"If only you were king, Llewelyn," replied Bran darkly. Then, remembering himself, he softened his tone and said, "You have shown me honour and respect, and I thank you for that. Nor do I hold Gruffydd's ingratitude against you. But I see now that I was wrong to come here, wrong to ask, wrong to think the fate of Elfael meant anything to my family in the north."

Llewelyn opened his mouth to protest this last assertion, but a warning glance from Tuck prevented him. Instead, he moved quietly to the door, and there he paused and regarded Bran sadly. "I'm sorry," he said, then stepped back into the hall, leaving Tuck and Bran alone.

"And God with you, too, Cousins," muttered Bran to men who were no longer there. "Bring the horses, Tuck," he said after a moment, "and find Alan. We're leaving."

They left the hall and moved out into the yard. It was after midday, and the clouds were low and dark, threatening rain. Tuck thought to argue for staying at least one day longer to allow Gruffydd the chance to change his mind and so they would not have to ride in the rain, but he knew Bran would not hear it. As the cinch belts were being tightened on the saddles, Ifor and Brocmael came into the stables.

"We were looking for you," said Brocmael. "You're leaving?"

"So soon?" said Ifor.

Both young men appeared so crestfallen that Tuck tried to put a better face on it. "We have finished here, and anyway we are needed back home. But, God willing, we'll come back one day," he told them, then added, patting the fresh mount beside him, "Do thank your father for the gift of these fine horses."

"It is the least we could do," said Ifor, "after all you've done for us."

"What about the troops?" wondered Brocmael.

"Your king does not see fit to raise any," Bran told him.

"That's why you're leaving," said Ifor.

"Aye," confessed Bran. "That is why."

"We'll come with you," Ifor offered. He nudged Brocmael, who agreed. "We can fight."

"Your place is here," said Bran. "Your king will not give you leave to go. He has made it very clear he does not think Elfael worth saving." Reaching out a hand, he gave each of their arms a squeeze by way of farewell. "Nevertheless, you have been brave and loyal companions these past days. You have done yourselves and your families proud. No one could have served me better. But here is where it ends."

The two young warriors exchanged an unhappy glance. "What about Earl Hugh's hounds?" asked Brocmael. "Shall I fetch them for you?"

"No, I want you and Ifor to have them," answered Bran. "Consider them a small gesture of thanks for your help."

"We cannot, my lord," protested Ifor. "They are worth a very fortune."

"It is too much," agreed Brocmael. "They are far too valuable."

"No more valuable than the help you gave me when asked," Bran replied. "They are yours, my friends. Make your fortune with them."

Tuck, Alan, and Bran left Aberffraw as soon as the horses were ready. Bran did not speak the rest of the day, but fumed and fretted, working himself into such a dark and threatening gloom that Tuck began to fear for the havoc unleashed when the gathering storm finally broke. He had seen Bran like this before-once in Londein when they had gone to redeem the lands from the crown at the enormous price of six hundred marks, only to have Cardinal Flambard cheat him by raising the price to two thousand. Tuck and Iwan had pulled him off the scoundrel churchman or in all likelihood none of them would have lived out the day. Angharad knew best how to ease Rhi Bran's murderous moods, but she was in faraway Elfael.

"Alan," Tuck had said, "if you know any songs that would put our Bran in a better mood, I pray you sing one now."

"As it happens," replied Alan a'Dale, "I have been thinking of a song he might enjoy. It isn't finished yet-I need a rhyme for Count Rexindo, d'ye ken?"

"Sing it anyway," Tuck told him.

So Alan sang them on their way.

Four days later, he was still singing, as from time to time Bran's dark and dangerous mood threatened to swallow them all. Alan, it seemed, was full of unexpected talents, and ever ready to cheer his lord along with a quip or a joke or a song. Of the latter, most of his ditties were English drinking songs and ballads more appreciated by Friar Tuck than by Bran, who from time to time slipped back into his moody darkness. The French and Welsh songs had lilting melodies-some glad, some mournful to suit their solemn humour-but the best songs were those Alan had made up himself: including the new one that extolled the exploits of Count Rexindo and his merry band, who deceived the wicked earl and won the freedom of the captive king of Gwynedd. Tuck found this highly amusing, but Bran was not so sure he wanted his doings voiced about the countryside like so much scattered seed.

Still, the singing and stories told under the clear, open sky worked their wonders, and by the time the travellers came within sight of the towering green wall of the great forest of Coed Cadw, Bran's temper had cooled to the point where Tuck thought he might risk venturing a thought or two of his own regarding their predicament as it now stood. "Perhaps," he suggested, "it might be well to heed Merian's advice and go see her father."

Bran considered this only as long as it took to purse his lips and shake his head. "God knows that man is no friend of mine. Even if Cadwgan did not hate me when this began, I will not have risen any higher in his esteem by holding his daughter captive."

"At the first, maybe," granted Tuck. "But she stayed on of her own free will. When given the choice, she stayed."

"Even if he was inclined to help," countered Bran, "he is a vassal of Baron Neufmarche. As it runs against his interests, the baron would never allow it. No," said Bran, shaking his head again, this time with resignation, "we will get no help from Lord Cadwgan."

They skirted Saint Martin's, the abbot's town, and entered the sheltering forest just as the sky of lowering clouds sent rain streaming down the wind. It would be a wet night in the greenwood, but the rain did little to dampen the welcome the travellers received at their homecoming. The Grellon gathered to greet them, and Bran roused himself from his grim melancholy to say that he was glad to be home once more. But as he scanned the faces gathered around, the one looked-for face did not appear.

"Where's Merian?" Bran asked.

An uneasy hush drew across the forest dwellers, and Iwan stepped forward. "Welcome, my lord," he said, his voice booming in the quiet. "It is good to have you back safely. I trust your journey was successful."

"Your trust is misplaced," snapped Bran. "We failed." Still searching among the Grellon, he said, "Merian… where is she, Iwan?"

The big warrior paused, looking thoughtful. "Merian is not here," he said at last. "She left and went back to Eiwas."

Before Bran could ask more, the champion gestured to someone in the crowd of onlookers, and Noin stepped forward. "Tell him what happened," Iwan instructed.

Noinina made a small bow of greeting to her king and said, "It is true, my lord. Merian went home." She folded her hands into the apron at her waist. "It was in her mind to go and ask her father to send men to aid us in the fight against the Ffreinc."

"I see," Bran replied coldly. "When did she leave?"

"Two days after you departed for the north."

"Who went with her?"

"My lord," said Noin, a note of anxiety rising in her voice, "she went alone."

"Alone!" Turning on Iwan, he demanded, "You let her go alone?" When the big man made no reply, Bran glanced around at the others. "Did no one think to go with her?"

"We did not know she was going," Iwan explained. "I would have prevented her, of course. But she told no one of her intentions and left before anyone knew she was gone."