Alan would act as Marion’s religious chaperone. John and I were decked out in guard’s uniforms, though finding a mail shirt large enough for John proved difficult. Eva and Alviva were Marion’s maids, but both had to be instructed by Marion on how to behave. I would be Robin’s man-at-arms which meant I’d be able to move around the castle and its grounds without being noticed and Much acted as his squire. Gilbert and Agnus would stay at the camp to protect and care for the animals, they would also be ready to act as the fall-back position if this all went wrong.
Tuck’s problem with joining our group became complicated when I found him naked in the snow down by the stream. “Hell’s bells, Tuck, what are you doing?” I cried out, tearing at my cloak and hood to wrap him up.
His scars were pink, his flesh pale and his lips were turning blue. He clutched his monk’s robes, the coarse brown wool tight between his fists. He looked at me with his fathomless blue eyes and I watched the tears fall down his cheeks.
No words were necessary at this point. I tugged him into my arms and Tuck wept against my chest. It felt good to in a strange way to hold him again, we’d grown distant over the last few weeks with Robin and Marion taking us away from each other.
When he calmed I whispered, “Talk to me, little brother.”
He remained in my arms, face turned to the stream. “I can’t wear it, Will. I can’t be that monk again. I can’t be a friar, I can’t be anything, I’m sinning with a married woman.”
Marion had convinced him to grow out his hair and it looked more like mine these days, his soft curls of black were shorter but so very similar.
“You aren’t sinning, Tuck. You love her and she loves you. In the eyes of God that is enough, I’m sure.”
“How do you know?” He begged for answers I couldn’t really give.
“Because I know love and the peace it brings can only come from God,” I whispered.
“Even though you love a man?”
I wanted to correct him but now wasn’t the time to explain I loved two men. “Yes, even though I love a man.”
“I can’t ever go back.”
“Do you really want to, Tuck?” I asked him. “Did the religious life ever really make you happy like you have been with Marion these last few weeks? Did it prevent you from giving those who wanted it the Eucharist at Christmas? Does it prevent you giving the comfort of the confessional? You are our religious heart, Tuck whether you wear the damned robe or not. You hold God in your heart and Jesus’s words in your head and soul whether you belong to a denomination of the Church or not. This robe doesn’t make you a good Christian just as Robin’s sword in the Crusades didn’t make him a good Christian, it’s what’s in your heart that matters.”
“So I don’t have to wear it?” he asked in that small voice I’d heard less of in recent months.
“No, Tuck. If you don’t want to go into the city as a friar then you don’t have to, we’ll find another role for you to play.”
“Can I be a guard?”
I thought about where the guards slept and how rough they could be, the idea of putting my tender little brother through that felt very wrong. “No, you can be Robin’s personal manservant. You are not a true fighter, Tuck and although you’re good with sword and a bow, I’d rather not rely on those skills. Your real talent in this will come from watching people, reporting what you see and hear, making assessments for Robin to consider as he makes his moves and acting as a shadow to protect him when I can’t be there. You see people’s intentions and you are able to argue with Robin like no one else.” I gripped his shoulders and made him look at me. “You also need to protect Marion and as a manservant you can move between brother and sister more easily.”
Tuck nodded. “You always have a plan for me, big brother.”
“I don’t know about that, Tuck but I do know I want to keep you safe.”
He looked away for a moment before focusing on me again. “You really think God will love me even if I don’t devote myself to His Church?”
I smiled. “I think he’s likely to love you more for being strong enough to stand on your own two feet that He provided you with.”
Tuck chuckled and poked my chest before sniffing. “You don’t believe that.”
“Doesn’t matter what I believe, little brother.” I hugged him again and helped get his cold body back to the cave.
Marion took one look at his frozen face and hands before whisking him off to their private corner of the cave, now curtained off for privacy, so she could care for him. The gentle scolding I heard made me smile despite our complicated relationship at the moment.
Too soon for my peace of mind we were making our way down the hillside we’d called home for a long time and onto the road to Nottingham.
WHEN WE REACHED THE city gates a nest of worms had taken up permanent residence in my guts. Robin wore his title like a true earl and the makeup on his face made us all want to turn our gazes elsewhere. He’d seen enough battle wounds to know how much worse his could have been without Ghaalib’s intervention, so the entire right side appeared mangled and dark. We’d used dried animal guts, stuck on with glue made from more animal parts and coloured it with herbs Eva found in the forest. It stank but Robin wouldn’t have to wear it for long because we had the mask to cover his face when necessary.
Marion rode at his side, every inch the earl’s sister and the rest of us trailed behind.
“Halt,” called a guard, stepping in front of Robin’s horse.
The beast snorted and Robin tried to nudge him over the guard just to make a point. “Who are you to prevent my entry into Nottingham?” Robin asked, an arrogant growl to his voice I didn’t recognise.
I realised something awful in that moment. I wouldn’t have loved Robert Loxley, Earl of Huntingdon and he wouldn’t have glanced at me twice.
The guard grabbed the horse’s reins. “I’m the sergeant who is in command here, who are you?”
“Earl of Huntingdon,” Robin snarled, leaning forwards in his saddle. “I suggest you release my horse before I have you flogged.”
The man’s hand opened on reflex. “Forgive me, my lord.” His eyes flickered to Marion. His mouth opened and closed several times, recognising her and the colour drained from his face. “I should report this to the sheriff, sir. Perhaps you could wait here –”
“Don’t be bloody ridiculous I’m not asking my sister to wait in the cold when we’ve been travelling for weeks. Send a runner ahead if you must but I will not be delayed.” Robin made his horse dance without any obvious work, pushing the guards who were gathering around us out of the reach of Marion. I rode up to flank her, my best scowl in place under the helmet I wore. We were all a little concerned they might recognise the wayward minstrel masquerading as a man-at-arms but they weren’t looking at me.
“Very good, my lord,” said the guard.
We rode on through the city. The roads were a mess of mud and rubbish, the recent snow a slushy horror of stinking mire. We all breathed through our mouths and I had to hope we didn’t inhale any plague before we reached the paved streets closer to the keep. There were too many hollow eyed children, rat thin women and angry men on the streets this close to the city walls. The pallor of their skin, the alms being begged for, the toting for unsavoury business we could see, all spoke of the poverty being meted out on the population of Nottingham.
I could feel their rage at our fine clothes, full bellies, and obvious health.
“How has this happened?” Tuck whispered, unable to hide the horror we all felt.
“Cruel men do cruel things,” Marion said. “Robert, we cannot ride through this and do nothing.”
Robin grunted. “We are doing something. Concentrate, Marion we have to reach the castle and put on a show.”
“But –”
“People suffer. Our goal doesn’t change,” he snapped.
I wanted to put a hand on his thigh, to give him comfort because his pain at this display hurt him, cut him soul
deep and I couldn’t help. In silence we rode through the crowded streets, wary and watchful of the hate in those hungry eyes.
By the time we reached the gates to Nottingham castle I for one felt relief to be leaving the city itself behind. Not since the Lionheart besieged and attacked his brother in the castle had the city suffered so much.
On the bridge into the complex of the castle stood Guy of Gisborne, his white hair marking him out from the others gathered there with ease. I couldn’t help the flutter of maddening desire and need which made me almost boneless in the armour. Not helpful considering its weight on my shoulders.
He leaned against the stonework boarding the edge of the bridge with insolence written into every line of his long, beautiful body.
“Fucking hell,” Robin muttered.
I chuckled. “Regretting not coming to play with him sooner?” I asked too quietly for the others to hear.
The look he gave me proved me right.
“It’s been some time, my Lord of Huntingdon,” called Guy, the amused twist to his lips colder than the ice in the rivers.
“Gisborne, my sister told me you were in Nottingham, I told her there must be a mistake. Your value is overrated at best,” Robert, Earl of Huntingdon sneered.
Guy’s eyes slid to mine for a moment and for a heartbeat softened before he resumed his role. “Really, as if you’d know what I was truly worth.”
Robin slung his leg over this horse’s neck and jumped off the beast right in front of Guy who straightened, watching with an amused expression.
“You’re a rogue and thief,” Robin announced.
“And you’re a scoundrel and a scallywag,” Guy shot back.
“Fuck you.” Robin dragged him into an embrace and before we knew it they were hugging and pounding each other’s backs like old friends.
Marion made a noise of pain as if betrayed by a brother she didn’t know and I realised, with sadness, that she didn’t know him. She couldn’t understand what the Crusade had done to her precious brother, she couldn’t understand what Guy represented and knew little about Ghaalib. Circumstances split them apart, divided the family, shedding ties and loyalties as if they were no more use than old bones in a graveyard. Should I help her understand and re-tie those bones into place so a semblance of their lives together could be resurrected? Or should soft memories be left in the golden glow of childhood so the present couldn’t colour them dark? Was it even my place to conjure these thoughts?
My attention returned to Robin.
“It’s good to see you again, brother,” Robin said.
“And you, rogue,” Guy murmured into their embrace. I didn’t miss the small turn of their faces towards each other, lips just missing the contact they craved as they pulled back.
“Are we welcome?” Robin asked.
“Have you brought a wife home?” Guy asked, eyeing Marion.
Robin’s face fell, playing the game. “Not exactly.”
Guy grunted. “I’m not surprised but you are welcome by me at least in this hinterland of wet misery.”
Robin laughed and slung an arm over Guy’s shoulder. “It’s better than the desert, brother and I’m glad to be home.” The last part came gently from his lips and he seemed surprised by its honesty.
Guy’s face softened for a moment. “Home sounds good.”
A strange warmth infused my bones as I watched them commune on a level I couldn’t reach but some instinct in me recognised.
“What’s the long sigh for?” John asked as he came up beside me and we followed the two men over the bridge.
“Nothing, just tired,” I said.
“Keep your wits about you, Will. This place is a lion’s den more dangerous than any Daniel stood in to prove God’s protection.”
I blinked and looked at him. “The lions lay down for Daniel and I’m fairly sure Robin is able to do the same thing.”
“You better hope so, boy, or we are all going to hang.”
That cheerful reminder of the stakes we gambled with left me only with the snakes in my belly again, not butterflies to soften their gnawing.
32
WE DIVESTED OURSELVES OF the horses and followed Guy into the keep. Robin tried to make us understand what it would be like, after all when you are supposed to have experienced the French court Nottingham should be a rural backwater, but we all stared like love-sick fools at the wealth of the castle. Well, everyone but Marion who could be drinking sour milk from the expression on her face.
There were colour rich tapestries, fresh reeds on the polished floor, small pillows on intricately carved furniture that didn’t seem to do anything but look decorative, fires roaring in every hearth and there were a lot of hearths with sweet smelling incense pervading the air.
“Glad to know where our fucking taxes have gone,” John muttered.
“It’s so hot!” Much exclaimed.
“Eyes forwards, act like it’s nothing,” I reminded them.
When we walked into the main hall stained glass filled the mullioned windows making colour dance over the walls and floor. Images of a king, I guessed King Henry but it could have been John, winning battles against the French king covered one wall in a vast fresco. There were many guards lining the walls and doorways, which were huge. A minstrel’s gallery protruded from the wall over the doorway we hadn’t come through, the stonework on its balustrade elaborate. I wondered what it would be like to perform from such lofty heights.
Robin sauntered into the room, right up to the wine and poured himself a glass, an actual glass, before slugging it back. He sniffed. “You need to educate the sheriff on wine, Gisborne.”
“I have mentioned it,” he said, with a smile and a glance at me.
“Our vineyards are improving,” said a new voice from the doorway under the gallery. The man who’d been the centre of our hatred for so long stood a little shorter than Robin, thinner through the shoulders and older. He wore a beard trimmed tight to his face of dark blond and hair also cut close to the scalp which looked silvered through the dark strands. His clothes were rich velvets and wools to ward off the chill and fine made shoes peeked out from under the long robes. I could see the bones of his face under the flesh, making him appear cadaverous and his eyes were dark, almost black. Lips thin and jawline strong. Maybe it was my imagination, I told stories for a living after all, but I could see the cruelty etched into his thin flesh.
I felt the thrum of tension among us as our enemy made himself available. One sword strike, one arrow and he’d be dead – but the consequence of the act held us all still. Robin had made it very clear we were not to kill the sheriff.
I watched a muscle in Robin’s jaw jump, the only indication the snake had revealed itself. He poured himself another drink and sat in one of the fine wooden chairs by the fireplace. “High Sheriff Marc, it’s good to see you. Marion has told me so much about you.”
Guy stiffened, watching Marc’s face and his hand strayed to his sword hilt. I wondered whose side he’d be on if it came to a fight – when it came to a fight.
Marc’s eyes flickered over Marion and Tuck shifted closer to her side. “You’ve returned her to me, thank you. She’s a vixen, ill-mannered for a wife of her status but she’s learning. I fear your father was too soft on her. She kept low company.”
“My father –” Marion began but Robin held up his hand and she stopped.
“She is perfectly respectful when someone has earned that respect,” Robin said. He rose in a movement so fluid and quick Marc stepped back, his black eyes widening a little in surprise. Robin approached his sister and drew her gently to his side. “My sister has described in detail how her life has been valued in this place under your care. I have to admit to being shocked to find that such a prize has been treated so badly. Because of that I have been forced to appeal to the Pope for a divorce so she can remarry.”
Just like that Robin threw a fireball into the centre of the room.
Marc laughed. “From what I understand
you are a criminal, a dishonoured sodomite and I very much doubt the Pope has any interest in your family.”
Robin’s face didn’t change but colour rose in Guy’s and his chest heaved in unspent anger. I stepped closer to him, we didn’t need to fight over words before the lines were drawn.
“Ah, so news from the Holy Land has reached Nottingham, I did wonder if the gossip would spread,” Robin said, nodding, as if in careful consideration. “For the last five years I’ve been working in Rome, under penance, helping the Pope understand the complexities of the king’s decisions.”
Marc’s jaw tightened. “The king has been threatened with ex-communication.”
Robin just smiled.
The subtext of the politics they spoke of writhed between them, a serpent ready to attack. Robin made it clear to Marc he had the ear of the Pope, next would come the news Robin also had the support of King Philip and Louis, the crown prince of France, thus alienating Marc and King John from the power they had over Marion and Nottingham.
All these jabs were to infuriate Marc into making a mistake.
Proud men do stupid things and Robin had little pride to lose.
All eyes were on Marc, who looked at the prize of Marion with a mixture of loathing and desire which made my skin itch. My father used to look at me like that after drinking too much.
Men of Sherwood (A Rogue's Tale Book 1) Page 27
