Tuck by Stephen R. Lawhead Page A

it.
    It was Bran’s idea to appear as wayfarers simply passing through, in the hopes of attracting as little notice as possible. He watched the hilltops and ridgeways on either side of the valley, while Tuck remained alert to anyone approaching from the rear. Overhead, a brown buzzard soared through the empty air, its shadow rippling over the smooth, cloud-dappled slopes. Ahead the river forked into two branches: one wide and shallow, one little more than a rill snaking through a narrow, brush-choked defile. Upon reaching the place where the two streams divided, Bran paused.
    “Which way?” Tuck said, reining in beside him. Odo halted a few paces behind.
    “You ask me that?” replied Bran with a grin. “And still you call yourself a priest?”
    “I am a priest,” affirmed Tuck, “and I do ask you—for, all evidence to the contrary, I cannot read the minds of men, only their hearts.” He regarded the two courses. “Which way do we go?”
    “The narrow way, of course,” answered Bran. “‘Narrow is the way and hard the road that leads to salvation . . .’ Isn’t that the way it goes?”
    “‘Straight is the gate and narrow the way that leadeth to life, and there be few that find it,’” the friar corrected. “You should pay better attention when the Holy Script is read.”
    “We’ll have to walk from here,” Bran said, climbing down from the saddle. “But when we reach the end, we will be beyond the borders of Elfael and out of reach of de Glanville’s soldiers.” He glanced at Odo. The young priest had maintained a gloomy silence since climbing into the saddle. “Do either of you want to rest a little before we move on?”
    “My thanks, but no—a chance to quit this saddle is all I need just now,” Tuck said, easing himself down from the saddle. “Come, Odo. A change is as good as a rest, is it not?” He wiped the sweat from his face. “Although, to be sure, a jar of ale would not go amiss.”
    “When day is done,” said Bran, starting into the gorge. “This way, you two.”
    They had left the forest before dawn, crossing the open ground to the south of the caer while it was still dark, quickly losing themselves in the seamed valleys of Elfael. They proceeded ever north ward, keeping out of sight of the fortress and town until both were well behind them—and even then Bran continued with all caution. A chance encounter with a wayward Ffreinc party was to be avoided at all costs.
    Leading the horses, they resumed their trek, picking their way along the stream. It was slow going because rocks, brush, and nettles filled the defile, making each step a small ordeal. The bowlegged priest struggled to keep up with his long-legged companions, scrambling over the rocks and dodging thorny branches, all the while ruing the turn of events that had made this journey necessary.
    They had left the forest before dawn, crossing the open ground to the south of the caer while it was still dark, quickly losing themselves in the seamed valleys of Elfael, keeping out of sight of the fortress and town until both were well behind them—and even then Bran continued with all caution. A chance encounter with a wayward Ffreinc party was to be avoided at all costs.
    “We acted in good faith,” Bran had declared in the council following the abbot’s misguided ambush. “But Hugo sought to betray us—once again. It is only by God’s favour that Odo and I escaped unharmed and none of our men were killed or wounded.”
    Bran and his archers had just returned from their encounter with the Ffreinc, and one glance at their scowling faces gave everyone to know that all was not well.
    Tuck, with Mérian a close step behind, was there to meet the returning peace party. “God love you, Iwan, what happened?” Tuck asked, snagging hold of the big man’s arm as he came through the blasted oak. “Did they fail to ring the bell?”
    “Nay, Friar,” answered the champion, shaking his head slowly.“They rang the bell for