Why, indeed? Tuck walked stiffly to his horse and, after leading it to a nearby rock big enough to serve as a mounting block, struggled into the saddle. "You'll get us killed, you know," the priest complained. "Me most of all."

Bran laughed. "A little more faith would become you, Friar."

"I have faith enough for any three-and I'll thump the man who says me nay. But you go jumping into a bear trap with both feet, and it'll not be faith you feel chomping on your leg bones!"

Grabbing up the reins, he raised his eyes towards heaven. "Is there no rest for the weary?" he sighed. By the time he regained the path, Bran was already racing away.

On their return to Celyn Garth, Bran secluded himself in his quarters and set Tuck to finding certain items that he needed. When they had assembled everything necessary, Bran went to work and the change was swiftly effected. It was nearly time for the evening meal when he emerged, and Tuck accompanied him to the hall where Llewelyn was waiting with some of Bran's relations he had invited especially to meet their long-lost kinsman. There were seven of them: three young men in the blue-and-red checked tunics of the north country; three of middling age in tall boots and leather jackets over their linen shirts; and one old man, bald as a bean, in a pale robe of undyed wool.

"Lead the way, Tuck," Bran murmured. "And remember, I speak no Cymry."

"Oh, I'll remember," Tuck retorted. "It's yourself you should be reminding."

Stepping into the hall, the little friar approached the long table where the men were already gathered over their welcome cups. Llewelyn took one look at the cleric and his companion and rose quickly. "Friar Aethelfrith," he said, "I did not know you brought a guest. Come, sit down." To the unexpected visitor, he said, "Be welcome in this house. Pray, sit and share a cup with us."

Tuck kept his eyes on Llewelyn, who seemed to recognize something familiar in the young man beside him. But if the long black robes did not fully disguise him, then the sallow, sombre expression, the slightly hunched shoulders and inwardly bending frame, the close-shorn hair and gleaming white scalp of his tonsure, the large sad eyes, hesitant step, and almost timid way he held his head-taken all together, the appearance was so unlike Bran ap Brychan that Llewelyn did not trust his first impression and withheld judgement on the newcomer's identity.

For his part, Bran inclined his head in humble acceptance and offered, as it seemed to those looking on, a somewhat melancholy smile-as if the slender young man carried some secret grief within and it weighed heavily on his heart. He turned to Tuck, and the others also looked to the priest as for an explanation.

"My lords," said Tuck, "allow me to present to you my dear friend, Father Dominic."

Speaking with the humble, yet confident authority that one would expect of a papal envoy, the slender young man introduced as Father Dominic charmed his listeners with tales of his travels in the service of the Holy Father and his dealings with kings and cardinals. It fell to Tuck, of course, to translate his stories for the benefit of his listeners since Bran spoke in the curious, chiefly meaningless jibber-jabber of broken Latin that passed for the language of the Italian nobility among folk who had never heard it. Tuck was able to keep one step ahead of his listeners by his many sudden consultations-to clarify some word or thought-where Bran, as Father Dominic, would then whisper the bare bones of what his struggling translator was to say next. Such was Father Dominic's winsome manner that Tuck found himself almost believing in the charming lies, even knowing them to be spun of purest nonsense and embellished by his own ready tongue.

Father Dominic revealed that he was on a mission from Rome, and explained that he had come to the region to make acquaintance with churchmen among the tribes of Britain who remained outside Norman influence. This was announced in a casual way, but the subtlety was not lost on his listeners. Father Dominic, speaking through Tuck, told them that because of the delicate nature of his inquiry, he was pleased to travel without his usual large entourage to enable him to go where he would, unnoticed and unannounced. The Mother Church was reaching out to all her children in Britain, he said, the silent and suffering as well their noisier, more overbearing, and belligerent brothers.

All the while, their distracted host would glance towards the empty doorway. Finally, when Bran's absence could no longer be comfortably ignored, Llewelyn spoke up. "Forgive me for asking, Friar Aethelfrith, but I begin to worry about our cousin. Is he well? Perhaps he has fallen ill and requires attention."

Bran ap Brychan's kinsmen had done him the honour of travelling a considerable distance to greet their cousin from the south, and although beguiled by the unexpected arrival of a genuine emissary of the pope in Rome, they could not help but wonder about their cousin's puzzling absence. Father Dominic heard Llewelyn's question, too, and without giving any indication that he knew what had been said, he smiled, raised his hands in blessing to those who sat at the table with him, then begged to be excused, as he was feeling somewhat tired from his journey.

"Certainly, we understand," said Llewelyn, jumping to his feet. "I will have quarters prepared for you at once. If you will kindly wait but a moment-"

Father Dominic waved off his host, saying, through Tuck, "Pray do not trouble yourself. I shall find my own way."

With that he turned and, despite Llewelyn's continued protests, walked to the door of the hall, where he paused with his hand on the latch. He stood there for a moment. Then, with the others looking on, stepped back from the door, shook himself around and-wonder of wonders-seemed to grow both larger and stronger before the startled eyes of his audience. When he turned around it was no longer Father Dominic who stood before them, but Bran himself once more-albeit berobed as a priest, and with a shorn and shaven pate.

Llewelyn was speechless, and all around the board stared in astonishment at the deception so skilfully executed under their very noses. They looked at one another in baffled bemusement. When Llewelyn finally recovered his tongue, he contrived to sound angry-though his tone fell short by a long throw. "How now, Cousin? What is this devilment?"

"Forgive me if I have caused offence," said Bran, finding his own true voice at last, "but I knew no better way to convince you all."

"Convince?" wondered Llewelyn. "And what, pray, are we to be convinced of, Cousin?"

Bran shrugged off the black robe, resumed his place at the board, and poured himself a cup of ale, saying, "That I will tell, and gladly." Smiling broadly, he raised his cup to the men around the board. "First, I would know these kinsmen of mine a little better."

"As soon said as done," replied Llewelyn, some of his former goodwill returning. Indicating the elder man sitting beside him, he said, "This is Hywel Hen, Bishop of Bangor, and the granduncle of young Brocmael beside him; Hywel was brother to your mother's father. Next is Cynwrig, from Aberffraw, and his son Ifor. Then we have Trahaern, Meurig, and Llygad from Ynys Mon. Meurig is married to your mother's younger cousin, Myfanwy."

"God with you all," said Bran. "I know your names, and I see my dear mother in your faces. I am pleased to meet you all."

"We've met before, my boy," said Hywel Hen, "though I don't expect you to remember. You were but a bare-bottomed infant in your mother's arms at the time. I well remember your mother, of course-and your father. Fares the king well, does he?"

"If it lay in my power to bring you greetings from Lord Brychan, trust that nothing would please me more," replied Bran. "But such would come to you from beyond the grave."