a moment, and said, “Dunce that I am, your meaning eludes me, I fear.”
“If we return to the caer like this—all long-faced and fretful—it might put the earl on edge. Tonight of all nights we need the wolf to sleep soundly while we work.”
“I agree, of course,” Tuck replied. “So, pray, what is in your mind?”
“A drink with my friends,” Bran said. “Come, Alan, I daresay you know an inn or public house where we can sit together over a jar or two.”
“Right you are there, m’lord. I’m the man fer ye!” he declared, lapsing once more into that curious beggar cant he adopted from time to time. “Fret ye not whit nor tiddle, there’s ale aplenty in Caer Cestre. Jist pick up yer feet an’ follow Alan.”
He turned and led the little group back down the street towards the centre of the town. It is a commonplace among settlements of a certain size that the better alehouses will be found fronting the square so as to attract and serve the buyers and sellers on market days. And although the Normans ruled the town of late, it was still Saxon at heart, which meant, if nothing else, that there would be ale and pies.
Alan pointed out two acceptable alehouses, and they decided on the one that had a few little tables and stools set up outside in the sun. There were barrels stacked up to one side of the doorway, forming a low wall to separate the tables from the bustle of the square. They sat down and soon had jars of sweet dark ale in their fists and a plate of pies to share amongst them.
“I would not insult you by repeating your instructions yet again,” Bran said, setting his jar aside. “You all know what to do and need no reminding how important it is.” He looked each in the eye as he spoke, one after the other as if to see if there might be a weakening of will to be glimpsed there. “But if any of you have any questions about what is to come, ask them now. It will be the last time we are together until we cross the river.”
Bran, mindful of the trust he was placing on such young and untried shoulders, wanted to give the two Welshmen a last opportunity to ease their minds of any burdens they might be carrying. But each returned his gaze with studied determination, and it was clear the group was of one accord and each one ready to play his part to the last. Nor did anyone have any questions . . . save only their guide and interpreter.
“There is something I’ve been thinking these last few days, m’lord,” Alan said after a slight hesitation, “and maybe now is a good time to ask.”
“As good a time as any,” agreed Bran. “What is in your mind, Alan?”
“It is this,” he said, lowering his eyes to the table as if suddenly embarrassed to speak, “when you leave this place, will you take me with you?”
Bran was silent, watching the man across the table from him. He broke off a bit of crust from a pie and popped it into his mouth. “You want to come with us?” Bran said, keeping his voice light.
“That I do,” Alan said. “I know I’m not a fighting man, and of no great account by any books—”
“Who would say a thing like that?” teased Bran.
“I know what I know,” insisted Alan seriously. “But I can read and write, and I know good French and English, some Welsh, and a little Latin. I can make myself useful—as I think I’ve been useful to you till now. I may not be all—”
“If that is what you want,” said Bran, breaking into Alan’s carefully prepared speech. “You’ve served us well, Alan, and we could not have come this far without you. If we succeed, we will have you to thank.” Bran reached out his hand. “Yes, we’ll take you with us when we leave.”
Alan stared at Bran’s offered hand for a moment, then seized it in his own and shook it vigorously. “You will not be sorry, m’lord. I am your man.”
So, the five sat for a while in peace, enjoying the ale and the warmth of the day, talking of this and that—but not another word of what was to come. When they rose a little later to resume their walk back to Castle d’Avranches, it was with lighter hearts than when they had