"If your search be true," the old woman told me, "you have naught to fear."

I thanked her for her reassurance and stood to my fate. Presently, Siarles returned from the house accompanied by a young man, tall and slender as a rod, but with a fair span of shoulders and good strong arms. He wore a simple tunic of dark cloth, trousers of the same stuff, and long black riding boots. His hair was so black the sun glinted blue in his wayward locks. A cruel scar puckered the skin on the left side of his face, lifting his lip in what first appeared to be a haughty sneer-an impression only, belied by the ready wit that darted from eyes black as the bottom of a well on a moonless night.

There was no doubt that he was their leader, Bran-the man I had come to find. If the right and ready homage of the ragged forest folk failed to make that clear, you had only to take in the regal ease with which he surveyed all around him to know that here was a man well used to command. His very presence demanded attention, and he claimed mine without effort to the extent that at first I failed to see the young woman trailing behind him: a fine, dark-haired lady of such elegance and grace that, though she was dressed in the same humble drab as the starvelings around her, she held herself with such an imperious bearing that I took her to be the queen.

"I present Rhi Bran, Lord of Elfael," said Iwan, speaking loud enough for all gathered round to hear.

"Pax vobiscum," said the tall young man, looking me up and down with a sweep of a quick, intelligent eye.

"God's peace, my lord," I replied in Cymric, offering him the courtesy of a bow. "I am William Scatlocke, former forester to Thane Aelred of Nottingham."

"He's come to offer his services," Siarles informed his lordship with a mocking tone to let his master know what he thought of the idea.

Bran looked me over once again and finding no fault, I think, replied, "What kind of services do you propose, William Scatlocke?"

"Anything you require," I said. "From slaughtering hogs to thatching roofs, sawing timber to pollarding hazel, there's not much I haven't done."

"You said you were a forester," mused Bran, and I saw the glint of interest in his glance.

"Aye, I was-and a good one, if I say it myself."

"Why did you quit?"

"Thane Aelred, God bless him, lost his lands in the succession dispute and was banished to Daneland. All his vassals were turned out by Red William to fend for themselves, most like to starve, it was that grim."

The dark-haired young woman, who had been peering from behind Bran's shoulder, spoke up just then. "No wife, or children?"

"Nay, my lady," I replied. "As you see, I'm a young man yet, and hope burns bright. Still, young or old, a man needs a bit of wherewithal to keep even one small wife." I smiled and gave her a wink to let her know I meant it lightly. Unamused, she pressed her lips together primly. "Ah, well, I was just scraping some of that wherewithal together when the troubles began. Most lost more than I did, to be sure, but I lost all the little I had."

"I am sorry to hear it," said Bran. "But we are hard-pressed here, too, what with the care of ourselves and the folk of Elfael as well. Any man who would join us must earn his way and then some if he wants to stay." Then, as if he'd just thought of it, he said, "A good forester would know how to use a longbow. Do you draw, William?"

"I know which end of the arrow goes where," I replied.

"Splendid! We will draw against one another," he declared. "Win and you stay."

"If I should lose?"

His grin was sly and dark and full of mischief. "If you would stay, then I advise you not to lose," he said. "Well? What is it to be? Will you draw against me?"

There seemed to be no way around it, so I agreed. "That I will," I said, and found myself carried along in the sudden rush-the people to the contest, and myself to my fate.

Obviously, you won the contest," says Odo, raising his sleepy head from his close-nipped pen.

"You think so, do you?" I reply.

"Of course," he assures me smugly. "Otherwise, you would not be here in Count De Braose's pit waiting to be hung for a traitor and an outlaw."

Brother Odo is feisty. He must have got up on the wrong side of his Hail Marys this morning. "Now, monk," I tell him, "just you try to keep your eyes open a little while longer, and we'll get to the end of this and then see how good you are at guessing." I settle myself on my mat of mildewed rushes and push the candle a little closer to my scribe. "Read back the last thing I said. Quick now before I forget."

"Siarles? Iwan? Your bows," says Odo, in rough imitation of my voice.

"Oh, right." And I resume… The two foresters, Iwan and Siarles, handed Rhi Bran their longbows and, taking one in either hand, he held them out to me. "Choose the one you will use."

"My thanks," I said, trying first one and then the other, bending them with my weight. There was not a spit of difference between them, but I fancied winning with Siarles's bow and chose that one.

"This way, everyone!" called Bran, already striding off towards the far side of the settlement. We came to the head of a miserable patch of barley. They were about growing a few pecks of grain for themselves, but it was a poor, sad field, shadowed and soggy as it was. The people ranged themselves in a wide double rank behind us, and by now there were upwards of sixty folk-most all of the forest dwellers, I reckoned, saving a few of the women and smaller children. The grain had been harvested and only stubble remained, along with the straw man set up at the far edge of the clearing to keep the birds away. The figure was fixed to a pole some eighty or a hundred paces from where we stood-far enough to make the contest interesting.

"Three arrows. The scarecrow will be our mark," Bran explained as Iwan passed arrows to us both. "Hit it if you can."

"It's been that long since I last drew-" I began.

"No excuses," said Siarles quickly. "Just do your best. No shame in that."

"I was not about making excuses," I replied, nocking the arrow to the string. "I was going to say it's been that long since I last drew, I almost forgot how good a yew bow feels in my hand." This brought a chuckle or two from those gathered around. Turning to Rhi Bran, I said, "Where would you like this first arrow to go, my lord?"

"Head or heart, either will do," Bran replied.

The arrow was on its way the instant the words left his mouth. My first shaft struck the bunched tuft of straw that formed the scarecrow's head, with a satisfying swish! as it passed through on its way to the far end of the field.

A murmur of polite approval rippled through the crowd.

"I can see you've drawn a longbow before," said Bran.

"Once or twice."

Lord Bran drew and loosed, sending his first shaft after mine, and close enough to the same place that it made no matter. The people cheered their lord with loud and lusty cries.

"My lord," I said, "I think you have drawn a bow once or twice yourself."

"The heart this time?" he suggested, as we accepted our second arrows from Iwan.

"If straw men have hearts," I said, drawing and taking good aim, "his has thumped its last." This time I sent the shaft up at a slight arc so that it dropped neatly through the centre of the scarecrow and stuck in the dirt behind it.

"Your luck is with you today," sniffed Siarles as polite applause spattered among the onlookers.

"Not a bit of it," I told him, grinning. "That was so the lads wouldn't have to run so far to retrieve my arrow."

"Then I shall do likewise," said Bran, and again, drew and aimed and loosed so quickly that each separate motion flowed into the next and became one. His arrow struck the scarecrow in the upper middle and stuck in the ground right beside mine. Again, the people cheered heartily for their young king.