Stephen Lawhead - Scarlet

I did as I was told. Bran wound the end of the rope around one wrist and gave it a tug. The rope snapped taut. He tugged again and the end of a rope ladder dropped from the limb overhead.

"Up you go, Will," he said, passing the ladder to me. "I will hold it for you, but be quick."

Slinging my bow, I grasped the highest rung I could reach and swung myself up, climbing the ladder with no little difficulty as it twisted and turned like an angry serpent under my weight. I gritted my teeth and hung on. After some tricksy rope climbing, I gained the limb of the oak at last. "Pull up the ladder!" hissed Bran in an urgent whisper. The sheriff 's men were that close he could not speak more loudly or risk being overheard.

"There is time," I whispered back. "Take hold and I'll pull you up."

But he was already gone.

I hauled up the ladder as fast as I could and crouched in the crux of the largest bough to wait. Within five heartbeats the sheriff 's men burst into the clearing we had just left. A few more steps along our trail carried them to the base of the oak, where our tracks became slightly confused. Although I could no longer see the path below, and was not fool enough to risk looking down, I could well imagine what they were seeing: the well-formed footprints of two fleeing men set in deep, undisturbed snow, and then… one set of footprints vanishing.

Only a solitary track continued along the path, and they were not slow to mark this.

They paused to catch a breath beneath my hiding place. I could hear them puffing hard as they stood below, searching, trying to find where the second pair of tracks had gone. One of them muttered something in French-something about the futility of catching anything in this accursed forest. And then another voice called from the trail, and they moved on. From my perch, I caught a fleeting glimpse of three soldiers in dark cloaks barely visible in the winter twilight.

No doubt they were loath to return to the sheriff empty-handed, and seeing only a single set of footprints leading away, they had no choice but to follow them. So, panting and cursing, off they went to continue the pursuit. When they had gone, I settled myself more securely on the branch to wait for whatever would happen next. The night was not getting any warmer, nor my cloak any drier; folding my arms across my chest to keep warm, I prayed to Saint Christopher that they would not be pulling my frozen corpse from the oak come Christmas.

Twilight deepened to night and the wind sharpened, kicking up gusts to drive the snow. I wrapped myself tight in my cloak and had just closed my eyes beneath my hood when I heard the creak and clatter of tree limbs nearby as if something big was moving among the branches. My first thought was that all the fuss and fury had awakened a bear or wildcat asleep in its treetop bower. Peering around, Lord bless me, but I saw a great dark shape walking toward me along the very bough I had chosen.

The thing came closer. "Get back!" I hissed, fumbling beneath my damp cloak for my knife.

"Hush!" came the whisper. "You'll bring them back."

"Bran?"

"Who else?" He laughed lightly. "Heavens, Will, you look like you were ready to take wing."

"I thought you were a bear," I told him.

"Follow me," he said, already turning away. "They will be coming back this way soon, and it is best we are not here."

Teetering on the bough, I edged after him, sliding one cautious, slippery foot at a time while clinging to a branch overhead. The bough narrowed as it went out from the trunk but, at the place where it would have begun to bend under our weight, I discovered another stout limb had been lashed into place to make a bridge, of sorts, on which to cross the gap between trees. This makeshift bridge spanned the trail below, linking two big oaks together.

And this was not all! No fewer than four trees were likewise linked in a mad squirrel-run through the treetops. We worked our way along this odd walkway until we came to another rope ladder, and so at last climbed down to a completely different forest track.

"You knew we would be chased," I said the moment I set foot on solid ground once more.

"Aye," he replied, "King Raven can see the shapes of all things present and yet to come," he told me.

"Peter and Paul on a donkey, Bran!" I gasped. "Then you must have seen the sheriff and-"

"Peace, Will," he said, chuckling at his jest. "Angharad might be blessed with such a gift on occasion, but I am not."

"No?" I said, none too certain.

"Listen to you," he said. "It does not take the Second Sight to know that any time you take arms against a company of Norman knights you might soon be running for your life."

"True," I allowed, feeling stupid for being taken in so easily. "That's a fact, right enough. Still and all, it was a canny piece of luck they chased you the way you wanted to go."

"Not at all," he said, moving lightly away. "I led them. This way or another it makes no difference. We have worked all summer to prepare such deceptions. There are ladders and treewalks scattered all over the forest, and especially along the King's Road."

"Treewalk," I said, enjoying the word. I hurried after him.

"Ladders and limbs and such," he said. "It makes for easier escape if you can move from tree to tree."

"I agree. But do the Normans never see them?"

"The Ffreinc only ever view the world from the back of a horse," Bran declared. "They rarely dismount, even in dense forest, and almost never look up." He shook his head again. "I should have told you about all that, but I confess I did so want to see your face the first time we used it."

This revelation stopped me in my tracks. "I hope it gave you enjoyment, my lord," I said, the complaint sharp in my voice. "I live to provide amusement for my betters."

"Oh, do not take on, Will. No harm done."

"I thought you were a bear, I did."

He laughed. "Come. Iwan and Siarles will be wondering what has become of us."

He hurried off along the darkened path, and it was all I could do to keep up with him. His long legs carried him by fast strides-and his sight, even in the dark, led him unerringly along a path that could no longer be seen. I struggled along, slipping and sliding in his footsteps, trying to avoid the branches and twigs that whipped back in my face. After a time, Bran slowed his pace; the trees were closer here, the wood more dense and the snow less deep on the path. We moved along at a much improved pace until we arrived at a place far from the road and where we had last seen the sheriff 's men.

Bran paused and put his hand back to halt me. He hesitated, and then I heard Iwan's voice murmur something, and Bran stepped from the trail and into a small, snug clearing that had been hewn from the dense undergrowth beside the trail. A fire burned brightly in the centre of this bower and, aside from Iwan and Siarles, there were five of the Grellon huddled close around the flames. They all rose when Bran stepped through the brush, and welcomed him. They made room for us by the fire, but before Bran sat down, he spoke to each one personally, telling them how pleased he was of their accomplishments this day.

Aside from the men, there were two women from Cel Craidd. They had prepared barley cakes and a little mulled ale to help draw the chill from our bones, so while Bran spoke to the others, I sat down and soon had my frozen fingers wrapped around a steaming jar. "We were getting worried," said Siarles, settling down beside me. "I might have known there would be trouble."

"A little," I confessed. "The sheriff turned up and took it into his head to have us give some of his men a run through the wood."

"The sheriff? Are you certain?"

"Oh, aye, it was himself. I challenged him, and he tried to talk me into giving myself up for a hanging." I sipped my hot ale. "Tempting as it was, I declined the offer and made one of my own. I decorated his fine cloak with arrow points."