"Ah, Tuck," said Bran, interrupting the friar's meditation, "you're here-good." Still holding Merian, he turned to the little friar. "I have a job for you."

Dawn was still but a whisper in the pale eastern sky when Tuck finally reached Saint Martin's. He paused below the brow of a hill a short distance from the little town and dismounted. He trudged wearily up to the top of the hill and there stood for a time to observe. The moon, bright still, illuminated the hills and filled the valleys with soft shadows. Nothing moved anywhere.

He yawned and rubbed his face with his hands. "This friar is getting too old for these midnight rambles." His empty stomach growled. "Too right," he muttered.

At Bran's behest, Tuck had ridden all night, making a wide, careful circuit of the valley to avoid being seen by any Ffreinc sentries or watchmen posted on the outer perimeter of King William's sprawling encampment, which lay between the forest and Elfael's fortress, Caer Cadarn. Now, coming upon the town from the north, he paused to make certain he could continue to the completion of his mission. Having come this far, it would not do to be caught now.

There did not seem to be any Ffreinc troops around; he could not see anyone moving about the low walls. The town was quiet, asleep. "Well, Tuck, my man, time to beard the lion in his den."

Struggling back into the saddle, he resumed his errand, descending the hill and starting up the gentle slope to the town, keeping his eyes open for any sign of discovery at his approach. But there was no one about, and he entered the town alone and, for all he could tell, unobserved. He dismounted and tethered the horse to an iron ring set in the wall of the guardhouse, then quickly and quietly started across the deserted market square towards the abbey.

The abbey gates were closed, but he rapped gently on the door and eventually managed to rouse the porter. "I have a matter of utmost urgency for the bishop," he announced to the priest who unlatched the door. "Take me to him at once."

The young monk, yawning, shook his head. It was then Tuck recognized him. "Odo! Wake up, boyo. It's me, Tuck. I have to see Bishop Asaph without delay."

"God with you, Friar," said Odo, rubbing his eyes. "The bishop will be asleep."

"There is no time," said Tuck, pressing himself through the gap. "It is life and death, Odo. We'll have to wake him."

Tuck took the young monk's elbow, spun him around, and started walking towards the palatial lodge Abbot Hugo had built for himself. "Never fear, Brother, I would not disturb the good bishop's rest if it was not of highest importance."

"This way, then," said Odo, and led Tuck not to the main entrance, but around the side to a small room where the secnab had lodged. "He prefers a less ostentatious cell," explained the young scribe, knocking on the door.

There came a sleepy voice asking them to wait, and in a moment the door opened. There stood the wizened, elderly priest, barefoot, his haze of white hair a wispy nimbus on his head. One look at Tuck and he said, "How may I serve you, Brother?"

"Bishop Asaph," said Tuck, "it is Brother Aethelfrith-do you remember me?"

The old priest studied his face in the moonlight. Then, recognition flooded into the pale eyes. "Bran's friend! Yes, I remember you. But, tell me, has something happened? Is he well?"

"All is well, Father," replied Tuck. "Or soon will be. I have come-"

Asaph shivered. "Come in, Brother Aethelfrith, and let us sit by the fire." Tuck thanked Odo and stepped inside; the old priest showed him to a stool by a tiny fire in the hearth. "These old bones are hard to keep warm," explained the bishop. "My advice, Brother, do not get old-and if you do, see you keep a little fire going in the corner. It works miracles."

"I'll remember that," replied Tuck.

"Now then," said Asaph, "what has kept you from your bed this night?"

"Bran has sent me with a message," replied the friar, and went on to explain about the miraculous arrival of Gruffydd and the Cymry kings. "And that is not all-far from it!" he remarked. "Baron Neufmarche has joined the rebellion. He is lending the full force of his troops to the cause. It is, I think, the only way he can hope to hold on to his estates."

Bishop Asaph gasped with a sharp intake of breath. "Lord Almighty!" His eyes grew round. "Then it is soon over, praise be to God."

"One way or another, yes," replied Tuck, "and perhaps sooner than you know. The Cymry mean to attack tomorrow. We have not the supplies and such for a prolonged clash. The troops are ready, and the weather is good. We will have the higher ground…" He paused. "In short, there is no point in waiting. That is what I came to tell you. The battle attack will come in the morning, when the sun has risen above the trees so that it will be in the eyes of the Ffreinc troops."

"God have mercy." Asaph shook his head. "I will make ready to receive the wounded, of course."

"Yes," agreed Tuck, "and one other thing-we must get word to Iwan and Siarles at the fortress. They must know so they can be ready to strike from the rear if and when the opportunity arises." He paused. "Bran has asked if you will take the message to them."

"Me?" blustered Asaph. "Well, of course, but-"

"Have the king's men made any trouble for you?"

"No, no," replied the bishop quickly. "It has been very quiet. They come here for prayer and confession-and to ensure the wounded are receiving good care. But they leave us alone."

"Well then," concluded Tuck. "Perhaps you might take two or three brothers with you and go to the caer. Take a bell and ring it as you go so the Ffreinc will know you're on holy business."

Asaph nodded slowly. "What if they make bold to stop us?"

"Simply tell them that you are going up to shrive the Cymry in the stronghold, yes? You can do that, too, once you've delivered the message, can you not?"

The old churchman considered this for a moment, then, making up his mind, he said, "If there is to be a battle, soldiers must be shriven. Men facing their eternal destiny have no wish to die with sins unconfessed dragging their souls into perdition. The Ffreinc understand this."

"Thank you, Father," said Tuck. They talked a little more then, and Tuck gave the bishop a lengthy account of all that had taken place in the last days-the running battle with King William's troops in the forest, leading up to the unexpected return of Merian bringing King Gruffydd and the baron. They talked of the difficulties looming in the days ahead-caring for the injured and wounded in the aftermath of battle, finding food for the survivors, and rebuilding lives and livelihoods destroyed by the war.

Finally, Tuck rose and, with great weariness of body and spirit, made his farewells and moved to the door.

"God with you, Brother Aethelfrith," said Asaph with deepest sincerity.

"And also with you, Father," replied Tuck. "May the Good Lord keep you in the hollow of His hand."

"Amen," said Asaph. "I will leave you to make your own way out. I want to pray for a while before we go up to the caer."

Tuck left the monastery without bothering Odo again. He slipped out of the abbey gate and started across the deserted square of the still-sleeping town. As he was passing the church, he heard the sound of horses approaching and turned just as four or five riders entered the square. Ffreinc soldiers. He was caught like a ferret in a coop.

Instinctively, he dived for the door of the church. It was dark and cool inside, as he knew it would be. A single candle burned on the altar, and the interior was filled with the sweet stale odour of spent incense and beeswax. The baptismal font stood before him, square and solid, the cover locked with an iron hasp. That was vile Hugo- locking the font lest any poor soul be tempted to steal a drop of holy water.