Ifor and Brocmael stopped then, and Tuck rode on, still taking his time, keeping his eye on Bran and Earl Hugh and the others now fading into the dappled shadow of the trail far ahead. When he had put enough distance between himself and the two behind him, the friar reined his mount to a stop and waited, listening. He heard only the light flutter of the breeze lifting the leaves of the upper branches and the tiny tick and click of beetles in the long grass.

He had almost decided that Hugh and the others had forgotten about them when he heard the sound of returning hoofbeats. In a moment, he saw two horses emerge from the shadowed pathway ahead. The earl had sent his knights back to see what had happened to the stragglers.

Glancing quickly behind him, Tuck searched for a sign of his two young comrades, but saw nothing. "Hurry, lads," he muttered between his teeth. "The wolf 's pups are nosing about."

Then, as the two Ffreinc knights neared, Tuck squirmed ungracefully from the saddle and, stooping to the right foreleg of his mount, lifted the animal's leg and began examining the hoof. There was nothing wrong with it, of course, but he made as if the beast might have picked up a stone or a thorn. As the two hailed him in French, he let them see him digging at the underside of the hoof with his fingers. One of the knights directed a question at him as much as to say, "What goes here?"

"Mon cheval est…" Tuck began. He pretended not to know the word for lame, or limping either, so just shrugged and indicated the hoof. The two exchanged a word, and then the second knight dismounted and crossed to where he stood. He bent and raised the hoof to examine it. Tuck stole a quick glance behind; the two tardy Welshmen were nowhere in sight. Sending up a prayer for them to hurry, he cleared his throat and laid his finger to the hoof in the huntsman's hand, pointing to a place where he had been digging with his finger. "Une pierre," he said. That the animal had picked up a pebble was perhaps the most likely explanation, and the knight seemed happy with that.

"Boiteux?" he asked.

Tuck shrugged and smiled his incomprehension. The knight released the hoof and took hold of the bridle, and walked the animal in a circle around him, studying the leg all the while. Finally, satisfied that whatever had been wrong was no longer troubling the beast, he handed the reins back to Tuck, saying, "Pendre seile."

Tuck took his time gathering his bishop's skirts and, with the help of the knight to boost him, fought his way back onto the high horse. Taking up the reins once more, he heard the sound of hoof-beats thudding on the trail behind. He turned in the saddle to see Ifor and Brocmael trotting towards them. Tuck hailed them and, satisfied now that the stragglers were all together once more, the Ffreinc knights led them up the game run to rejoin the others.

They soon came to a small clearing where Count Rexindo and Earl Hugh were waiting. At that moment, the hounds gave voice. "La chasse commence!" cried the earl and, lashing his horse, galloped away, followed by his knights.

Bran wheeled his mount but lingered a moment to ask, "Success?"

"Just as we planned, my lord," replied Ifor.

Brocmael made a furtive gesture, indicating the empty lance holder attached to his saddle, and said, "Never fear; we were not seen."

"Well done," said Bran. "Now we hunt, and pray we sight the game before our beefy host. Nothing would please me more than to steal the prize from under Hugh's long Ffreinc nose."

Three days of hunting from earliest daylight to evening dusk, and each day Bran, having taken a great interest in the earl's hounds, greeted the dogs with morsels of food he had saved from the previous night's supper board-gobbets of meat he kept in a little bag. Tuck watched the process with fascination and admiring approval as Earl Hugh swallowed the bait in a manner not at all unlike his hounds: and all because Count Rexindo let it be known that he wanted to buy three or four of the animals to take back to Spain as a gift for his father, the duke. The ever-greedy earl welcomed the sale, of course, fixing the price at a princely thirty marks-a price that made Tuck's eyes water. He could never have brought himself to buy three smelly hounds when he might have built an entire church-altar to steeple and everything in between-and had money left over.

Having favoured the hounds, they mounted their horses and all rode out to spend the day working the runs-to be followed by a night's drinking and roister in the hall. By the fourth day, Earl Hugh's nightly feasting began to tell on them all-everyone except Bran. Somehow Bran seemed to bear up under the strain of these all-night revels, awaking the next morning none the worse for his excesses. Indeed, Tuck began to think him blessed with the fortitude of Samson himself until he noticed the trick. Friar Tuck-himself an enthusiastic consumer of the earl's good wine and fortifying meat-happened to discover Bran's secret the second night. Bran quaffed as readily as the next man; however, the instant their host's attention wandered elsewhere, quick as a blink Bran's cup dipped below the board and the contents were dashed onto the soiled rushes under their feet. Thereafter, he drank from an empty vessel until it was filled again, and the process was repeated.

From then on, Tuck did the same himself even though it pained him to throw away good drink.

Wolf Hugh himself was ragged and mean of a morning, soreheaded, stinking of stale wine and urine, his eyes red and his nose running as he shuffled from his chambers bellowing for food and drink to drive the demons from head and belly. Still he seemed to possess unusual powers of recovery, and by the time the sun had breached the castle walls, the earl was ready to ride to his hounds once more, steady as a stone and keen for the chase. On the third day, Tuck freely complained that the nightly debauch was too much for him, and begged Bran to let him observe the hunt from the rails of his bed; but Bran insisted that they must go on as they had started. Ifor and Brocmael had youth on their side, and tolerated the revelry, but were increasingly reticent participants. Alan a'Dale fared less well and was laid low of a morning.

On the fourth day, the earl decided to rest the horses and hounds. He had business to attend to with some of his nobles, leaving his guests free to take their ease and amuse themselves as they would. Bran let it be known that he wanted to go into the town and attend the market, and so they did. A hundred paces beyond sight of the castle gate, he gathered his crew around him and said, "You are doing very well, lads. I beg but a little more patience and we are done. We will not abide here much longer."

"How much longer?" asked Alan a'Dale.

"Next time we ride."

"That might be tomorrow," Brocmael pointed out.

Bran nodded. "Then we best make certain everything is ready today."

The two young men glanced at one another. "Do you think the earl will tumble?" Ifor wondered.

"Why not?" replied Bran. "He suspects nothing. If all goes well, we should be far away from here before he learns what has happened…" Regarding the solemn expressions on the faces of his two young comrades, he gave them his slightly twisted smile. "… if he ever learns-and I strongly suspect he never will."

Bran resumed his stroll into the town with Alan at his side, leaving Tuck and the two young lords to reckon what had just been said. "Don't you worry, lads," Tuck said, trying to bank their courage a little higher. "By tomorrow night we'll be well on our way back to Wales with our prize, and beyond the claws and teeth of Wolf d'Avranches."

A short while later they entered a fair-sized market in full cry; merchants shouting for custom, animals bawling, dogs barking. Bran paused and surveyed the comely chaos for a moment. "Good," he said, "there are enough people about that we should not draw undue attention to ourselves. You all know what to do?"