Read Online Hood by Stephen R. Lawhead - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stephen R. Lawhead
Ads: Link
the girls passed by, one of the men, grinning at his companion, stuck out his foot, tripping the nearest girl. She fell sprawling onto the bridge planks; the basket overturned, spilling the eggs.
Bran, watching this confrontation develop, immediately started toward the child. When, as the second girl bent to retrieve the basket, the man kicked it from her grasp, scattering eggs every which way, Bran was already on the bridge. Iwan, glancing up from the trough, took in the girls, Bran, and the two thugs and shouted for Bran to come back.
“Where is he going?” wondered Ffreol, looking around.
“To make trouble,” muttered Iwan.
The two little girls, tearful now, tried in vain to gather up the few unbroken eggs, only to have them kicked from their hands or trodden on by passersby—much to the delight of the louts on the bridge. The toughs were so intent on their merriment that they failed to notice the slender Welshman bearing down on them until Bran, lurching forward as if slipping on a broken egg, stumbled up to the man who had tripped the girl.
The fellow made to shove Bran away, whereupon Bran seized his arm, spun him around, and pushed him over the rail. His surprised yelp was cut short as the dun-coloured water closed over his head. “Oops!” said Bran. “How clumsy of me.”
“Mon Dieu! ” objected the other, backing away.
Bran turned on him and drew him close. “What is that you say?” he asked. “You wish to join him?”
“Bran! Leave him alone!” shouted Ffreol as he pulled Bran off the man. “He can’t understand you. Let him go!”
The oaf spared a quick glance at his friend, sputtering and floundering in the river below, then fled down the street. “I think he understood well enough,” observed Bran.
“Come away,” said Ffreol.
“Not yet,” said Bran. Taking the purse at his belt, he untied it and withdrew two silver pennies. Turning to the older of the two girls, he wiped the remains of an eggshell from her cheek. “Give those to your mother,” he said, pressing the coins into the girl’s grubby fist. Closing her hand upon the coins, he repeated, “For your mother.”
Brother Ffreol picked up the empty basket and handed it to the younger girl; he spoke a quick word in English, and the two scampered away. “Now unless you have any other battles you wish to fight in front of God and everybody,” he said, taking Bran by the arm, “let us get out of here before you draw a crowd.”
“Well done,” said Iwan, his grin wide and sunny as Bran and Ffreol returned to the trough.
“We are strangers here,” Ffreol remonstrated. “What, in the holy name of Peter, were you thinking?”
“Only that heads can be as easily broken as eggs,” Bran replied, “and that justice ought sometimes to protect those least able to protect themselves.” He glowered dark defiance at the priest. “Or has that changed?”
Ffreol drew breath to object but thought better of it. Turning away abruptly, he announced, “We have ridden far enough for one day. We will spend the night here.”
“We will not!” objected Iwan, curling his lip in a sneer. “I’d rather sleep in a sty than stay in this stinking place. It is crawling with vermin.”
“There is an abbey here, and we will be welcome,” the priest pointed out.
“An abbey filled with Ffreinc, no doubt,” Bran grumbled. “You can stay there if you want. I’ll not set foot in the place.”
“I agree,” said Iwan, his voice dulled with pain. He sat on the edge of the trough, hunched over his wound as if protecting it.
The monk fell silent, and they mounted their horses and continued on. They crossed the bridge and passed through the untidy sprawl of muddy streets and low-roofed hovels. Smoke from cooking fires filled the streets, and all the people Bran saw were either hurrying home with a bundle of firewood on their backs or carrying food to be prepared—a freshly killed chicken to be roasted, a scrap of bacon, a few leeks, a
Bran, watching this confrontation develop, immediately started toward the child. When, as the second girl bent to retrieve the basket, the man kicked it from her grasp, scattering eggs every which way, Bran was already on the bridge. Iwan, glancing up from the trough, took in the girls, Bran, and the two thugs and shouted for Bran to come back.
“Where is he going?” wondered Ffreol, looking around.
“To make trouble,” muttered Iwan.
The two little girls, tearful now, tried in vain to gather up the few unbroken eggs, only to have them kicked from their hands or trodden on by passersby—much to the delight of the louts on the bridge. The toughs were so intent on their merriment that they failed to notice the slender Welshman bearing down on them until Bran, lurching forward as if slipping on a broken egg, stumbled up to the man who had tripped the girl.
The fellow made to shove Bran away, whereupon Bran seized his arm, spun him around, and pushed him over the rail. His surprised yelp was cut short as the dun-coloured water closed over his head. “Oops!” said Bran. “How clumsy of me.”
“Mon Dieu! ” objected the other, backing away.
Bran turned on him and drew him close. “What is that you say?” he asked. “You wish to join him?”
“Bran! Leave him alone!” shouted Ffreol as he pulled Bran off the man. “He can’t understand you. Let him go!”
The oaf spared a quick glance at his friend, sputtering and floundering in the river below, then fled down the street. “I think he understood well enough,” observed Bran.
“Come away,” said Ffreol.
“Not yet,” said Bran. Taking the purse at his belt, he untied it and withdrew two silver pennies. Turning to the older of the two girls, he wiped the remains of an eggshell from her cheek. “Give those to your mother,” he said, pressing the coins into the girl’s grubby fist. Closing her hand upon the coins, he repeated, “For your mother.”
Brother Ffreol picked up the empty basket and handed it to the younger girl; he spoke a quick word in English, and the two scampered away. “Now unless you have any other battles you wish to fight in front of God and everybody,” he said, taking Bran by the arm, “let us get out of here before you draw a crowd.”
“Well done,” said Iwan, his grin wide and sunny as Bran and Ffreol returned to the trough.
“We are strangers here,” Ffreol remonstrated. “What, in the holy name of Peter, were you thinking?”
“Only that heads can be as easily broken as eggs,” Bran replied, “and that justice ought sometimes to protect those least able to protect themselves.” He glowered dark defiance at the priest. “Or has that changed?”
Ffreol drew breath to object but thought better of it. Turning away abruptly, he announced, “We have ridden far enough for one day. We will spend the night here.”
“We will not!” objected Iwan, curling his lip in a sneer. “I’d rather sleep in a sty than stay in this stinking place. It is crawling with vermin.”
“There is an abbey here, and we will be welcome,” the priest pointed out.
“An abbey filled with Ffreinc, no doubt,” Bran grumbled. “You can stay there if you want. I’ll not set foot in the place.”
“I agree,” said Iwan, his voice dulled with pain. He sat on the edge of the trough, hunched over his wound as if protecting it.
The monk fell silent, and they mounted their horses and continued on. They crossed the bridge and passed through the untidy sprawl of muddy streets and low-roofed hovels. Smoke from cooking fires filled the streets, and all the people Bran saw were either hurrying home with a bundle of firewood on their backs or carrying food to be prepared—a freshly killed chicken to be roasted, a scrap of bacon, a few leeks, a
Similar Books
