"A Welsh seneschal would be better, surely," ventured Sybil. "Because of the language…"

"Tch!" her mother countered. "That would never do. You would soon fall into the errors of their ways. As I said, it will be your duty-the duty of us all-to teach them."

They talked of this and other things, and the day passed with the countryside juddering slowly by. Because of all the wagons, they could not move with any speed, and as the sun dropped lower and ever lower in the west, Marshal Orval searched for and found a suitable place to make camp for the night. While the servants prepared a meal for all the entourage, the baron and baroness walked up to the top of the nearest hill to stretch their legs after riding in the carriage all day. In the distance they could see the dark, close-crowded hills of Wales, misty with the coming of night.

"What do you see?" asked Agnes.

The baron was thoughtful for a moment, then said, "I see wealth and power and a throne to rival England's." His naked declaration embarrassed him a little; he could feel Agnes's eyes on him, so he shrugged and added, "At least, it is closer now than it has ever been. The wedding will make a glorious beginning."

She returned his smile and took his hand. "That, mon amour, is exactly what I was thinking."

It was five days of anxious travel before Bran and the Grellon reached Coed Cadw. Footsore, weary, and disheartened beyond measure, they sought the safety of their forest keep. As they moved into the lush, green-shadowed solitude of the Guardian Wood, the heat of the day dropped away and they walked a little easier and lighter of step. There among the trees the weary, heartsick band began to heal the wounded memories of the last days-the betrayal of the Ffreinc king, the treachery of the Black Abbot, the fierce and bloody battle, and their anxious flight.

Though they had escaped the battle without fatality-a few of the men suffered cuts and bruises, one a broken arm, and another a deep sword wound to the thigh-the carnage had exacted a toll that only became apparent in the days that followed. For most of the Grellon the panic and horror of that day was a plague that worked away on their souls, and they were infected with it.

Thus, soul-sick and exhausted they crept back into the solace of the greenwood to heal the raw, inflamed wounds of their memories, arriving at Cel Craidd to the great relief of those who had been left to look after the settlement in their absence.

The watchers had seen them on the road and hastened back to prepare a welcome: jars of cool water flavoured with elderflower blossoms and honey seed cakes to restore their strength. But the travellers were in no mood to rejoice, and their stark response to what should have been a glad homecoming soon dashed any notions of celebration. "Something is amiss, my lord," observed Henwydd delicately; an older man, he had been given the care of Cel Craidd in Bran's absence. "Forgive me if I speak in error, but the faces I see around me would be better suited to a funeral party, not a homecoming."

"How can it be otherwise?" said Bran, his voice thick with bitterness. "The black-hearted English king broke his promise. The realm belongs to the Ffreinc, and we are outlaws still."

"Sooner have milk from a stone," grumbled Iwan, following Bran, "than get satisfaction from a Norman."

Angharad arranged her wrinkled face into a sad smile. She thanked Henwydd and the others for their thoughtfulness and accepted a drink from the welcome cup. Then, taking her leave of Bran and the others, she shuffled slowly to her hut.

"Did Red William not redeem your throne?" asked another, pressing forward.

"He did not," answered Bran. "Count Falkes is banished to Normandie with his uncle the Baron de Braose, and Elfael is claimed by the king."

"Bloody Black Abbot Hugo and his gutless marshal, Gysburne, are placed over us for our care and protection," growled Siarles.

"Then we won't be going home," said Henwydd.

"No," Bran replied. "We stay here-for now, at least."

"Are we to remain in the forest forever?" asked Teleri, another who had remained behind. An older woman, she had lost all she had to the Ffreinc when the count took her house for the new church. There were tears in her eyes as the meaning of Bran's words broke upon her.

Merian had come to stand beside Bran; she reached out and put her arm around the woman's shoulders to comfort her. "We have endured the forest this long," Merian said, "what is another season or two?"

"Season or two?" said Henwydd, growing angry. "Why not ten or twenty?"

"If you have something to say," Bran replied sternly, "go on, say it. Speak your mind."

"We believed in you, my lord. We trusted you. I have suffered this outlaw life for the hope of the deliverance you promised. But I cannot abide another season scrabbling hand to mouth in the greenwood. It is no fit life, and I am too old."

Others, too, spoke out against the desperate life in the forest, with its darkness and dangers-exposure, privation, and the constant fear of discovery. If the Ffreinc didn't kill them, they said, the wolves would. They had followed Bran this far, but now that there was no hope of justice to be had from the Ffreinc, it was time to think what was best for themselves. "William the Red commands armies beyond number," one man said. "We cannot fight them all, and only a fool would try."

Bran glowered, but held his tongue.

"I am sorry, my lord," continued Henwydd, "but you see how it is. I beg leave to quit the forest. I have never asked anything of you, but I'm asking you now to grant me leave to depart."

"And where will you go?" asked Merian.

"Well," considered the old man, "I have kinsmen still in Dyfed. It may be they will take me in. But whether they do or don't makes no matter, 'cause anywhere is better than here."

"There we have it," Bran said, eyes alight and voice cold. He turned and addressed the rest of the settlement. "Who else feels this way? Who else wants to leave the forest?" He swung around, his voice attacking. "Iwan? Will Scarlet? Siarles, what about you? Merian-God knows you've wanted to leave often enough, why not go now?" He glared around at the ring of grim faces. None would meet his ferocious stare.

Merian, standing beside Tuck, grasped the friar's hand. "Oh, no," she breathed, tears starting to her eyes. Tuck grasped her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"Who else is for leaving?" demanded Bran. "If you would go, speak up. All who wish to leave may go with my blessing. I do not force anyone to stay who would not do so gladly and of their own accord."

There was an instant commotion at this, and the forest-dwellers began arguing it over amongst themselves. Some were for leaving, others for staying, and all shouting to be heard and convince the rest. Bran let this continue until most had had a chance to speak out, then said, "Well? What say you? Anyone else want to go? Step up and take your place with Henwydd. For all saints bear witness, I do not care to stand with anyone who does not care to stand with me."

At first, no one moved, and then, one by one, others joined Henwydd until a group of seventeen men and women, some with children, stood together in a dismal clump.

"So, now," Bran, his face hard, addressed those who had chosen to leave. "Gather your things and make ready to depart-take whatever you need for your journey. If you would have my advice, wait until the sun goes down and make your way by night; you should avoid any Ffreinc and reach the borders of Elfael before sunrise tomorrow. I bid you God's speed, and may you all fare well."

With that, he turned and strode to his hut.

A shocked and dismayed Cel Craidd watched him go. Iwan and Siarles looked on aghast, and Scarlet and Merian began to persuade those who had decided to leave that they were making a mistake-but thought better of it. The tight bond between King Raven and his proud Grellon was broken; the settlement was divided and there was nothing anyone could do.