by Dan Davis
“My lady,” he said, easing his horse close beside hers. “I am Sir Jocelyn de Sherbourne. It is a great pleasure to meet you. Of course, these are somewhat unusual circumstances. I wish only to say I swear that, wherever it is that we escort you, I shall protect your life with my own.”
From the back of the palfrey, Marian looked up at Jocelyn from under the rim of her borrowed cloak. “What a brave and honourable knight you are, Sir Jocelyn. I have never felt safer than I do at this moment. I am so glad that you are here beside me.”
I thought his chest would burst. His cheeks coloured and his tongue was suddenly tied. I spurred past them to Anselm, Swein and the wrapped, writhing body of Brother Tuck.
“Anselm, Swein, we must deal with this monk before we get to Leicester. He may die of thirst before we can arrive. But even though he is weak and dying, he may yet retain his unnatural strength.”
“Where should we torture him?” Swein said. He was bareheaded, having put his hood away once we were away from the town. “Me and Anselm can take him off into the woods?”
“Anselm will stay with the others,” I said. “Swein, you will come with me. Can you sit a horse?”
He looked up at me through his tangle of blonde hair. “Climbed on an ox, once.”
“You will lead the packhorse, then, but you must hurry. We will head for the large copse up ahead, do you see?”
“On the little hill?” Swein said.
“Hurry on ahead, run if you need to and I will catch you,” I said. “Oh, and be sure to take a cup with you. Do not untie that monk.”
“I’m not daft, my lord,” he said and picked up his pace.
“Anselm, keep an eye behind for any sign of pursuit. And listen, son. You keep an eye on that Eva woman. If it seems like she’s going to grab the Lady Marian then you raise a cry, you understand? Be ready to race after her. She rides like she fancies herself a horseman but I wager she’ll not out ride you on that grey lightning.” He took the praise well, though he was grinning as fell back alongside Eva. I waited for Jocelyn to draw near. “Sir Jocelyn, might I beg you for a word?”
“Of course, Sir Richard,” he said, throwing his chin up and riding ahead with me out of earshot.
“My hope is we slipped the damned sheriff’s men but while I am up there sorting out the monk, be mindful that you might get company.”
“Worry not, Richard,” Jocelyn grinned. “I’ll not let them take her.” He patted his sword.
“You bloody will let them take her,” I said. His face fell into a scowl. “What will you do, draw blood over her? He might send a dozen men after that girl, do not be a fool.”
“God will grant me victory,” he said. “I have sworn to protect her.”
“Listen, son,” I said. “Understand that standing by your word could mean her coming to harm.”
“My word is my word,” he said, rather offended. “I have a noble name that I must uphold. And I have a noble heart.”
“You have a stiff prick and a soft head. If the sheriff’s men come for her then you give her up. If your noble heart is set on her you can try for her hand when we return. Roger cannot marry her until he rids himself of his wife.”
“I heard what they were saying in the town,” Jocelyn said. “He means to have her, marriage or not, at any cost.”
“Do not make an enemy of the sheriff and get yourself killed over a girl you have spoken a dozen words to.”
“It is you who have made yourself an enemy,” he said. “Yet again. It seems to be the only thing you are good at. Why did you abduct her if you mean to simply hand her back?”
“I did not abduct her, she is a free woman. She is simply riding the same route as we do.”
He looked over his shoulder. “What about that ridiculous woman? Is she here to grab the Lady Marian?”
“I doubt it. She was surprised to see her, did you notice? And she is the archbishop’s plaything, not the sheriff’s. Still, she may get an idea about stealing the lady back to Nottingham, so I instructed Anselm to keep one eye on her. You do the same. That horse of hers looks fast but I am sure that she would be no match for your horsemanship. Now, I am going to question the monk before he dies.”
I caught up with Swein and we picked our way into a copse upon a slight hill across the field. In a second field beyond the copse, the folk it belonged to looked to be out together as a family, hoeing about their green crops in the late spring sunshine. I hoped they would be too far to hear any cries the monk made.
We secured the horses and I dragged Brother Tuck from the packhorse and dumped him beneath a stand of hawthorn.
“String your bow and stand back over there to the side with an arrow nocked and ready,” I said to Swein, who obeyed swiftly and without question. The young man impressed me more every day.
The stench of rot and death billowed out when I unwrapped the sackcloth from Tuck’s body. His ankles were bound together, as were his wrists and I had tied his arms to his fat body.
He groaned and writhed. The man’s skin was greenish and waxen. His eyes were closed but they darted about underneath the bulging lids.
I slapped his face, hard.
His eyes sprang open and he lunged for me with his mouth. I dodged back. He flopped like a fish onto his face. He snarled and drooled, his jaw working into the mulch.
“Brother Tuck,” I said. “I will give you water if you control yourself.”
He snarled and twisted within his bonds. I yanked him from his front into a sitting position against the trunk of a hawthorn, the leaves green above and the uncountable berries turning bright red above. Tuck’s eyes rolled, bloodshot and unblinking.
I poured water from a skin into his mouth. He gagged and coughed on it, spraying it everywhere. He cried and groaned as if I had burned him with fire.
“Swein, you will not need your bow, for now.”
“Is this some plague,” he asked, coming near behind me. “Something to do with the Green Knight’s blood?”
I sat on my haunches, watching Tuck twitching and gasping. “In the Holy Land, William made many men loyal to him. They would drink his blood, once every week on the Sabbath. It gave them great strength and speed and resistance to pain and hunger.”
“That is what this is,” Swein said. “That is what he did to the men in Sherwood, the ones I tracked to your hall.”
“The ones who attacked my hall, yes,” I said. “But that is not what this is.”
“What is this, then? Lord?”
“I do not know. But I do know what he needs.”
Swein sighed. “Blood.”
“Take your dagger and cut yourself where you think best. Your arm, perhaps. Drain some into the cup you brought.”
The young man stood very still.
“I do not wish to make you angry, Sir Richard,” Swein said, stopping and starting. “But can you not use your own blood? I am not afraid to bleed, you know, I don’t mind a bit of a scratch, like, but I don’t know, lord, I just don’t know about this.”
“You do not wish to give any to him,” I said. “I understand. I am not angry. But I cannot use my own blood.”
“Very well.” He hesitated. “I do this because I want the monk to tell us where the Green Knight is. And after he tells us I want to be the one to kill him.”
“I understand,” I said, promising nothing.
As Swein sliced the back of his forearm, Tuck’s head snapped up. His nose twitched and his lips curled back. He began to growl.
I drew my sword and held the tip to his neck while Swein collected the blood. “Hand it to me,” I said after a few moments. “Stand back and ready your bow once more.”
Swein wrapped his arm and when he was set, I raised the cup to Tuck’s mouth. “Hold still or I will slice open your neck rather than feed this to you.”
The words calmed him long enough for me to pour the thick, hot blood into Tuck’s mouth. I wished it were I that could drink it. Tuck drooled and gulped it down, licking his lips.
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He let out a shuddering groan and sank back against the tree, unmoving.
“Did it kill him?” Swein asked.
Tuck’s mouth moved, twitching and his eyes opened, focusing on me. The sweaty pallor on his skin seemed immediately less, a little red came back into his cheek. His lips formed a word, a whispered croak.
“More.”
“Speak and perhaps I shall allow you to live.”
“More.”
“Tell me about William,” I said. “The Green Knight. The man who gave you his blood. Who did this to you? What do you men call him?”
“God.” He grunted out what could have been a laugh.
“Where is his camp?”
“Blood.”
“What made you this way?” I said. “Why are you dying without drinking blood? What did he do to you to make you this way?”
Tuck grinned and leered at the cup.
“Perhaps we should take simply his head,” I said to Swein. “Are you sure you wish to be the one to do it?”
Swein nodded. “I will send an arrow through his skull.”
Tuck’s eyes swivelled between Swein and me.
“Fine, then.” I stood, holding the point of my sword against Tuck’s chest. Swein planted his feet and drew back his cord.
Tuck screamed, “No!”
“But you have no use to me.”
“I will tell you.” Tuck’s throat must have been raw, his voice was like gravel.
Swein eased his bow cord. I squatted and gave Tuck another taste of blood. His eyes became clearer. His skin took more colour and he breathed easier.
“Tell me how he made you,” I said. “Why are you suffering in this way?
“I drank the blood of the Lord of Eden,” Tuck said, his voice still raw but almost human. “I am now a son of Adam.” He grinned.
“But that is how he has always granted his power,” I said. “The power of the blood simply fades over time. Over seven says.”
Tuck giggled. “That’s for the initiates. I’m special. He changed me for eternity.”
“And his men would drink normal blood to make it last longer. But why are you suffering like this?”
Tuck nodded. “Now I must drink blood, every couple of days. More than that and I get weak. Sick. By the seventh day, I die. But as long as I drink mortal blood, my gift will last until the end of days. The end of days, I say. Now, give me blood.”
“That seems a rather simple cure for your evil,” I said. “All I need do is starve you? But how is that change made? What is the method? You get no more of this cup until you answer.”
I placed the cup beside me, well out his reach.
He stared at me, his eyes mad, red-ringed and twitching.
Without warning, distant shouting came through the trees from the road.
“Watch him,” I commanded Swein, who nodded and pulled a touch of tension on his bowstring.
I ran to the edge of the trees and looked out across the field to the road, which ran from left to right along the boundary.
Jocelyn and Anselm were cantering to the left, back the way they had come. Marian and Eva continued heading to the right.
The shouting came from six horsemen, riding two abreast, who approached Jocelyn and Anselm along the road from the left.
Clearly, we had been pursued and we had been found. The sheriff’s men had found Marian.
The sheriff’s men-at-arms were all in full mail, helmeted, some had shields on their arm.
All six of the sheriff’s men drew to a stop in front of Jocelyn and Anselm. Their leader raised his hand to halt his men. Marian and Eva rode on at a walking pace, Eva with one hand on the bridle of Marian’s palfrey. Both women looked over their shoulders, tense and ready to spring ahead.
“Let them through, Jocelyn,” I whispered, urging him from afar. “Let them take her, you romantic idiot.”
I watched, too far away to be heard or to interfere, as Jocelyn drew his sword.
“Bloody fool,” I said.
“Sir Richard,” Swein shouted from the trees behind me.
I spun, sword up ready to strike at Tuck. Instead, the disgusting fiend was sitting exactly where I had left him. He had the cup of blood to his lips, draining the last of it, his hands at the farthest reach of his bonds.
“Should I kill him?” Swein shouted, half drawing his bow.
“No,” I said, running toward the monk. Tuck looked up, blood all around his grinning mouth. I clouted the top of his skull with my pommel, hard enough to cave in the skull of a normal man.
He fell, dead or a just nearly. I knew not which.
“Bind him, cover him, put him on your horse and follow me,” I shouted at Swein as I ran for my own, unwinding his reins. I led the grey courser out of the thin trees at the edge of the copse and rode out across the field, taking stock of what I had missed.
Blows had not been struck. But three of the sheriff’s six men rode around Jocelyn while he remonstrated with the leader and the remaining two men. Jocelyn shouted an order to Anselm, who wheeled his horse around and chased the three men along the road. Those three mounted men were going to take Marian. Anselm looked like a child next to the big men. At least, he had both hands on his reins, sword sheathed.
Marian, on my ancient palfrey, could never have escaped from them and I doubted that Eva would be capable of outriding a man. So the only course of action for the women would be to surrender to the three men-at-arms closing on them along the road.
Eva turned her horse and drew her sword, placing herself between Marian and the approaching riders.
It took me a moment to realise that Eva was going to fight. The idea was absurd. That mad young woman was facing down proper soldiers. Just because she wore the garb of a fighter and had the hilt of a sword in her hand, she thought she could challenge three mounted men-at-arms. By so doing, Eva was in danger of getting herself or Marian hurt or even killed. Men-at-arms were not known for restraint or good judgement.
I spurred my horse and he sprang forwards, released into a gallop. I aimed for Marian, sitting still upon the palfrey, looking at the riders who bore down on her. Anselm rode hard on their heels. I was near enough to hear the hooves of their horses thudding against the packed earth of the road and though I closed the distance rapidly, I was too far away to stop what was happening.
The three riders slowed and reigned in and surrounded Eva. One of the men rode right around Eva and closed to Marian. That man reached out of his saddle to grasp the bridle of Marian’s palfrey.
While the other men shouted at her to stop, Eva raked her heels against the flanks of her black courser and the fine animal leapt forwards as fast as a cat. Eva slapped the flat of her blade on the top of his helm, hard. He yanked his own mount back, in panic and anger. Forgetting Marian, he drew his own sword. His eye slits must have been knocked out of alignment, as he waved his blade wildly while shouting.
The palfrey was not trained for combat and the frightened horse shied sideways away from Eva and into the man-at-arms. With a backswing, that blinded, angry fellow hit Marian with his sword.
The girl screamed and fell from her saddle. She hit the road surface and lay still. The panicking palfrey stepping and stamping all around Marian’s body, afraid of the shouting around him.
After a moment of shocked silence, the tension on both sides erupted into action.
Eva cried out a challenge, pushed forward and barrelled the blinded swordsmen from his own horse. He fell, arms flailing, his sword spinning from his grasp.
I was closing but still too far to intervene.
The other mounted men drew their own blades. A second of the three attacked Eva from behind, pushing his horse onward, with his sword ready on his shoulder and his shield up.
Anselm urged his rouncey on and slashed that horse’s rump with his blade. The animal sprang forwards, trying to throw the pain of the wound from its back. Instead of attacking Eva, the rider dropped his sword into the long grass at the side of the r
oad and held tight to his reigns while his mount leapt away into the far field
Jocelyn and the three remaining sheriff’s men galloped toward the confused melee from the left side of the road. I reached it before them. Shouting at everyone to stop, I forced my courser into the third man’s smaller rouncey and simply pushed him out of his saddle.
Eva leapt to the ground, stamped her foot on the fallen man and then pushed Marian’s horse away, showing no fear as the animal half-reared. Eva stood guard over Marian, sword out, helm down. She looked like a knight.
I spun to meet the other remaining men as they reined in. Jocelyn and the leader of the six men stopped together. That leader bellowed at his men to stop fighting.
“And stand back,” I roared. “All of you. Keep your distance. Put away your blades, for the love of God.”
The sheriff’s men calmed themselves. Everyone but Eva sheathed their swords. For a moment, the only sound was the hard breathing of men and horse.
“Sir Richard,” the leader called to me. “So good to see you.” He unbuckled his helmet. It was the sheriff‘s friend and loyal servant, Sir Guy of Gisbourne.
“Check the girl,” I said to Anselm, who leapt from his horse and ran over while we waited. “She fell hard.” I glared at Gisbourne, saying nothing.
Sir Guy attempted to hide his discomfort, sitting up straight as an arrow, sweat running down his brow.
“The lady’s upper arm is cut, Sir Richard,” Anselm shouted, his voice breaking. “Her head is bruised but not broken. She is too winded from the fall to speak but she breathes.”
“You are lucky the girl is not dead,” I said to Sir Guy. “Your man there was a hair’s breadth from being a murderer.”
“I know,” Guy said, anger flushing his face. “He will be punished. I am relieved the young lady is uninjured.”
“Uninjured?” Jocelyn was spoiling for a fight, his blade in his hand. “She is hurt, you fool. Blood has been drawn. Justice demands-“
“Jocelyn,” I said. “Please attend to the Lady Marian.” Jocelyn wanted to argue but his lust for the girl overcame his love of a fight. He swung his leg over his saddle and hurried to her, fussing over her like a mother for her firstborn child.
