Stephen Lawhead - Tuck

"I am honoured, Sire," the beggar answered.

"Here now!" called Earl Hugh from a doorway across the way. "This way to the stables."

"Let the hunt begin," said Bran, and the four Spanish noblemen and their interpreter hurried to join their host.

Cel Craidd

Merian held the long smooth length of ash between her fingers and carefully wrapped the thin rawhide strap in a tight spiral around the end, placing the clipped halves of stripped feathers from a goose's wing just so as she slowly turned the rounded shaft. Half her mind was on her task-fletching arrows required patience and dexterity, but consumed little thought-and the other half of her mind was on the worrying news that had reached them the night before.

The news had come after nightfall. Merian and Noin and two of the other women were tending to the evening meal, and the rest of Cel Craidd was still at work: some trimming and shaping branches of ash and yew for war bows, or assisting Siarles in splitting narrow lengths of oak for arrows; two of the women were weaving hemp and linen for strings, and Tomas was helping Angharad affix the steel points. Scarlet and his small host of warriors-two of the younger women and three of the older children-were hard at work training to the longbow-they would practice until it was too dark to see. And any who were not busy with either bows or arrows were tending the bean field. The forest round about was sinking into a peaceful and pleasant autumn twilight.

And then they heard the long, low whistle that signalled the return of the scouts-those who had been away all day watching the King's Road. A few moments later, Rhoddi and Owain tumbled breathless down the bank and into the settlement bearing the news: Sheriff de Glanville had returned with upwards of fifty knights.

"They came quick and they came quiet," Rhoddi said when he had swallowed a few mouthfuls of water and splashed a cup over his head. "It was already getting dark, and they were on us before we knew it or we would have prepared a welcome for them."

"Where's Iwan?" asked Siarles, already halfway to flying off to his aid.

"He stayed to watch and see if any more came along," explained Owain. "He sent us on ahead." Catching Siarles's disapproving glance, the young warrior added, "There was nothing we could do. There were just too many, and we didn't have men or arrows enough to take 'em on."

"We thought better to let be this once," offered Rhoddi.

"Rhi Bran would have fought 'em," said Siarles.

"Given men enough and clear warning to get set in place, aye," agreed Rhoddi, "King Raven would have taken 'em on and no doubt won the day. But we en't Bran, and we didn't have men enough or time."

Iwan had returned a little while later to confirm what the others had said. "So now, Bloody Hugo has fifty more knights to throw at us. I hope Bran and Tuck fare well on their errand-we'll need all the help we can get. I just wish there was some way to get word to them."

Now, as the sun beat down brightly upon their wildwood settlement, Merian looked around at the quiet industry around her, Iwan's words circling in her mind like restless birds. I might not be able to get word to Bran, she thought, but I can do better than that-I can raise troops myself. In that moment, she knew what she had to do: she would go to her father and persuade him to join Bran in the battle to drive the Ffreinc out of Elfael. Her father could command thirty, perhaps forty men, and each one trained to the longbow. Experienced archers would be more than welcome and, added to however many men Bran was able to raise, would form the beginnings of a fair army. She knew Bran's feelings about involving her father, but he was wrong. She'd tried to persuade him otherwise and met with a stubborn-nay, prideful-resistance. But in this matter of life and death, she considered, the outcome was just too important to allow such petty concerns to cloud good judgement. They needed troops, her father had them, and that was that.

Bran, she knew, would forgive her when he saw the men she would bring. Moreover, if she left at once, she could be back in Cel Craidd with the promise of warriors or better, the warriors themselves, before Bran returned.

Having made up her mind, the urge to go reared up like a wild horse and she was borne along like a helpless rider clinging to its neck. She made short work of the arrow she was fletching, set it aside, and rose, brushing bits of feather from her lap. I can't be wearing this home to meet my family, she decided, looking down at her stained and threadbare gown. Hurrying to her hut, she went inside and drew a bundle down from the rafters, untied it, and shook out the gown she had worn as an Italian noblewoman when accompanying Bran on the mission to rescue Will Scarlet. Though of the finest quality, the material was dark and heavy and made her look like an old woman; nevertheless, it was all she had and it would have to do. As she changed into the gown, she thought about what she would say to the family she had not seen for… how long had it been? Two years? Three? Too long, to be sure.

She brushed her hair and washed her face, and then hurried off to prepare a little something to eat on the way, and to ready a horse. Caer Rhodl was no great distance. It was still early; if she left at once and did not stop on the way, she could be there before nightfall.

"Are you certain, my lady?" said Noin with a frown when Merian explained why she was saddling a horse while wearing her Italian gown. "Perhaps you should wait and speak to Iwan. Tell him what you plan."

"I am only going to visit my family," replied Merian lightly. "Nothing ill can come of it."

"Then tell Angharad. She should-" Merian was already shaking her head. "But you must tell someone."

"I am," said Merian. "I'm telling you, Noin. But I want you to promise me you won't tell anyone else until this evening when I'm sure to be missed. Promise me."

"Not even Will?"

"No," said Merian, "not a word to anyone-even Will. I should be at Caer Rhodl by the time anyone thinks to come looking for me, and by then there will be no need."

"Take someone with you, at least," suggested Noin, her voice taking on a note of pleading. "We could tell Will, and he could go with you."

"He is needed here," answered Merian, brushing aside the offer. "Besides, I will be safe home before anyone knows it."

Noin's frown deepened; a crease appeared between her lowered brows. "There are dangerous folk about," she protested weakly.

"I shouldn't worry," replied Merian, a smile curving her lips. "The only dangerous folk here about are us." She took the other woman's hand and pressed it firmly. "I'll be fine."

With that, she took up her small cloth bag, mounted quickly into the saddle, and was gone.

She struck off along a familiar path-it seemed as if she had lived a lifetime in this forest; were there any paths she didn't know?-and with swift, certain strides soon reached the King's Road. There she paused to take a drink of water from her stoppered jar and listen for anyone moving in the greenwood. Satisfied there was no one else about, she crossed the road, flitting quickly as a bird darting from one leafy shelter to another, and rode quickly on.

Just after midday, the trail divided and she took the southern turning, which, if she remembered correctly, would lead to her father's lands in Eiwas. The day was warm now, and she was sweating through her clothes; she drank some more water and moved along once more, riding a little slower now; she was well away from Cel Craidd, and there had been no sign of anyone following her. Except for a few stands of nettles and some brambles to be avoided, the path was clear and bright and easy underfoot. When she grew hungry, she ate from the bag slung under her arm, but she did not stop until finally reaching the forest's southwestern border.