Stephen Lawhead - Tuck

"He will be glad of it," Bran assured him. "You've done well-both of you. So now"-he looked around with the air of a man about to depart for territories unknown-"I think we are ready at last."

With that, the party began making their way back to the castle. The day had turned fair and bright; the breeze coming inland from the sea was warm and lightly scented with the salt-and-seaweed smell of the bay. They walked along in silence as thoughts turned to the danger of what lay ahead. All at once, Bran stopped and said, "We should not go on this way."

"Which way should we go?" Alan said. "This is the shortest way back to the castle."

"I mean," Bran explained, "it will not do to rouse the wolf in his den."

Tuck puzzled over this a moment, and said, "Dunce that I am, your meaning eludes me, I fear."

"If we return to the caer like this-all long-faced and fretful-it might put the earl on edge. Tonight of all nights we need the wolf to sleep soundly while we work."

"I agree, of course," Tuck replied. "So, pray, what is in your mind?"

"A drink with my friends," Bran said. "Come, Alan, I daresay you know an inn or public house where we can sit together over a jar or two."

"Right you are there, m'lord. I'm the man fer ye!" he declared, lapsing once more into that curious beggar cant he adopted from time to time. "Fret ye not whit nor tiddle, there's ale aplenty in Caer Cestre. Jist pick up yer feet an' follow Alan."

He turned and led the little group back down the street towards the centre of the town. It is a commonplace among settlements of a certain size that the better alehouses will be found fronting the square so as to attract and serve the buyers and sellers on market days. And although the Normans ruled the town of late, it was still Saxon at heart, which meant, if nothing else, that there would be ale and pies.

Alan pointed out two acceptable alehouses, and they decided on the one that had a few little tables and stools set up outside in the sun. There were barrels stacked up to one side of the doorway, forming a low wall to separate the tables from the bustle of the square. They sat down and soon had jars of sweet dark ale in their fists and a plate of pies to share amongst them.

"I would not insult you by repeating your instructions yet again," Bran said, setting his jar aside. "You all know what to do and need no reminding how important it is." He looked each in the eye as he spoke, one after the other as if to see if there might be a weakening of will to be glimpsed there. "But if any of you have any questions about what is to come, ask them now. It will be the last time we are together until we cross the river."

Bran, mindful of the trust he was placing on such young and untried shoulders, wanted to give the two Welshmen a last opportunity to ease their minds of any burdens they might be carrying. But each returned his gaze with studied determination, and it was clear the group was of one accord and each one ready to play his part to the last. Nor did anyone have any questions… save only their guide and interpreter.

"There is something I've been thinking these last few days, m'lord," Alan said after a slight hesitation, "and maybe now is a good time to ask."

"As good a time as any," agreed Bran. "What is in your mind, Alan?"

"It is this," he said, lowering his eyes to the table as if suddenly embarrassed to speak, "when you leave this place, will you take me with you?"

Bran was silent, watching the man across the table from him. He broke off a bit of crust from a pie and popped it into his mouth. "You want to come with us?" Bran said, keeping his voice light.

"That I do," Alan said. "I know I'm not a fighting man, and of no great account by any books-"

"Who would say a thing like that?" teased Bran.

"I know what I know," insisted Alan seriously. "But I can read and write, and I know good French and English, some Welsh, and a little Latin. I can make myself useful-as I think I've been useful to you till now. I may not be all-"

"If that is what you want," said Bran, breaking into Alan's carefully prepared speech. "You've served us well, Alan, and we could not have come this far without you. If we succeed, we will have you to thank." Bran reached out his hand. "Yes, we'll take you with us when we leave."

Alan stared at Bran's offered hand for a moment, then seized it in his own and shook it vigorously. "You will not be sorry, m'lord. I am your man."

So, the five sat for a while in peace, enjoying the ale and the warmth of the day, talking of this and that-but not another word of what was to come. When they rose a little later to resume their walk back to Castle d'Avranches, it was with lighter hearts than when they had sat down.

They slipped back into the castle and went to their separate quarters to prepare for the next day's activities. That night at supper, Bran baited and set the snare to catch Wolf Hugh.

Ah, there you are!" cried Earl Hugh as his Spanish guests trooped into the hall. With him at the table were several of his courtiers, six or seven of the women he kept, and, new to the proceedings, five Ffreinc noblemen the others had not seen before-large looming, well-fleshed Normans of dour demeanour. Judging from the cut and weave of their short red woollen cloaks, white linen tunics and fine leather boots, curled hair and clean-shaven faces, they were more than likely fresh off the boat from France. Their smiles were tight-almost grimaces-and their eyes kept roaming around the hall as if they could not quite credit their surroundings. Indeed, they gave every appearance of men who had awakened from a pleasant dream to find themselves not in paradise, but in perdition.

"Here's trouble," whispered Bran through his smile. "Not one Norman to fleece, but five more as well. We may have to hold off for tonight."

"No doubt you know best," Tuck said softly; and even as he spoke, an idea sprang full-bloomed into his round Saxon head. "Yet, here may be a godsend staring us dead in the eye."

"What do you see?" Bran said, still smiling at the Ffreinc, who were watching from their places at the board. He motioned Alan and the others to continue on, saying, "Keep your wits about you, everyone-especially you, Alan. Remember, this is why we came." Turning once more to Tuck, he said, "Speak it out, and be quick. What is it?"

"It just came to me that this is like John the Baptiser in Herod's pit."

Bran's mouth turned down in an expression of exasperated incomprehension. "We don't have time for a sermon just now, Friar. If you have something to say-"

"King Gruffydd is John," Tuck whispered. "And Earl Hugh is Herod."

"And who am I, then?"

"It is obvious, is it not?"

"Not to me," Bran muttered. He gestured to the earl as if to beg a moment's grace so that he might confer a little longer.

"Lord bless you." Tuck sighed. "Do you never pay attention when the Holy Writ is read out? Still, I'd have thought some smattering of the tale would have stuck by you."

"Tuck! Tell me quick or shut up," Bran rasped in a strained whisper. "We're being watched."

"You're Solome, of course."

"Refresh my memory."

"The dancing girl!"

Bran gave him a frustrated glare and turned away once more. "Just you be on your guard."

The two approached the board where the earl and his noble visitors were waiting. Alan, standing ready, smiled broadly for the Normans and made an elaborate bow. "My lords, I give you greetings in the name of Count Rexindo of Spain"-he paused so that Bran might make his own gesture of greeting to the assembled lords-"and with him, Lord Galindo and Lord Ramiero"-he paused again as the two young Welshmen bowed-"and Father Balthus, Bishop of Pamplona." Tuck stepped forward and, thinking it appropriate, made the sign of the cross over the table.