Stephen Lawhead - Hood

The mere thought of trying to find so many men and horses was laughable to Bran. Even if men in such numbers could somehow be found, arming and equipping a warband of that size could well take a year or more-and they must be housed and fed in the meantime. It was absurd, and Bran pitied his friends for their hopeless, pathetic dream; it might make the British heart beat faster, but it was doomed to failure. The Ffreinc were bred for battle; they were better armed, better trained, better horsed. Engaging them in open battle was certain disaster; every British death strengthened their hold on the land that much more and increased misery and oppression for everyone. To think otherwise was folly.

Listening to Iwan and Siarles, Bran grew more certain than ever that his future lay in the north amongst his mother's kinsmen. Elfael was lost-it had been so from the moment his father was cut down in the road-and there was nothing he could do to change that. Better to accept the grim reality and live than to die chasing a glorious delusion.

He looked sadly at the two men across from him, their faces eager in the firelight. They burned with zeal to drive the enemy from the valley and redeem their homeland. Why stop there? Bran thought. They might as well hope to reclaim Cymru, England, and Scotland, too for all the good it would do them. Unable to endure the futile hope of those keen expressions, Bran rose suddenly and left the hut.

He stepped out into the moonlight and stood for a moment, feeling the cool night air wash over him. Gradually, he became aware that he was not alone. Angharad was sitting on a stump beside the door. "They have no one else," she said. "And nowhere else to go."

"What they want-," Bran began, then halted. Did anyone have even the slightest notion of the effort in time and money that it would take to raise a sufficiently large army to do what Iwan suggested? "It is impossible," he declared after a moment. "They are deluded,"

"Then you must tell them. Tell them now. Explain why they are wrong to want what they want. Then you can leave knowing that, as their king, you did all you could."

Her words rankled. "What do you expect of me, Angharad?" He spoke softly so those inside would not overhear. "What they propose is madness-as you and I know."

"Perhaps," she conceded. "But they have nothing else. They have no kinsmen in the north waiting to take them in. Elfael is all they have. It is all they know. If their hope is mistaken, you must tell them."

"I will," said Bran, drawing himself up, "and let that be the end." He went back into the hut, taking his place at the fire once more.

"We could go to Lord Rhys in the south," Iwan was saying. "He has returned from Ireland with a large warband. If we convinced him to help us, he might loan us the troops we need."

"No," Bran said quietly. "There is no plunder to be had, and we have nothing to offer them. King Rhys ap Tewdwr will not get dragged into a war for nothing, and he has enough worries of his own."

"What do you suggest?" asked Iwan. "Is there someone else?"

Bran looked at his friend, the light still burning in his eyes; he could not bring himself to snuff out that fragile flame. Angharad was right: the people had no one to lead them and nowhere else to go. For Iwan, and for them all, it was Elfael or nothing.

Bran hesitated, wrestling with the decision. God have mercy, he thought, I cannot abandon them. In that instant, a new path opened before him, and Bran saw the way ahead. "We don't have to fight the Ffreinc," he declared abruptly.

"No?" wondered Iwan. "I think they won't surrender for askinga pleasant thought even so."

"Have you forgotten, Iwan? We went to Lundein and spoke to the king's justiciar," Bran said. "Do you remember what he said?"

"Aye," conceded the big man, "I remember. What help is that to us now?"

"It is our very salvation!" Iwan and Siarles exchanged puzzled glances across the fire. Clearly, they did not see, so Bran explained, "The cardinal said he would annul Baron de Braose's grant for six hundred marks. So we will simply buy Elfael from the king."

"Six hundred marks!" muttered Siarles in dull amazement. "Have you ever seen that much?"

"Never," allowed Bran. "In truth, I don't know if there is that much silver to be had beyond the March. But the terms were laid down by William's own man. The cardinal said we could have Elfael for six hundred marks."

"Aye," mused Iwan, rubbing his chin doubtfully, "that is what he said-and it is just as impossible now as it was then."

"A high price, yes, but not impossible. Anyway, it is far less than what would be needed to raise and feed an army of a thousand mennot to mention weapons and armour. For that, we'd need ten times more than the cardinal is asking."

The two others fell silent gazing at him, calculating the enormity of the sums involved. Bran let his words work for a moment and then added, "That aside, I agree about the horses."

"You do?" wondered Siarles, much impressed.

"Yes, but not a thousand. Three or four will suffice."

"What can we do with three horses?" scoffed the young forester.

"We can begin raising the six hundred marks to redeem our homeland."

Ten wagons laden with sacks of barley and rye, bags of dried beans and peas, and whole sides of beef and smoked pork trundled along the rising trackway through the forest. The supply van of Baron Neufmarche had spent all morning toiling up the winding incline of the ridge, and the crest was now in sight. Along with the wagons, the baron had sent an armed escort: five men-at-arms under the command of a knight, all of them in mail hauberks and armed with swords and lances, their shields and steel helmets slung behind their saddles. Their presence dared Count Falkes, or anyone else, to divert the consignment of supplies intended for the starving folk of Elfael.

The day had turned hazy and hot in the open places, the skies clear for the most part with but a smudgy suggestion of cloud to the west. The road, though deeply rutted and lumpy, was as dry as parchment. A drowsy hush lay over the rising woodland, as if the trees themselves dozed in the heat. The drivers did not press their teams too hard; the day was hot, the wagons were heavy, and they were loath to hurry. The food would arrive when it arrived, and that would be soon enough.

The six advance guards paused on the spine of the ridge and waited for the ox train to reach the top. From their high vantage point, the soldiers could see the Vale of Elfael spreading green and inviting to the north. "This is tedious work," muttered the knight leading the escort. Turning to one of his men, he said, "Richard, go down and tell them that we will ride on. There is a ford ahead-just there." He pointed down the descending slope to a place where a stream cut through the road as it pursued its switchback descent into the valley. "We will water the horses and wait for them there,"

The man-at-arms gave a nod, put spurs to his horse, and trotted back down the slope. "This way," said the knight, and they rode down to the fording place, where they dismounted and stretched. After the animals had drunk their fill, the men drank, too, removing their round leather caps to lave cool water over their sweating heads. Kneeling in a sunny patch on the bank of the stream, the knight saw a shadow pass over him.

He watched the shade slowly engulf him, and thinking nothing more than that an errant cloud had passed over the sun, he ducked his head and continued cupping water to his mouth. Behind him, and a little way above, he heard the rustling of feathers and, still on his knees, craned his neck around to see a huge, dark, winglike shape disappear into the undergrowth-nothing more than a dull glimmering of black feathers, and then it was gone.