Bran looked around. Seeing as no one else had come forward, and the day was getting on, he said, "Had we a better choice… but"-Bran shrugged-"he will have to serve. All the same, tell him we'll give him an extra penny if he will wash and brush before we go."

Tuck told the scruffy fellow what Bran had said, and he readily agreed. "Go then," Tuck ordered. "And be quick about it. Don't make us wait too long, or I'll find someone else."

The beggar dipped his head and scampered off to find a trough in which to bathe himself. Tuck watched him go, still nursing deep misgivings about their rough guide; but since they only needed someone to make introduction, he let the matter rest.

While they waited for the beggar to return, Bran rehearsed once again the next portion of his plan with the two young noblemen so they might keep in mind what to expect and how to comport themselves. "Ifor, you know some Ffreinc."

"A little," admitted Ifor. A slender young man with dark hair and wary eyes beneath a smooth, low brow, he was that much like Bran anyone could well see the family resemblance, however distant it might have been. Blood tells, thought Tuck, so it does. "Not as much as Brocmael, though."

"We hear it at the market in Bangor sometimes," Brocmael explained. Slightly older than Ifor, he had much about him of a good badger dog.

"You may find it difficult to pretend otherwise," Bran told them, "but you must not let on. Keep it to yourselves. The Ffreinc will not be expecting you to understand them, and so you may well hear things to our advantage from time to time." He smiled at their dour expressions. "Don't worry. It's easy-just keep remembering who you are."

The two nodded solemnly. Neither one shared Bran's easy confidence, and both were nearly overwhelmed by their arrival in a Norman town and the deception they meant to work-not to say frightened by the prospect of delivering themselves into their chief enemy's hands. Truth be told, Tuck felt much the same way. The sun climbed a little higher, and the day grew warmer accordingly. Bran decided that they should get a bite to eat, and Tuck, never one to forego a meal if it could be helped, readily agreed. "Unless my nose mistakes me," he said, "the baker is taking out fresh pies as we speak."

"Just what I was thinking," said Bran. Turning to his young attendants, he said, "Here is a good time to test your mettle. Remember who we are." He pulled a leather bag from his belt and handed it to Ifor. "Get us some pies-one for each and one for our guide, too, when he returns. He looks like he could use a meal."

"And, lads, see if there is any beer," Tuck added. "A jug or two would be most welcome. This old throat is dry as Moses' in the wilderness."

They accepted the purse, turned, and with the air of men mounting to the gibbet, moved off to the baker's stall. "They'll be all right," observed Bran, more in hope than conviction.

"Oh, aye," Tuck agreed with equal misgiving. "Right as a miller's scale."

The presence of wealthy foreign strangers in the square was attracting some interest. A few of the idlers who had been standing at the well across the square were staring at them now and nodding in their direction. "You wanted to be noticed," Tuck said, smiling through his teeth. "But I don't think those fellas like what they're seeing."

"You surprise me, Tuck. This is just what we want. If word of our arrival reaches the earl before we do, so much the better. See there?" He indicated two of the men just then hurrying away. "The news is on its way. Be at ease, and remember-as highborn Spanish noblemen it is beneath us to pay them heed."

"You may be the king of Spain for all Caer Cestre knows," Tuck declared, "but these rich clothes fit me ill, for all I am a simple Saxon monk."

"A simple Saxon worrier it seems to me," Bran corrected. "There is nothing to fear, I tell you."

Brocmael and Ifor returned a short while later with pies and ale for all. Their errand had settled them somewhat and raised their confidence a rung or two. The four ate in the shade of the pillar at the side of the square and were just finishing when three of the idlers approached from the well.

"Here's trouble," muttered Tuck. "Keep your wits about you, lads."

But before any of them could speak, the beggar returned. He came charging across the square and accosted the men in blunt English. Bran and the others watched in amazement as the idlers halted, hesitated, then returned to their places at the well.

"A man after my own heart," said Tuck. He looked their reprobate guide up and down. "Here now, I hardly know you."

Not only had he washed himself head to toe, but he had cleaned his clothes with a bristle brush, cut his hair, and trimmed his beard. He had even found a feather to stick in his threadbare hat. Beaming with somewhat bleary good pleasure, he strode to where Bran was standing and with a low bow swept his cap from his head and proclaimed in the accent of an English nobleman, "Alan a'Dale at your service, my lord. May God bless you right well."

"Well, Tuck," remarked Bran, much impressed, "he's brushed up a treat. Tell him that I mean no offence when I say that I'd not mark him for the same man."

The man laughed, the sound full and easy. "The Alan you see is the Alan that is," he said. "Take 'im or leave 'im, friend, 'cause there en't no ither, ye ken?"

When Tuck had translated, Bran smiled and said, "We'll take you at your word, Alan." To Tuck, he said, "Give him his pennies and tell him what we want him to do."

"That is for the wash," said Tuck, placing a silver penny in Alan's pink-scrubbed palm, "and this is for leading us to Earl Hugh's castle. Now, sir, when we get there we want you to send for the earl's seneschal and tell him to announce us to the earl. Do that, and do it well-there's another penny for you when you're finished."

"Too kind, you are, my friend," said Alan, closing his fist over the coins and whisking them out of sight.

"And here's a pie for you," Tuck told him. The pie was still warm, its golden crust clean and unbroken.

"For me?" Alan was genuinely mystified by this small courtesy. He looked from Tuck to Bran and then at the younger members of their party. His hand was shaking as he reached out to take the pie. "For me?" he said again, as one who could not quite believe his good fortune. It seemed to mean more to him than the silver he had just been given.

"All for you, and we saved a little ale too," Tuck told him. "Eat now, and we will go as soon as you've finished."

"Bless you, Father," he said, grabbing Tuck's hand and raising it to his lips. "May the Good Lord repay your kindness a thousand times."

It happened so fast the little friar had no time to snatch his hand away again before the teary-eyed fellow had kissed it. "Here now! Stop that!"

"Bless you, good gents all," he said, lapsing into the accents of the street once more. "Alan a'Dale en't one to fergit a good turn."

He sat down on the ground at the base of the pillar and began to eat, stuffing his mouth hungrily and smacking his lips with each bite. Bran sent Ifor and Brocmael to water the horses while they waited, and then asked Tuck to find out what he could from their hungry guide. "Tell him who we are, Tuck, and let's see how he takes it."

"My lord wants you to know that you are in the service of an esteemed and wealthy foreign nobleman in need of your aid. Perform your service well and you will be amply rewarded. He gives you good greeting."

At this, Alan carefully laid his pie aside, rose to his knees, swiped off his hat, and bowed his head. "You honour your servant, m'lord. May God be good to you."

"Give him our thanks," Bran said, "and ask him how long he's been in the town, and what news of the earl and his court."

Turning to Alan, Tuck relayed Bran's question. "My lord thanks you and wishes to know how long you have sojourned in this place."