Stephen Lawhead - Scarlet

"I'm hungry," Bran said.

"I'm with Iwan," said Siarles. "Give me a fair fight any day. This skulking around the enemy camp fair gives me the pip."

"Steady on, boys," said Merian, her voice altered by her wooden teeth. "All you need do is keep your eyes open and your mouths shut. Let Bran do the rest." Our lord smiled at her quick defence of him. "And you," she said to him, "see you get us out of here in the same condition we came in, and I might consider marrying you after all."

"Oh, if I thought that was possible, my love," he answered, taking her hand and kissing it, "then you would be amazed to see what I can do."

How this little dance might have continued we would never learn, for at that moment the door opened and three servants bearing platters of bread and sausage, and jars of watered wine entered the room, and hard on their heels none other than King William of England in the very solid flesh. We knew straightaway that it was Rufus: the fiery red hair; the high, ruddy complexion; the squat, slightly bowed legs; the spreading belly and beefy arms-all of which had been reported by anyone who'd met him. Well, who else could it be?

Attending the king were two noblemen, and our man Canon Laurent, who seemed unable to hold himself out of the proceedings.

The king of England was a younger man than I had imagined, but the life he led-the fighting and drinking and what all-was exacting a price. Still, he was formidable and with long, thick arms, heavy shoulders, and a deep chest, would have made a fearsome enemy on a battlefield. His short legs were slightly bent from a life in the saddle, as his father's were well reputed to have been, and like his father, his hair was red, but grizzled now and thinning. He looked like one of those fighting dogs I'd seen in market squares where their owners set them on bears or bulls for the wagering of a feast-day crowd.

Oh, he'd seen a few fights, had Bloody Red William, and won his share to be sure. As he stumped into the room, the glance from his beady, bloodshot eyes sweeping quickly left and right, he seemed as if he expected to meet an enemy army. Like that marketplace bulldog, he appeared only too ready to take a bite out of whomever or whatever got in his way.

"Quel est cette intrusion impolie?" the king demanded, puffing himself up. He spoke quickly, and I had trouble understanding his somewhat pinched voice.

"Pax vobiscum, meus senior rex regis," said Brother Alfonso, bowing nicely.

"Latin?" said the king, which even I could understand. "Latin? Mary and Joseph, someone tell him to speak French."

"Paix, mon roi de seigneur," offered Brother Alfonso smoothly, and went on to introduce the king to his visitor.

"When you learn why we have come," said Bran, taking his place before the king as Jago translated his words for the French-speaking monarch, "you will forgive the intrusion."

"Will I, by the rood?" growled the king. "Try me, then. But I warn you, I rarely forgive much, and fools who waste my time-never!"

"If it be foolish to try to save your throne," Bran replied, his voice taking an edge the king did not mistake, "then fool I am. I have been called worse."

"Who are you?" demanded the king. "Leicester? Warwick? Do you know this man?"

"No, my lord," answered the younger of the two knights. "I have never seen him before."

"Nor I," answered the elder. "Any of them."

"Save my throne, eh?" said the king. I could see that, despite his bluster, he was intrigued. "My throne is not in danger."

"Is it not?" countered Bran. "I have good reason to believe otherwise. Your brother Duke Robert is raising rebellion against you."

"Tell me something I do not know," snorted the king. "If this is your message, you are the very fool I thought."

"This time, Lord King," replied Bran quickly, "he has the aid and support of Pope Clement and your brother Henry Beauclerc, and many others. It is my belief that they mean to force your abdication in favour of Duke Robert, or face excommunication."

This stole the swagger from the English monarch's tail, I can tell you. "I knew it!" he growled. To his knights, he said, "I told you they were scheming against me." Then, just as quick, he turned to Bran and demanded, "You have proof of this?"

"I do, Lord King," said Bran. "A document has come into my possession which has been signed by those making conspiracy against you."

"You have this document, do you?" said the king.

"I do, Sire," replied Bran.

William thrust out a broad, calloused hand. "Give it to me."

Bran put his hand inside his robe and brought out the folded parchment which had been so painstakingly copied by the monks at Saint Dyfrig's abbey. It was wrapped in its cloth, and Bran clutched it firmly in both hands. "Before I deliver it to you," he said, "I ask a boon."

"Ha!" sneered the king. "I might have guessed that was coming. You priests are always looking to your own interests. Well, what is it you want? Reward-is that what you want? Money?"

"No, Sire," said Bran, still holding out the document. "I want-"

"Yes?" said the king, impatience making him sharp. "What! Speak, man!"

"Justice," said Bran quietly. "I want justice."

Jago gave our lord's reply, to which William shouted, "You shall have it!" as he snatched the document away. Unwrapping the thick, folded square, he opened it out and stared at it long and hard. Glancing at Canon Laurent hovering nearby, he lifted a hand to the cleric and said, "This should be spoken in the presence of witnesses."

Some have said he never learned to read-at least, he could not read French. "As it lays, pray you," he said, thrusting the letter into the cleric's hands. "Spare us nothing."

The canon took a moment to study the document, collected himself, cleared his throat, and began to read it out in a clear, strong voice. "Moi Guillaume par le pardon de Dieu, de Bramber et Seigneur et Brienze, qux tres estimer et reverend Guibert et Ravenna. Salutations dans Dieu mai les tranquillite de Christ, Notre Eternelle Sauveur, rester a vous toujours."

It was the letter Jago had read to us that day in Saint Dyfrig's following the Christmas raid. That Laurent read it with far more authority could not be denied; still, though I could understand but little of what he read, I remembered that day we had gathered in Bran's greenwood hut to see what we had got from the Ffreinc. The memory sent a pang of longing through me for those who waited there still. Would I ever hold Noin in my arms again?

Canon Laurent continued, and his voice filled the room. It seemed that I heard with new ears as I listened to him read the letter again. Adding what I'd learned from Odo to my own small store, the dual purposes behind the words became plain. Yet the thing still held the mystery I had first felt when kneeling in Bran's greenwood hut and staring in quiet wonder at that great gold ring, and the fine gloves, and that wrapped square of expensive parchment. If I failed to see the sense, I had only to look at King William's face hardening into a ferocious scowl to know that whatever he heard in the high-flown words, he liked it not at all.

By the time Laurent reached the letter's conclusion and began reading out the names at the end, William was fair grinding his teeth to nubbins.

"Blood and thunder!" he shouted as the cleric finished. "Do they think to cast me aside like a gnawed bone?" Turning, he glared at the two knights with him. "This is treason, mark me! I will not abide it. By the Virgin, I will not!"

Bran, who had been closely watching Red William's reaction to the letter, glanced at Merian, who gave him a secret smile. Straight and tall in the black robe of a priest, hands folded before him as he awaited the king's judgement, he appeared just then more lordly than the ruddy-faced English monarch by a long walk. The king continued to fume and foam awhile, and then, as is natural to a fella like him, he swiftly fell to despatching his enemies. "How came you by this letter?" he said, retrieving the parchment from the cleric's hands. "Where did you get it?"