"There is much we do not know about this," he said, pulling up the loop on which the ring hung around his neck, "but I am persuaded that we will not learn more by keeping it here in the forest. It has already caused death and destruction; I will not stand by and let it harm the people of Elfael more than it has already."

"Hear him! Hear him!" boomed Iwan heartily. No doubt, it had chafed him to remain behind while Siarles and I were away, and disappointed as we were that our journey had been for naught. Now that there was a prospect of something to be done, he was for it, every British scrap of him.

"Well and good," affirmed Tuck. "And what do you propose to do?"

"We will give back the treasures taken in the raid."

"Give 'em back!" cried Siarles. "My lord, think what you are saying!"

Bran silenced him with a glance. "I propose to return them before the sheriff hangs anyone." Siarles huffed and rolled his eyes, but Bran's smile deepened. "See here, we still have five days until Twelfth Night-five days before we give up the treasure," he said. "Five days to learn why the Ffreinc place such high value on it."

"Good," said Merian. "That is the most sensible thing I have heard since Christmas. But if anyone thinks the sheriff will just let you walk into the castle and hand it over, you best think again." She regarded us with a high and haughty glance. "Well, does anyone have any idea how to give back what was stolen without getting hung for a thief? Does anyone have a plan?"

Bran heard the iron in her tone and said, "You are right to remind us of the danger, my lady. And have you conceived such a plan?"

"As it happens," she answered, her satisfaction manifest, "I have."

"And will you yet tell us this plan?"

"Gladly," she answered, lowering her shapely head a little in deference to him. Turning again to those of us gathered around the king's hearth, she added, "However, I am certain that once you have heard what I have to say, you will contrive an even better banquet on the bare boards I lay before you…" What did she say?" asks Odo. He raises his head and rubs the side of his nose in anticipation.

"That," I say with a great, gaping yawn, "must wait until tomorrow."

"Oh!" he whines. "You did that deliberately to spite me."

"We have talked long, brother monk, and I am tired," I reply, drawing a hand down my face. "Leave me to my rest."

"You are a mean and spiteful man, Will Scarlet," grumps Odo as he gathers up his inkpot and parchment.

I roll onto my side and face the damp stone wall. "Close the door behind you," I tell him as if already half asleep. "It does get cold down here of a night."

He hesitates at the door and says, "God with you this night, Will." He shuffles off and I listen until his slow footfall has died away. Then I am alone in the dark with my thoughts once more.

What did she say?" demands Brother Odo as he bustles breathless into my cell. He is that much like an overgrown puppy-all feet and foolish fervour-it makes me smile.

It seems to me that my dull but amiable scribe is as much a prisoner of Abbot Hugo's devices as Will Scarlet ever was. Here he sits most days, scribbling away in this dim, dank pit with its mud and mildew, the reek of piss and stagnant water in his nostrils, dutifully fulfilling his office, never complaining. What an odd friendship has grown between us. I wonder what it can hold, yes, and how much it can bear.

"God with you this morning, Odo," I reply.

He settles himself in his place, the short plank balanced on his knees, and begins paring a new quill. "What did she say?"

"Who?"

"Merian!" he shrieks, impatience making his soft voice shrill as an old fishwife's. "You remember-do not pretend otherwise. We were talking about King Raven's council."

"Soup and sausages," I sigh, shaking my head in weary dismay. "Are you certain that's what we were talking about? I must have slept the memory right out of my head. I have no recollection of it at all."

"I remember!" he cries. "Lord Bran called a council, and Merian volunteered a plan she had devised."

"Yes? Go on," I urge him. "What next?"

"But that's all I know," he cries. He is that close to throwing his inkhorn at me. "That is where you stopped. You must remember what happened next."

"Peace, Odo," I say, trying to placate him. "All is not lost. Remind me of what you have written, and we'll see soon enough if that stirs the pot."

Odo busies himself with unrolling his scrap of parchment and unstopping his inkhorn.

"Read it out," I say, as he smoothes the sheepskin beneath his podgy palms. "Perhaps that will help me remember."

He begins, and I hear once again how he nips and crimps my words, giving them all a monkish cast. He bleeds them dry, and makes them all grey and damp like the greenwood in the grip of November. Still and all, he gets the gist of it, and renders my ramblings rather more agreeable than many would find them.

What his high-nosed infernal majesty Abbot Hugo makes of all this, I cannot say.

"… the captive Lady Merian begged leave to reveal a plan she had made. The rebels fell silent to hear what she would say…" He stops here and looks up expectantly. "That is where we ended for the night."

"If you say," I tell him, shaking my head slowly. It is all I can do to keep from laughing. "But my head is a cup scoured clean this morning."

Odo makes a face and grinds his teeth in frustration. "Well, then, what do you remember?"

"I remember something…" I pause and reflect a little. Ah, yes, how well I remember. "See now, monk, when the council finished I returned to Noin's hut," I tell him, and we go on… Noin was not in her hut when I returned, nor was Nia. The council had taken the whole of the morning, and they had gone out to do some chores; so I went along to find them and lend a hand. The snow still lay deep over our ragtag little settlement, and the day, though bright, was cold. Many of King Raven's rag-feathered flock were at work chopping and splitting wood for the many hearth fires needed to keep warm. I could hear their voices sharp in the crisp air, chirping like birds as they toiled to fill their baskets and drag bundles of cut wood back to their huts. I saw this now, as I had seen such work countless times since coming to Cel Craidd, but this time something had changed.

Maybe it was only ol' Will Scarlet himself, but I did see the place in a different way, and did not much like what I saw. It put me in an edgy, uneasy mood, and I did not know why. Perhaps it was only to do with the bad news I had just now to deliver.

Oh, it was that, to be sure, but perhaps there was something else as well.

Even so, thinking to make the bitter draught a little easier to swallow, I put a big smile on my face and tried to take cheer in the sight of my beloved. But my heart was weighty and cold as a stone in a mountain stream. I saw Noin bending low to pick up a split branch, and thought how I would love nothing more than to carry her away this instant to leave this place and its demands and duties, to flee far away from the bastard Normans and their overbearing ways. Alas, there was no longer such a place in all Britain. It made me sad and angry and disappointed and frustrated all at the same time, because I did not know what to do about it and feared nothing could be done.

I gathered my thoughts and, swallowing my disappointment, strode to where Noin was working. "Here, my love," I said, "let me carry that basket for you. Heap it high now, so you won't have to fetch any more today."

She stood and turned with a smile. "Ah, Will," she began, then saw something in my face I was not able to hide. "What is it, love?"

She looked at me with such tender concern, how could I tell her?