enemy territory. “But you understand what I am saying?”
“Oh, I understand,” confirmed Hugo. “However, I fail to see why I should dignify this ridiculous idea of sharing the governance of Elfael with a vile outlaw and rebel.”
“Bran ap Brychan is neither outlaw nor rebel,” Tuck replied evenly, hoping he had got the words right. “In truth, his family has ruled