Stephen Lawhead - Tuck

"Just what I was thinking," said Bran. Turning to his young attendants, he said, "Here is a good time to test your mettle. Remember who we are." He pulled a leather bag from his belt and handed it to Ifor. "Get us some pies-one for each and one for our guide, too, when he returns. He looks like he could use a meal."

"And, lads, see if there is any beer," Tuck added. "A jug or two would be most welcome. This old throat is dry as Moses' in the wilderness."

They accepted the purse, turned, and with the air of men mounting to the gibbet, moved off to the baker's stall. "They'll be all right," observed Bran, more in hope than conviction.

"Oh, aye," Tuck agreed with equal misgiving. "Right as a miller's scale."

The presence of wealthy foreign strangers in the square was attracting some interest. A few of the idlers who had been standing at the well across the square were staring at them now and nodding in their direction. "You wanted to be noticed," Tuck said, smiling through his teeth. "But I don't think those fellas like what they're seeing."

"You surprise me, Tuck. This is just what we want. If word of our arrival reaches the earl before we do, so much the better. See there?" He indicated two of the men just then hurrying away. "The news is on its way. Be at ease, and remember-as highborn Spanish noblemen it is beneath us to pay them heed."

"You may be the king of Spain for all Caer Cestre knows," Tuck declared, "but these rich clothes fit me ill, for all I am a simple Saxon monk."

"A simple Saxon worrier it seems to me," Bran corrected. "There is nothing to fear, I tell you."

Brocmael and Ifor returned a short while later with pies and ale for all. Their errand had settled them somewhat and raised their confidence a rung or two. The four ate in the shade of the pillar at the side of the square and were just finishing when three of the idlers approached from the well.

"Here's trouble," muttered Tuck. "Keep your wits about you, lads."

But before any of them could speak, the beggar returned. He came charging across the square and accosted the men in blunt English. Bran and the others watched in amazement as the idlers halted, hesitated, then returned to their places at the well.

"A man after my own heart," said Tuck. He looked their reprobate guide up and down. "Here now, I hardly know you."

Not only had he washed himself head to toe, but he had cleaned his clothes with a bristle brush, cut his hair, and trimmed his beard. He had even found a feather to stick in his threadbare hat. Beaming with somewhat bleary good pleasure, he strode to where Bran was standing and with a low bow swept his cap from his head and proclaimed in the accent of an English nobleman, "Alan a'Dale at your service, my lord. May God bless you right well."

"Well, Tuck," remarked Bran, much impressed, "he's brushed up a treat. Tell him that I mean no offence when I say that I'd not mark him for the same man."

The man laughed, the sound full and easy. "The Alan you see is the Alan that is," he said. "Take 'im or leave 'im, friend, 'cause there en't no ither, ye ken?"

When Tuck had translated, Bran smiled and said, "We'll take you at your word, Alan." To Tuck, he said, "Give him his pennies and tell him what we want him to do."

"That is for the wash," said Tuck, placing a silver penny in Alan's pink-scrubbed palm, "and this is for leading us to Earl Hugh's castle. Now, sir, when we get there we want you to send for the earl's seneschal and tell him to announce us to the earl. Do that, and do it well-there's another penny for you when you're finished."

"Too kind, you are, my friend," said Alan, closing his fist over the coins and whisking them out of sight.

"And here's a pie for you," Tuck told him. The pie was still warm, its golden crust clean and unbroken.

"For me?" Alan was genuinely mystified by this small courtesy. He looked from Tuck to Bran and then at the younger members of their party. His hand was shaking as he reached out to take the pie. "For me?" he said again, as one who could not quite believe his good fortune. It seemed to mean more to him than the silver he had just been given.

"All for you, and we saved a little ale too," Tuck told him. "Eat now, and we will go as soon as you've finished."

"Bless you, Father," he said, grabbing Tuck's hand and raising it to his lips. "May the Good Lord repay your kindness a thousand times."

It happened so fast the little friar had no time to snatch his hand away again before the teary-eyed fellow had kissed it. "Here now! Stop that!"

"Bless you, good gents all," he said, lapsing into the accents of the street once more. "Alan a'Dale en't one to fergit a good turn."

He sat down on the ground at the base of the pillar and began to eat, stuffing his mouth hungrily and smacking his lips with each bite. Bran sent Ifor and Brocmael to water the horses while they waited, and then asked Tuck to find out what he could from their hungry guide. "Tell him who we are, Tuck, and let's see how he takes it."

"My lord wants you to know that you are in the service of an esteemed and wealthy foreign nobleman in need of your aid. Perform your service well and you will be amply rewarded. He gives you good greeting."

At this, Alan carefully laid his pie aside, rose to his knees, swiped off his hat, and bowed his head. "You honour your servant, m'lord. May God be good to you."

"Give him our thanks," Bran said, "and ask him how long he's been in the town, and what news of the earl and his court."

Turning to Alan, Tuck relayed Bran's question. "My lord thanks you and wishes to know how long you have sojourned in this place."

Alan raised his eyes heavenward, his lips moving as he made his calculations. "In all, three year-give or take. No more than four."

"And how do you find the lord here-Earl Hugh?" Tuck asked, then added, "Please, finish your meal. We will talk while you eat."

"Aye, that's him," replied their guide, settling himself against the pillar once more. He picked up the pie and bit into it. "Fat Hugh, they call him-aye, and well-named, he. There's one hog wants the whole wallow all to himself, if ye ken."

"A greedy man?"

"Greedy?" he mused, taking another bite and chewing thoughtfully. "If a pig be greedy, then he's the Emperor o' Swine."

"Is he now?" Tuck replied, and translated his words for the Cymry speakers, who chuckled at the thought.

"That tallies with what we've heard already," replied Bran. "Ask him if he knows the castle-has he ever been inside it?"

"Aye," nodded Alan when Tuck finished. "I ken the bloody heap right well. Lord have mercy, I been up there a few times." He crinkled up his eyes and asked, "Why would a bunch o' God fearin' folk like yerselves want to go up there anyway?"

"We have a little business with the earl," explained Tuck.

"Bad business, then," observed Alan. "Still, I don't suppose you can be blamed for not knowing what goes on hereabouts…" He tutted to himself. "Mark me, you'd be better off forgetting you ever heard of Wolf d'Avranches."

"If it's as bad as all that," Tuck ventured, "then why did you agree to take us there so quickly?"

"I didn't ken ye was God-fearin' gents right off, did I?" he said. "I maybe thought you were like his nibs up there, an' ye'd give as good as get, ye ken?"

"And now?"

"Now I ken different-like. Ye en't like them rascals up t'castle. Devil take 'em, but even Ol' Scratch won't have 'em, I daresay." Alan gazed at the strangers with pleading eyes. "Ye sure ye want to go up there?"

"We thank you for the warning. If we had any other choice, no doubt we'd take your advice," Tuck told him. "But circumstances force us to go, and go we must."

"Well, don't ye worry," said Alan, brushing crumbs from his clothes as he climbed to his feet. "I'll still see ye right, no matter. An' what's more, I'll say a prayer for yer safe return."