Tuck kr-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  "Well then," concluded Tuck. "Perhaps you might take two or three brothers with you and go to the caer. Take a bell and ring it as you go so the Ffreinc will know you're on holy business."

  Asaph nodded slowly. "What if they make bold to stop us?"

  "Simply tell them that you are going up to shrive the Cymry in the stronghold, yes? You can do that, too, once you've delivered the message, can you not?"

  The old churchman considered this for a moment, then, making up his mind, he said, "If there is to be a battle, soldiers must be shriven. Men facing their eternal destiny have no wish to die with sins unconfessed dragging their souls into perdition. The Ffreinc understand this."

  "Thank you, Father," said Tuck. They talked a little more then, and Tuck gave the bishop a lengthy account of all that had taken place in the last days-the running battle with King William's troops in the forest, leading up to the unexpected return of Merian bringing King Gruffydd and the baron. They talked of the difficulties looming in the days ahead-caring for the injured and wounded in the aftermath of battle, finding food for the survivors, and rebuilding lives and livelihoods destroyed by the war.

  Finally, Tuck rose and, with great weariness of body and spirit, made his farewells and moved to the door.

  "God with you, Brother Aethelfrith," said Asaph with deepest sincerity.

  "And also with you, Father," replied Tuck. "May the Good Lord keep you in the hollow of His hand."

  "Amen," said Asaph. "I will leave you to make your own way out. I want to pray for a while before we go up to the caer."

  Tuck left the monastery without bothering Odo again. He slipped out of the abbey gate and started across the deserted square of the still-sleeping town. As he was passing the church, he heard the sound of horses approaching and turned just as four or five riders entered the square. Ffreinc soldiers. He was caught like a ferret in a coop.

  Instinctively, he dived for the door of the church. It was dark and cool inside, as he knew it would be. A single candle burned on the altar, and the interior was filled with the sweet stale odour of spent incense and beeswax. The baptismal font stood before him, square and solid, the cover locked with an iron hasp. That was vile Hugo- locking the font lest any poor soul be tempted to steal a drop of holy water.

  Gazing quickly around the empty space for a place to hide, he saw-could it be? Yes! In the far corner of the nave stood a strange, curtained booth. Oh, these Normans-chasing every new whim that whispers down the road: a confessional. Tuck had heard of them, but had never seen one. They were, it was said, becoming very fashionable in the new stone churches the Ffreinc built. The notion that a body could confess without looking his priest in the eye all the while seemed faintly ludicrous to Tuck. Nevertheless, he was grateful for this particular whim just now. He crossed quickly to the booth. It was an open stall with a pierced screen down the centre: on one hand was a chair for the priest; on the other a little low bench for the kneeling penitent. A curtain hung between the two, and another hid the priest from view.

  Tuck could not help clucking his tongue over such unwonted luxury. Not for the Norman cleric a humble stool; no, nothing would do but that Hugo's priests must have an armchair throne with a down-filled cushion. "Bless 'em," said Tuck. Pulling aside the curtain, he stepped in and closed the curtain again, then settled himself in the chair, thanking the Good Lord for his thoughtful provision.

  No sooner had he leaned back in his chair than the door of the church opened and the soldiers entered.

  Tuck remained absolutely still, hardly daring to breathe.

  The footsteps came nearer.

  They were coming towards the confessional. One of the knights was standing directly in front of the booth now, and Tuck braced himself for discovery. The soldier put a hand on the curtain and pulled it aside. The soldier saw Tuck, and Tuck saw the soldier-only it was no ordinary knight. The squat, thick body, the powerful chest and slightly bowed legs from a life on horseback, the shock of flaming red hair: it was none other than King William Rufus in the flesh.

  Tuck pressed his eyes closed, expecting the worst.

  But the king turned away without the slightest hint of recognition in his pale blue eyes and called over his shoulder to the two with him. "Le pretre est ici," he said. "Me partir."

  The priest is here, thought Tuck, translating the words in his head.God help me, he thinks I am the priest to hear his confession.

  King William dropped the curtain and settled himself on the kneeling bench. "Pere, entendre mon aveu," he said wearily.

  Knowing he would have to speak now-and that his French was not up to the challenge-he said, "Mon seigneur et mon roi, Anglais s'il vous plait."

  There came a heavy sigh from the other side of the curtain, and then the king of England replied, "Oui-of course, I understand. My Anglais is not so good, forgive moi, eh?"

  "God hears the heart, my lord," offered Tuck. "It makes no difference to him what language we use. Would you like me to shrive you now?"

  "Oui, pere, that is why I have come." The king paused, and then said, "Forgive me, Father, a sinner. Today I ride into battle, and I cannot pay for the souls of those who will be slain. The blood-price is heavy, and I am without the silver to pay, eh?"

  It took Tuck a moment to work out what William was talking about, and he was glad the king could not see him behind the curtain. "I see," he said, and then it came to him that William Rufus was talking about the peculiar Norman belief that a soldier owed a blood debt for the souls of those he had slain in battle. Since one could never know whether the man he had just killed had been properly shriven, the souls of the combat dead became the survivor's responsibility, so to speak-he was obligated to pray for the remission of their sins so that they might enter heaven and stand blameless before the judgement seat of God.

  "Oh, yes," intoned Tuck as understanding broke upon him. The king, like many great lords, was paying priests to pray for the souls of men he had slain in battle, praying them out of purgatory and into heaven.

  "By the Virgin, the cost is heavy!" muttered William. "Intolerable, eh? It is all I can do to pay my father's debt, and I have not yet begun to pay my own."

  "A very great pity, yes," Tuck allowed.

  "Pitie, oui," sighed William. "Tres grande pitie."

  "Begging your pardon, mon roi," said Tuck. "I am but a lowly priest, but it seems to me that the way out of your predicament is not more money, but fewer souls."

  "Eh?" said William, only half paying attention. "Fewer souls?"

  "Do not kill any more soldiers."

  The king laughed outright. "You know little about warring, priest! Un innocent! I like you. Soldiers get killed in battle; that is the whole point."

  "So I am told," replied Tuck. "But is there no other way?"

  "It could all be settled tomorrow-Dieu sang, today!-if the blasted Welsh would only lay down their weapons. But they have raised rebellion against me, and that I will not have!"

  "A great dilemma for you," conceded Tuck. "I see that."

  Before he could say more, William continued. "This cantref infortune has already cost me more than it will ever return. And if I do not collect my tribute in Normandie in six days' time, I will lose those too. Philip will see to that."

  Tuck seized on this. "All the more reason to make peace with these rebels. If they agreed to lay down their arms and swear fealty to you-"

  "Et payer le tribut royal," added William quickly.

  "Yes, and pay the royal tribute, to be sure," agreed Tuck. "Your Majesty would not have to feed an army or pay for the souls of the dead. Also you could go to Normandie and collect the tribute that is due-all this would save the royal treasury a very great load of silver, would it not?"

  "Par le vierge! Save a great load of silver, yes."

  Tuck, hardly daring to believe that he was not in a dream, but unwilling to wake up just yet, decided to press his luck as far as it would go. "Again, forgive me, mon roi, but why not ask for terms of peace? This rebel-Ki
ng Raven, I believe they call him-has said that all he wants is to rule his realm in peace. Even now, I believe he could be convinced to swear fealty to you in exchange for reclaiming his throne."

  There was a long and, Tuck imagined, baleful silence on the other side of the curtain. He feared the king was deciding how to slice him up and into how many pieces.

  Finally,William said, "I think you are a man of great faith." The wistful longing in that voice cut at Tuck's heart. "If I could believe this…"

  "Believe it, Sire," said Tuck. "For it is true."

  "If I am seen to allow rebellion, every hand will be raised against me."

  "Perhaps," granted Tuck. "But if you are seen to practice mercy, it would inspire others to greater loyalty, would it not?" He paused. "The sword is always close to hand."

  "Helas, c'est vrai," granted the king.

  "Alas, yes, it is too true."

  There was silence again then. Tuck could not tell what was happening beyond the curtain. He prayed William was seriously considering the idea of suing for peace.

  When he spoke again, the king said, "Will you yet shrive me?"

  "That is why I am here. Bow your head, my son, and we begin," replied Tuck, and proceeded with the ritual. When at last the king rose to depart, he thanked his priest and walked from the church without another word.

  Tuck waited until he heard the sound of horses in the square, and then crept to the door. King William and his knights were riding away in the grey dawn of a new day. He waited until they were out of sight and then ran to his own horse and flew to the greenwood as if all the hounds of hell were at his heels.

  CHAPTER 41

  The sun was well up and climbing towards the tops of the higher trees by the time Tuck reached the safety of the greenwood. The combined armies of Cymry rebels were already amassing at the edge of the forest. Hampered by the trees and undergrowth, Tuck worked his way along the battle line, searching for Bran. By the time he found him, the sun was that much higher and the assault that much nearer.

  "Bran!" cried Tuck. "Thank God, I've found you in time." He slid from the saddle and ran to where Bran was waiting with Scarlet, Owain, and his own small war band, engulfed and surrounded by King Gruffydd's troops and those of the northern lords. "I bring word-"

  "Be quick about it," Bran told him. "I am just about to give the command-"

  "No!" said Tuck, almost frantic. "Forgive me, my lord, but do nothing until you've heard what I have to say."

  "Very well," Bran agreed. He called across to Gruffydd and Llewelyn, who were standing a little apart. "Stand ready to march as soon as I have returned." To Tuck, he said, "Come with me."

  He led them a little way into the wood, to a place where they would not be overheard. "Well? Is the bishop able to get a message to the caer?"

  It took a moment for the priest to recall his original errand. "Oh, that, yes." Tuck licked his lips and swallowed. "I have seen the king."

  "The king… Red William?"

  "The same," replied the friar, and explained what had happened in the town-how he had been surprised by Ffreinc riders and hid himself in the church, how William had mistaken him for one of the abbey priests and asked to be shriven, and their talk about the rebellion.

  "Did you shrive him?"

  "I did, yes, but-"

  "So that means they intend to attack today," concluded Bran. "Well done, Tuck; it confirms us in our plan. We will strike without delay." He started away.

  "That is not all," said Tuck. "The king was distraught about the cost of this war. It weighs heavily with him. He stands to lose his tribute money from Normandie."

  "Good."

  "Above all else he desires a swift end to this conflict," Tuck explained. "I believe he would be moved towards peace."

  "That he will not have," declared Bran. "And you are certain Bishop Asaph will warn Iwan and Siarles at the fortress?"

  "He will."

  "Then all is ready." He commended Tuck for his diligence, and returned to the battle line, where he gave a nod to Gruffydd, Llewelyn, and the others. "God with you today, my lords, and with us all," he called, and raising his warbow, he gave the signal to move out.

  The massed armies of Cymry archers and Ffreinc soldiers under the command of Baron Neufmarche slowly moved out from the shelter of Coed Cadw; the knights on horseback and the Cymry on foot, they marched down the slope and into the Vale of Elfael. Their appearance threw William's troops into a chaos of frantic activity as the alarms were sounded through the various camps. The knights, men-at-arms, and footmen were well trained, however, and hastily mustered for battle. As the Cymry drew nearer, the Ffreinc moved to meet them, first one division and then another until the gaps in the line were filled and they had formed a single, dense body of soldiers-the knights in the centre, flanked by the footmen.

  Tuck, with his staff, taking his place behind Bran and Scarlet, found himself walking beside Owain. "Whatever happens today," said the young warrior, "I would have you say a prayer for me, Friar."

  "And here I have been praying for us all since first light, have I not?"

  "Then," said Owain, "I will pray for you, Friar Tuck."

  "Do that, boyo," agreed Tuck. "You do that."

  The Cymry moved slowly down from the forest, spreading out along the rim of the valley a little north of the King's Road so that when they attacked the sun would be at their backs and in the eyes of the enemy. They came to the steepest part of the slope and stopped so that William's troops would have to toil uphill to engage them, while they could rain arrows down into the ranks of advancing knights as well as those behind.

  King William's barons and earls, each in command of his own men, formed the battle line, filling in the gaps between the separate bodies until the knights rode shoulder to shoulder and shield to shield, spears raised and ready to swing down into position when the order was given to charge. The footmen scrambled into ranks behind the knights and prepared to deliver the second assault when the knights broke the enemy line.

  Up on the slopes across the valley, the Cymry archers took handfuls of arrows and thrust them point-first into the turf before them, ready to hand when the order came to loose havoc on the advancing Ffreinc. Baron Neufmarche, at the head of his troops, drew into position to the northwest-ready to swoop down upon the unprotected flanks of William's army the moment the charge faltered under the hail of shafts. If, however, the knights survived the charge and carried the attack forward, he would come in hard to protect the archers' retreat.

  "Come on, you ugly frog-faced knaves…" muttered Scarlet. He stretched and flexed the stiffness from his injured hand, then plucked a shaft from the ground and nocked it to the string. "… a little closer and you're mine."

  Other men were speaking now-some in prayer, and others in derision of the enemy, banking courage in themselves and those around them. Bran stood silent, watching the slow, steady advance of the Ffreinc line. He suddenly found himself wishing Angharad were alive to see this day. He missed her and the knowledge that she was upholding him in her mysterious and powerful way. Closing his eyes, he prayed that she was gazing down on him and would intercede with the angels of war on his behalf and sustain him in the battle.

  He was still occupied with this thought when he heard Gruffydd say, "Here, now! What's this?"

  Bran opened his eyes to see that the Ffreinc had halted just out of easy arrow flight. The early sun glinted off the polished surfaces of their shields and weapons. There was a movement from the centre, and the line broke, parting to the left and right as a small body of knights rode forward. Two of the riders carried banners-one bearing the royal standard of King William: a many-tailed flag with a red cross on a white field and a strip of ermine across the bottom separating the body from the green, blue, and yellow tails. The other knight bore the standard of England: the Cross of Jerusalem in gold surrounded by smaller crosslets of blue; its tails were green, gold and blue, each tail ending in small gold tassels.

  These banne
rs preceded a single knight, riding between them. Two more knights followed the lone rider, and all advanced to a point halfway between the two armies, and there they halted.

  "Saints and angels," said Gruffydd, "what's the old devil about?"

  "I think Bloody William wants to talk," replied Llewelyn.

  "I say we give him an arrow in the eye and let that do our talking for us," declared Gruffydd. He nudged Llewelyn beside him. "Your aim is true, Cousin; let fly and we'll see that rascal off right smart."

  "No!" said Tuck, pressing forward. "Begging your pardon, my lords, I do believe he wants to beg terms of peace."

  "Peace!" scoffed Gruffydd. "Never! The old buzzard wants to sneak us into a trap, more like. I say give him an arrow or two and teach him to keep his head down."

  "My lord," pleaded Tuck, "if it is peace he wants, it would be the saving of many lives."

  Bran gazed across the distance at the king, sitting on his fine horse, his newly burnished armour glinting in the golden light of a brilliant new day. "If he does want to talk," Bran decided at last, "it will cost us nothing to hear what he has to say. We can attack as soon as the discussion is concluded." He turned to Gruffydd. "I will talk to him. You and Llewelyn be ready to lead the assault if things go badly." He motioned to Will Scarlet, saying, "Come with me, Will. And you, too, Tuck-your French is better than mine."

  "Baron Neufmarche speaks French better than any of us," Tuck pointed out. "Send for him."

  "Maybe later," allowed Bran. "We'll see if there's anything worth talking about first."

  Together the three of them walked down the grassy slope to where the king of England had established himself between his billowing standards.

  "Perhaps the friar is right," suggested Will Scarlet. "It would not hurt to have Neufmarche with us."

  "We will call him if we need him," allowed Bran.

  "William speaks English," Tuck told them.

  "Does he indeed?" said Bran.

  "A little, anyway-more than he'll admit to."

  "Then we will insist," Bran decided. "That way we can all be very careful about what we say to one another."