Tuck kr-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  "Dare what?" said Iwan, striding up. Siarles came toiling along in the big man's wake.

  "Our friar here," replied Bran, "thinks we should abandon the road. He thinks Abbot Hugo is bent on making trouble."

  Iwan glanced back the way they had come. "Oh, aye," agreed Iwan, "that would be his way." To Tuck, he said, "Have you seen anything?"

  "What's this then?" inquired Siarles as he joined the group. "Why have you stopped?"

  "Tuck thinks the abbot is on our tail," Iwan explained.

  "I maybe saw something back there, and not for the first time," Tuck explained. "I don't say it for a certainty, but I think someone is following us."

  "It makes sense." Siarles looked to the frowning Bran. "What do you reckon?"

  "I reckon I am surrounded by a covey of quail frightened of their own shadows," Bran replied. "We move on."

  He turned to go, but Iwan spoke up. "My lord, look around you. There is little enough cover hereabouts. If we were to be taken by surprise, the slaughter would be over before we could put shaft to string."

  Merian joined them then, having heard a little of what had passed. "The little ones are growing weary," she pointed out. "They cannot continue on this way much longer without rest and water. We will have to stop soon in any event. Why not do as Tuck suggests and leave the road now-just to be safe?"

  "So be it," Bran said, relenting at last. He glanced around and then pointed to a grove of oak and beech rising atop the next hill up the road. "We will make for that wood. Iwan-you and Siarles pass the word along, then take up the rear guard." He turned to Tuck and said, "You and Merian stay here and keep everyone moving. Tell them they can rest as soon as they reach the grove, but not before."

  He turned on his heel and started off again. Iwan stood looking after his lord and friend. "It's the vile king's treachery," he observed. "That's put the black dog on his back, no mistake."

  Siarles, as always, took a different tone. "That's as may be, but there's no need to bite off our heads. We en't the ones who cheated him out of his throne." He paused and spat. "Stupid bloody king."

  "And stupid bloody cardinal, all high and mighty," continued Iwan. "Priest of the church, my arse. Give me a good sharp blade and I'd soon have him saying prayers he never said before." He cast a hasty glance at Tuck. "Sorry, Friar."

  "I'd do the same," Tuck said. "Now, off you go. If I am right, we must get these people to safety, and that fast."

  The two ran back down the line, urging everyone to make haste for the wood on the next hill. "Follow Bran!" they shouted. "Pick up your feet. We are in danger here. Hurry!"

  "There is safety in the wood," Merian assured them as they passed, and Tuck did likewise. "Follow Bran. He'll lead you to shelter."

  It took a little time for the urgency of their cries to sink in, but soon the forest-dwellers were moving at a quicker pace up to the wood at the top of the next rise. The first to arrive found Bran waiting at the edge of the grove beneath a large oak tree, his strung bow across his shoulder.

  "Keep moving," he told them. "You'll find a hollow just beyond that fallen tree." He pointed through the wood. "Hide yourselves and wait for the others there."

  The first travellers had reached the shelter of the trees, and Tuck was urging another group to speed and showing them where to go when he heard someone shouting up from the valley. He could not make out the words, but as he gazed around the sound came again and he saw Iwan furiously gesturing towards the far hilltop. He looked where the big man was pointing and saw two mounted knights poised on the crest of the hill.

  The soldiers were watching the fleeing procession and, for the moment, seemed content to observe. Then one of the knights wheeled his mount and disappeared back down the far side of the hill.

  Bran had seen it too, and began shouting. "Run!" he cried, racing down the road. "To the grove!" he told Merian and Tuck. "The Ffreinc are going to attack!"

  He flew to meet Iwan and Siarles at the bottom of the hill.

  "I'd best go see if I can help," Tuck said, and leaving Merian to hurry the people along, he fell into step behind Bran.

  "Just the two of them?" Bran asked as he came running to meet Siarles and Iwan.

  "So far," replied the champion. "No doubt the one's gone to alert the rest. Siarles and I will take a stand here," he said, bending the long ashwood bow to string it. "That will give you and Tuck time to get the rest of the folk safely hidden in the woods."

  Bran shook his head. "It may come to that one day, but not today." His tone allowed no dissent. "We have a little time yet. Get everyone into the wood-carry them if you have to. We'll dig ourselves into the grove and make Gysburne and his hounds come in after us."

  "I make it six bows against thirty knights," Siarles pointed out. "Good odds, that."

  Bran gave a quick jerk of his chin. "Good as any," he agreed. "Fetch along the stragglers and follow me."

  Iwan and Siarles darted away and were soon rushing the last of the lagging Grellon up the hill to the grove. "What do you want me to do?" Tuck shouted.

  "Pray," answered Bran, pulling an arrow from the sheaf at his belt and fitting it to the string. "Pray God our aim is true and each arrow finds its mark."

  Bran moved off, calling for the straggling Grellon to find shelter in the wood. Tuck watched him go. Pray? he thought. Aye, to be sure-the Good Lord will hear from me. But I will do more, will I not? Then he scuttled up the hill and into the wood in search of a good stout stick to break some heads.

  CHAPTER 2

  Swift and furtive as wild things, the women and children disappeared into the deep-shadowed grove. Bran called all the men together at the edge of the wood. "We have six bows," he said. "Iwan, Siarles, Tomas, Rhoddi…" He paused, eyeing the men gathered around him, assessing their abilities. His gaze lit on one of the eager young men who had joined the Grellon following the loss of his family's home to the Ffreinc. "You, Owain, will join me. I want a guard with each bowman to watch his back and retrieve any arrows that fall within easy reach. So now, archers and guards come with me. The rest of you go with Tuck and help protect the others."

  "If any of the Ffreinc get in behind us," Bran told him, "you'll have your hands full right enough. Tuck will tell you what to do."

  As Bran turned to lead his small group of archers to their places at the edge of the grove, a hand reached out and halted him. "Lend me a bow. I can draw."

  "We want to fight too," said one of the men, speaking up.

  Bran turned and shook his head. "I know, Will-when you're healed and practiced."

  "Even crippled as I am I'd wager I can still draw better than anyone here-saving only yourself, my lord."

  "No doubt," Bran allowed, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "But let be today, Will." Bran's eyes slid past Will to Noin and Nia, and the young, round-shouldered, whey-faced Ffreinc monk hovering a few steps away. "Look after your family and your friend here-and take care of Angharad. See that none of them come to harm. That will be help enough."

  Bran hurried away to join the archers, and Will turned to the worried young monk behind him. "Come along, Odo," he said. "Follow Noin and help her see to the old woman and her horse, and look sharp, unless you want Abbot Hugo to get his hands on you again."

  They hurried to join the others in the hollow, and Tuck gathered the rest. "This way!" he called, and led his crew of seven unarmed warriors to a small glade midway between the archers and the hollow where the rest of the Grellon had found their hiding places. "We will stand here," he told them. Then, raising his stubby oak branch lengthwise, he held it high, saying, "Get one of these to hand quick as you can, and hurry back. We'll make ourselves scarce behind the trees there, and there"-he pointed out the nearby boles of massive oaks-"and over there. If any Ffreinc get past Bran and the others we'll do for 'em."

  The last words were still hanging in the air when there came a cry from the edge of the wood where Bran and the bowmen were waiting. As the shout echoed through the grove, they heard the
fizzing whir of an arrow as it sped from the string. Almost instantly, there followed a short, sharp scream and a crash. A heartbeat later, a rider-less horse careered into the wood.

  "Bless me," remarked Tuck. Turning to his company, he said, "Get some wood in your hands, lads, and make a good account of yourselves. Go!"

  As the forest-dwellers scattered, two knights burst into the grove in full gallop. One of them had an arrow sticking out of his shield, and the other had a shaft buried deep in his thigh. Both turned their horses and prepared to attack the archers from behind. But even as the great steeds slowed and came around, the soldiers seemed to crumple upon themselves; their weapons fell from slack hands, and both plunged from the saddle with arrows jutting from their backs like feathered quills.

  Tuck heard a call from beyond the grove, and suddenly the attack was finished. They waited a few moments, and when no other riders appeared, the Grellon darted out to retrieve the arrows, pulling them from the dead knights.

  "Here," said Tuck, gathering the shafts, "I'll take those. The rest of you get back out of sight."

  The friar quickly made his way to the edge of the grove, where the archers were hidden amongst the trees. He hurried to the first one he saw.

  "Siarles," he called softly. "What's happened? Have we turned them away?"

  "No, Brother," replied the forester. "They're down the valley." He pointed down the slope, where a body of knights was milling about on horseback. "They're just regrouping. They'll charge again when they get their courage banked up." He cast a glance behind him into the grove. "The two that broke through-what of them?"

  "Dead, I think. Or as good as." He handed over the retrieved arrows.

  "That makes three, then," said Siarles, sticking the shafts in the soft earth at his feet.

  "God with you," Tuck said, "and with your bow." He made a hasty sign of the cross and hurried back to his place behind the tree to await the next attack. In a little while he heard the hard drumming of horses' hooves. The sound grew, and when it seemed the riders must be on top of them, he heard the thin, singing whine of arrows streaking to their marks-followed by the awful clatter of horses and heavily armoured men crashing to earth.

  The second attack faltered and broke off as quickly as the first, and for a moment all was quiet in the grove again, save for the agonized whinny of a dying horse. Again, Tuck waited a little space, and when nothing else seemed about to happen, out he crept and ran to speak to Siarles.

  "Is that the last of them?"

  "Maybe." Siarles gestured with his bow toward the valley. "They've gone away again, but I can't see what they're up to this time."

  "Pray they've had enough and decided to go home and lick their wounds." Tuck peered around the trunk of the tree to the near hillside, taking in the corpses of four more horses and men lying in the grass. But for the arrows sticking out of their bodies, they might have been napping in the sun. The guards of the archers were already at work pulling arrows from the bodies. "Looks like they've gone," the friar concluded.

  "Just to be sure, you and yours best stay hid until Bran says it's safe to come out."

  The friar returned to his crew of defenders to find that they had stripped the weapons from the fallen knights. One of the Grellon offered him a sword. "Thanks, but no," he replied. "You keep it. I'm at my best with a staff in my hand. I wouldn't know what to do with an awkward long blade like that. Now get back to your places and stay alert."

  The third attack was long in coming, but when it came the Ffreinc struck as before, charging straight for the grove-and as before, the arrows sang and horses screamed. But this time three knights succeeded in getting past the archers. Arrows sprouting from shield and hauberk, they pounded into the grove swivelling this way and that, looking for something to slash with their swords.

  The Ffreinc charge carried them past the tree where Tuck was hiding. Gripping his branch, he lunged out as the nearest horse passed, thrusting the sturdy length of oak in amongst its churning hooves. The resulting jolt nearly yanked his arm from his shoulder. The makeshift staff was torn from his grip and went spinning across the ground. But his aim succeeded, for the horse stumbled to its knees, pitching its rider over its broad neck as it went down.

  The knight landed with a grunt on the soft earth, arms flailing, weapons scattering. Tuck ran for his staff and snatched it up. The unhorsed knight made to rise, but the stalwart priest gave him a sharp rap on the back of the skull which sent his pot-shaped metal hat rolling. A second tap put him to sleep.

  Two of the Grellon were on the unconscious knight instantly. They rolled him over; one relieved the soldier of his sword and belt, and the other took his dagger and shield. They pulled his mail shirt up over his head and tied it there, then quick-footed it back to the shelter of the trees.

  "God have mercy," breathed Tuck, and looked around to see what had become of the other two knights. One had quit his saddle owing to the wounds he had received and was lying on his side on the ground wheezing like a broken bellows; the other was in the grip of three Cymry who were taking turns bashing him with their clubs while he slashed wildly with his sword. The nimble Welshmen dodged the strokes and succeeded in hauling the knight from the saddle. While one of the Cymry seized the reins of the horse, the other two pounded the enemy into dazed submission. One of them wrested his sword from an unresisting hand and, with a swift downward stroke, dispatched the Ffreinc with it.

  Three more knights appeared-charging in hard from the wood to the right. Their sudden appearance so surprised the Grellon that they were thrown into a momentary confusion. But as the foremost knight passed beneath the low-hanging branch of an oak one of the Grellon dropped onto the rear of the horse as it passed beneath him. Throwing his arms around the soldier's neck, the forest-dweller hurled himself from the horse, dragging his enemy with him. The horse careened on, and as the knight squirmed in the grasp of the Welshman, two more of the Grellon rushed to help subdue the armoured soldier.

  Before the two remaining knights could rally to the aid of their fallen comrade, they too were under assault by screaming, sword-wielding Cymry. More horses were crashing through the wood-they had circled around and were attacking through the grove. Tuck, cursing the duplicity of the Norman race, ran to find Bran.

  "Rhi Bran!" he shouted, making for the edge of the grove. "Rhi Bran!"

  "Here, Tuck!" came the reply, and Bran appeared from behind a tree a few hundred paces away. "Over here!"

  The priest scrambled to him fast as he could, his short legs stumbling over the uneven ground. "We're attacked!" he shouted, pointing with his staff. "They've come round to take us from behind."

  "The devils!" shouted Bran, already running to head off the assault. "Iwan! Siarles! To me! The rest of you stay where you are and keep them busy. Make every arrow count!"

  The three archers reached the glade to find five mounted knights in a deadly clash with four Grellon. The knights were stabbing with spears and slashing with swords, and the Cymry danced just out of reach, darting in quickly to deliver clout after clout with their makeshift staffs.

  "Iwan-the two on the left," ordered Bran, nocking an arrow to the string. "Siarles-the one on the right. I'll take the two in the centre." He grasped the string in his two-fingered grip, pressing the belly of the longbow forward until it bent full and round. "Now!"

  The word was hardly spoken when it was overtaken by a buzzing whine as Bran's arrow streaked across the shadow-dappled distance.

  Before it had reached its mark, two more arrows were sizzling through the air. There was a sound like cloth ripping in the wind, and the knight in the centre of the swarm was thrown back over the cantle of his saddle and off the rear of his mount. Two more knights followed the first to the ground, and as the two remaining Ffreinc soldiers swerved to meet this new threat, they were set upon by the Cymry, who pulled them down from their horses and slew them with their own weapons.

  More knights were pounding into the glade now, charging in force. The
y came crashing through the underbrush in twos and threes. Tuck held his breath and tightened his grip on his staff. It seemed that Bran and the others must surely be overwhelmed. But the three bows sang as one, sending flight after flight of arrows streaking through the glade. Horses screamed and reared, throwing their riders, who were then set upon by the Grellon. Other soldiers, pierced by multiple shafts, simply dropped from the saddle, dead before they reached the ground.

  Four knights just coming into the grove were met by three others fleeing the slaughter. The four newcomers glimpsed the carnage, then wheeled their mounts and joined their comrades in quick retreat.

  "Get the weapons!" shouted Bran, already racing back to rejoin those at the front line. "Iwan, stay here and give a shout if any come back."

  But the Ffreinc did not return to the attack.

  One long moment passed, and then another. No more knights entered the glade from behind, and none dared challenge the archers on the front line again. The lowering sun deepened the shadows in the grove and began to fill up the valleys, and still the attack did not come. The Grellon watched and waited, and asked themselves if they had beaten the enemy back. Finally, when it appeared the assault had foundered, Tuck joined Iwan and the two ran to find Bran at the edge of the grove.

  "What do you reckon, my lord?" asked Iwan. "Have we turned them aside?"

  "So it would appear," Bran concluded.

  "I dearly hope so," sighed Tuck. "All this rushing about is hard on an old fat man like me."

  "But they may be waiting for us to show ourselves," Bran suggested.

  "Or for nightfall," Iwan said, "so they can take us under cover of darkness."

  "Either way," said Bran, making up his mind, "they will not find us here. Get everyone up and ready to move on."

  The Grellon assembled once more and, like ghosts drifting away on the vapours of night, faded silently into the depths of the wood. The men had stripped the weapons from the enemy soldiers-swords and lances mostly, but also daggers, helmets, belts, and shields. Arrows were retrieved, and three uninjured horses led away, leaving the heavy saddles and tack behind.