Tuck kr-3

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  They came to within fifty paces of the knights on horseback. "Mon roi," said Bran, with a glancing nod of respect. "Parlerez-vous?"

  "Oui," replied King William. "Je veux vous parler de la paix."

  "He wants to talk to you about making peace," said Tuck.

  "Bon," said Bran. To Tuck, he said, "Tell him that we will speak in English and that you will relay my words to him."

  Tuck did as he was commanded, and a strange expression passed over the king's face. "You," he said. "Have I seen you before?"

  "You've seen us all before, you mule-headed varlet," muttered Scarlet in Welsh.

  "Steady on, Scarlet," said Bran. "We're here to listen."

  "Oh, indeed, yes, Sire," replied Tuck. "We met first in Rouen last year-when my Lord Bran came to warn you of the plot by your brother against your throne."

  William nodded. "Somewhere else, I think."

  "Yes," said Tuck. "I was at Wintan Cestre when you gave your judgement against Baron de Braose and Count Falkes, and delivered this cantref into the care of Abbot Hugo Rainault and Sheriff de Glanville."

  William squinted his eyes and regarded the little friar with a suspicious look-as if trying to decide if the priest was mocking him in some subtle way. "No… somewhere else." Realization came to him, and his eyebrows raised. "Le Sang Vierge! You were that priest in the church this morning."

  "True, Majesty," answered Tuck. "That is a fact I cannot deny."

  "Good Lord, Tuck," whispered Scarlet, "you've been a busy fella."

  The king frowned, then said, "C'est la vie-I am glad you are here." Turning his attention to the task at hand he said to Bran, "Good day for a battle, eh?"

  "None better," replied Bran, through Tuck.

  "What is this about you, ah… desirer the throne of this godforsaken cantref? You have caused me the very devil of trouble, my lord."

  "With respect, Sire," answered Bran, "I want only what is rightfully mine-the throne my family has occupied for two hundred years."

  "Hmph!" sniffed William, unimpressed. "That is finished. Britain is a Norman country now. I made my decision. Can you not accept it?"

  Tuck and Bran conferred, and the friar said, "Again, with respect, Sire, my Lord Bran would remind you that the two of you made a bargain in Rouen-a throne for a throne. That is what you said. Bran helped you save your throne; now he wants the one he was promised."

  King William frowned. He took off his helmet and rubbed a gloved hand through his thinning red hair. After a moment, he said, "Your priest here," he jabbed a stubby finger at Tuck, "says you will swear fealty to me. Is that true?"

  "Oui," said Bran. "Yes."

  "If I restore you to the throne," William said, "you will cease this rebellion-is that so?"

  Again, Bran and Tuck conferred. "That is what I intended from the first."

  "This miserable little cantref has already cost me more than I will ever see out of it," grumbled William. "What you want with it, God knows. But you are welcome to it."

  "Your Majesty!" gasped one of the barons attending William. "I fear you are making a grave mistake."

  The knight moved up beside the king, and the forest-dwellers recognized him for the first time. "You had your say long ago, Gysburne," Tuck told him. "Ferme la bouche."

  "You cannot just give it back to them," insisted Marshal Gysburne, "not after what they've done."

  "Can I not?" growled the king. "Who are you, sir, to tell me what I can do? The priest is right-shut your mouth." Turning to Bran, he said, "It grows hot and I am thirsty. Can we discuss this somewhere out of the sun? I have wine in my tent. Come, let us talk together."

  "I would like nothing more," replied Bran when Tuck had told him what the king said. "However, I would like to choose the place of discussion."

  "Where, then?"

  "The fortress is just there," said Bran, pointing down the slope to the caer on its mound in the near distance. "We will talk there."

  "But the stronghold is full of your warriors," the king pointed out.

  "Some warriors, yes," allowed Bran. "But farmers and herders, too-the people who have suffered under de Braose, Abbot Hugo, and Sheriff de Glanville these last years."

  "Am I to go into this den of wolves alone?" said the king.

  "Bring as many of your knights as you wish," Bran told him. "The more who see us swear peace with one another, the better it will be for everyone."

  When King William and his knights rode into the fortress yard at midday, Bran and his people were ready to receive them. Bran, with Merian on one hand and Tuck on the other, was flanked by Iwan and Siarles on the right, and Will Scarlet and Alan a'Dale on the left. Behind him were other members of the Grellon-Noin, Owain, Brocmael, and Ifor, and most of the forest-dwellers. Baron Bernard Neufmarche stood a little apart, with two of his knights holding Sheriff Richard de Glanville, bound at the wrists, between them. Beside the knights stood Bishop Asaph gripping the oaken shaft of his brass-topped crosier, and Odo clutching a big Bible.

  The king of England was accompanied by a dozen knights, Marshal Guy of Gysburne amongst them. Around the perimeter of the yard stood the people of Elfael. Outside the walls of the fortress, the army was drawn up and waiting. Beyond them, on the heights above the valley, the Cymry kings and their archers kept watch on the proceedings. If William's army moved to attack, they would move to prevent it.

  William Rufus rode to the centre of the yard, where his personal canopy had been set up. He dismounted and was greeted by Bran. Merian and Baron Neufmarche joined them to make certain that no misunderstandings arose because of a simple lack of language on either side. A small table had been set up beneath the canopy, and two chairs. On the table was a jar and a single bowl.

  "Your Majesty," said Bran, "if it please you, sit with me. We will drink together."

  "I would like nothing better," said the king. Seeing Neufmarche, he stopped and turned to his wayward vassal. "Baron, do not think that your part in this will be ignored."

  The baron inclined his head in acceptance of the king's charge, but replied, "What I have done I did for the greater good."

  "Ha!" scoffed the king. "Your own good most of all, I do not doubt. By the Virgin, man, how could you turn against me?"

  "It was not so much turning against you, Sire," replied the baron, "but protecting myself. Even so, it is fortunate that we did not have to try one another in battle."

  "Fortunate, eh?" said the king. "We will talk of this another time." He moved to take his place beneath the brightly coloured canopy. Bran joined him and sat down, with Merian on one side and Tuck on the other. The baron stood to one side between the two kings and, acting as steward, poured wine into the bowl. He handed the bowl to Bran, who took it up, drank a draught, and then offered it to William.

  Red William accepted the bowl and drank, then returned it to Bran. The back-and-forth continued until the bowl was drained, whereupon Baron Neufmarche refilled it and placed it on the table between them.

  "God with you, Your Majesty," said Bran, who between Merian and the baron was able to make his thoughts known. "And though we might both wish that the occasion was otherwise, I do bid you welcome to Caer Cadarn and Elfael. It is my hope that we rise from this table better friends than when we sat down."

  "Let us cut to the bone," replied the king in English. "What are your terms?"

  Bran smiled. "I want only what I have always wanted-"

  "Your precious throne, yes," answered the king. "You shall have it. What else?"

  "Full pardon for myself and my Grellon, and any who have aided me in returning the realm to my rule," said Bran. "And that will include Baron Neufmarche."

  The king frowned at this last part when it was explained to him, but gave a grudging nod of assent. "What else?"

  "Nothing more," said Bran. "Only your seal on a treaty of peace between our kingdoms."

  William gave a bark of disbelief when Neufmarche translated Bran's last remarks. "Nothing else? No reparations? No silver to p
ay your soldiers?"

  "My warriors are mine to repay," said Bran. "We Cymry take care of our own."

  "I wish every fiefdom took care of itself, by the blood," replied William. He leaned back in his chair and gave every appearance of beginning to enjoy himself. "If you have nothing else, then hear my terms. I require your oath of fealty and a tribute to be paid each year on…" He tapped his chin as he thought, then caught a glimpse of Tuck and said, "You, there, priest-if you are a priest-what is the nearest holy day to this one?"

  Tuck moved a step forward. "That would be Gwyl Iwan y Coed," he replied. "The Feast of Saint John the Baptist, in plain English."

  "John le Baptiste, oui," said Neufmarche, passing this along to the king.

  "Henceforth, on the Feast of Saint John the Baptist, a tribute of…" He looked around at the rude fortress and the mean, common dress of the half-starved inhabitants and the grim determination he saw on their faces and made his decision. "A tribute of one good longbow and a sheaf of arrows to be presented to the Royal Court at Londein and given over to the care of the Chief Justiciar."

  Merian gasped with joy, and Tuck, who caught most of what was said, chuckled and told the others standing round about.

  "Oh, Bran," breathed Merian, giving Bran's shoulder a squeeze. Tuck relayed the terms to the Grellon and all those looking on. "The king has decided to be generous."

  Baron Neufmarche and the king exchanged a brief word, and the baron said, "King William will accept the release of his sheriff now." He summoned the knights forward, and de Glanville was marched to the table.

  "As a token of the peace we have sworn between us, I release him to your authority," said Bran. He motioned to his champion, standing behind Friar Tuck. "Iwan, cut him loose."

  The big warrior stepped forward and, grinning with good pleasure at the astonishing turn events had taken, drew the knife from his belt and began cutting through the bonds at the sheriff 's wrists. The rawhide straps fell away, and with a sweep of his hand, Iwan indicated that the prisoner was free to go.

  As Iwan replaced the knife and made to step back, de Glanville snatched the dagger from his belt and leaped forward. In the same swift movement, he drew back his hand and prepared to plunge the dagger into Bran's unprotected neck. The naked blade flashed forward and down. Tuck saw the arcing glint hard in the bright sunlight and gave out a yelp of warning. Iwan, startled, put out his hand.

  But it was too late.

  The knife slashed down a killing stroke.

  Then, even as the cruel blade descended to its mark, the sheriff 's hand faltered and appeared to seize in its forward sweep. Halted, it hovered in midstroke. The knife point quivered, then fell to the ground.

  It happened so fast that almost no one saw what had arrested the knife until Sheriff de Glanville let out a shriek of agony and crumpled to his knees. Only slowly, as if in a dream, did the stunned onlookers discover Will Scarlet standing over the sheriff, his own hand clamped tight over de Glanville's. He gave the captured hand a squeeze, and there was a meaty crunch and pop as the sheriff 's fingers gave way.

  De Glanville gave out a roar of pain and anger and swung at Scarlet with his free hand. Tuck, snatching the crosier from Bishop Asaph's hand, grasped it like a quarterstaff and swung it once around his head and brought it down with a solid thump on the top of the sheriff 's head; de Glanville crumpled to the ground, where he lay on his side, whimpering and cradling his broken fingers.

  "Stand him up!" commanded William with an airy wave of his hand. Turning to Bran he spoke with some sincerity. "His Majesty offers heartfelt apologies," Neufmarche translated. "He asks what you would like him to do with the rogue."

  "I will leave that to Scarlet," replied Bran, looking to Will for an answer.

  "Broken fingers are a long and painful reminder of a man's failure," replied the forester. "As I should know. I am satisfied if he takes that away with him-so long as we never have to see him again."

  "That's a far sight more mercy than he deserves," said Bran. "And more than he ever showed you, Will."

  "And is my husband not the better man?" said Noin, taking Will's arm.

  Bran's decision was delivered to King William, who merely grunted. "This man is no longer one of my sheriffs. Remove him from our sight." Then, rising, he held out his hand to one of his knights. "Your sword," he said.

  The knight drew his blade and handed it to the king, who turned to Bran. He spoke and indicated a place on the ground before him.

  "His Majesty is saying that he must leave now if he is to reach Normandie in time to collect his tribute," Baron Neufmarche explained. "He says there is but one more thing he must do before he goes."

  "Sire?" said Bran.

  Again the king spoke and indicated the place on the ground at his feet.

  "He says you are to kneel and swear your fealty to him," said Neufmarche.

  Bran called Bishop Asaph to him. "Father, will you see that it is done properly?"

  "Of course, Rhi Bran," said the old man. "It will be an honour." As the bishop took his place beside King William, Bran knelt and stretched out his hand to grasp the king's foot. William, holding the sword upright in both hands, directed his newest vassal in the age-old ceremony which bound man to lord, and lord to king. Bishop Asaph lofted his crosier and offered a prayer to seal the vow, and the simple rite was concluded.

  William touched the edge of the sword to the back of Bran's neck and told him to rise. "You are now my liegeman, and I am your liege lord," the king told him, and Merian, standing near, interpreted. "Rule your realm in peace as God gives you strength."

  "In the strength of God," replied Bran, "I will." As he said those words, he felt Merian slip her hand into his, and then he was caught up in the tremendous sea wave of acclamation that rose up from the long-suffering folk of Elfael, whose joy at seeing their king triumphant could not be contained.

  King William called for his horse to be brought and his men to depart. "We will meet again, no doubt," he said.

  "On the Feast of Saint John the Baptist," replied Bran.

  "Rule well and wisely," said the king in English. He searched the crowd for a face, and found it. "And see you keep this man close to your throne," he said, pulling Tuck forward. "He has done you good service. If not for him, there would be no peace to celebrate this day."

  "In truth, Your Majesty," said Bran. "I will keep him with me always."

  That night Rhi Bran ap Brychan celebrated his return to the throne with the first of what would become many days of feasting, song, and merriment, and went to sleep in his own bed. And though in the days ahead he would often return to the greenwood to visit Angharad's grave and tell his Wise Banfaith how his kingdom fared, he never spent another night in the forest so long as he lived.

  EPILOGUE

  Nottingham, 1210

  Rumour had it that King John had come north to hunt in the royal forest at Sherwood. His Majesty was lodged with High Sheriff Wendeval in the old castle on the mound overlooking the river. Thomas a'Dale, following the royal progress, had come to Nottingham hoping for a chance to perform for the king and add a royal endorsement to his name-and a handsome fee to his slack purse.

  As he walked along the dirt track, humming to himself, he recalled the last time he had been here; it was with his father, when he was a boy learning the family trade. As he remembered, he had juggled while his father played the psaltery and sang the songs that made his family a fair living. Thomas remembered Nottingham as a good-sized city with a lively market and plenty of people from whom to draw the crowds a minstrel required. Passing quickly through the town now, he saw that the market was just opening and merchants beginning to set out their wares, including a pie man who carried his steaming gold treasures on a long plank from the bakery oven to his stall. The aroma brought the water to Thomas's mouth, and he felt the pinch in his empty stomach.

  Still, hungry as he was, he did not dally. He marched straightaway to the castle and presented himself at the gate. "God
bless you right well, sir," he addressed the gateman. "Is the lord of the manor at home?"

  "He is," replied the grizzled veteran controlling the castle entrance, a man with one eye and one hand: both lost in some nameless battle or other. "Not that it is any business of your'n."

  "Oh," replied Thomas lightly, "that is where you mistake me, sir. I am a minstrel, Thomas a'Dale by name. I've performed before the crowned heads of many a land, and now I've come to entertain the lord high sheriff and the king."

  "What makes you think the king is here?" queried the gateman, sizing up the wanderer with a long, one-eyed appraisal.

  "That is all the talk of the countryside," answered Thomas. "You can hear it anywhere."

  "Do you believe ever'thing you hear?"

  "And do you believe everything you see?" countered Thomas. Producing a silver penny from his purse he held it up between thumb and finger for a moment before placing it on his eye. Squinting to hold the coin in place, he showed both hands empty, palms out. Then with a shout, he clapped his hands and the coin vanished.

  The gateman gave a snort of mild amusement and said, "Where's it gone, then?"

  By way of reply, Thomas opened his mouth and showed the silver penny on his tongue.

  "That's a good'un, that," the old man chuckled. "You have more o' those japes, sim'lar?"

  "As many as you like," said Thomas. "And more of these, too," he added, offering the man the penny, "for a fella who speaks a good word of me to his lordship's steward tonight."

  "I reckon I'm that fella," answered the porter, plucking the penny from the young man's fingers. "You come back at e'ensong bell, and you'll find a welcome."

  "Good man. Until then," replied Thomas. "God be good to you, sir."

  Having secured his employment, he returned to the town square and found a place to sit while he watched the market folk. When the first rush of activity was over-the wives and maids of wealthier households, first in line to buy the best on offer-the market assumed a more placid, easygoing air. People took time to exchange news and gossip, to quench their thirst at the tavern keeper's ale vat, and to more casually examine the contents of the various booths and stalls lining the square.