Alan nodded fiercely.
“You agree with me?” she asked.
He nodded again.
She looked back at Friar Tuck and placed a hand on his arm. “If we can rescue Richard, we will have an army behind us.”
“If his army has not already been slaughtered.”
She stared at him intently. “If they have, then we can alert Rome,” she conceded. “Tell them what has happened here.” At that a spark of hope flared in her friend’s eyes. She knew how alone he felt, cut off from the church.
“This is a war that is being fought on two fronts,” she continued, “and we need all our allies with us. If the Pope called, France would have no choice but to work with us, rather than war against us.”
Again Alan nodded. Friar Tuck looked as though he was about to give in when suddenly he stiffened, almost pushing off the tree. He blinked at her.
“You said ‘if we can rescue Richard,’” he said tersely. “You wouldn’t be thinking of going yourself, would you?”
She shook her head firmly. “As much as I wish to, my place is here. The people need me. I do have one or two in mind, though.”
Tuck glanced uneasily at Alan. “Surely not—”
She held up a hand. “Do not worry my friend, I need Alan by my side,” she said with a slight smile. “You, as well. No, what I will propose is an entirely… different course than our enemies might expect.” At that she frowned, and uncertainty flickered across her mind.
“I’m afraid you’re going to need more than just us.”
“Yes,” she said, unable to contain a wave of sorrow that rolled over her. “What I really need is something I no longer have.”
“What is that?”
“Someone on the inside, someone who could tell us what the Sheriff is planning right now.”
* * *
Glynna Longstride was nothing if not a doting mother. The Sheriff had to grant her that as he watched her nursing their child.
He was surprised she had survived giving birth to his spawn. As he watched her now, though, he realized he shouldn’t have been. She was strong, strong in a way that most humans could never dream. Ten minutes after the child had been born, she’d been up on her feet, placing it in his arms, murmuring how beautiful the creature was.
He doubted any other human would call it beautiful.
It looked human, but wrong, as if mixed right, but in the last moment someone took a finger and stirred, upsetting the formula. The eyes were too big, the inside corners nearly touching at a bladed nasal bridge. The cheekbones were too sharp, pulled up and back toward the ears that lay pinned against the skull.
Its mouth stayed slightly open, too-full lips unable to fully close over a triple row of teeth. Its skin was the pale of spoiled cream and shiny, as if made of wax. The hair on its head was black as coal and lay in wet swirls around its temples and crown, spilling down the back of a neck too short to look right.
In his eyes, it was the most wondrous creature he’d ever beheld, and he found himself desiring Glynna all the more for having given it to him. A baby had never been in the plan, but he realized now it should have been. There were so many more possibilities open to him now.
“What is it, my love?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Richard’s cousin Henry has amassed an army,” he said. “He’s readying to move against us, to try and take the throne.”
“Then we shall pluck out his eyes and feed them to our son,” she said fiercely.
“That is certainly a very entertaining possibility,” he acknowledged. “Let us entertain some others at the moment, though.”
“You want to make an alliance with him?” she asked. “What could he possibly have that we would ever need?”
“At the moment, if reports are true, a very large force of men.”
“You could sweep them away with a wave of your hand.”
“Yes, but I also could use them to sweep across Europe. None could hope to oppose me.”
“Even if Henry were interested in making a deal,” she said, “what if he turns out to be as short-sighted as John?”
“Then I will deal with him as I did with John.”
His pets slunk into the room, darker than the darkest shadows. They raced up his legs and wrapped themselves around his neck, black fur stroking his cheeks. They had been on the hunt and he could smell the human blood on their breath. They were very efficiently dispatching his enemies. At least, those outside the forest.
He sighed. He could send Henry’s army where he couldn’t send his own. Sherwood Forest needed to be emptied of those who would stand against him. His spellcasters were still working on breeching the forest’s defenses, yet he couldn’t wait for them to arrive at the solution. As much as it pained him, an alliance with Henry would be expedient.
For the moment at least.
* * *
Big things were happening. Much could tell.
The arrival of the knight had brought a great deal of excitement. Almost everyone at the camp had come up to ask him about the man and find out what Much knew, how he’d found him, and more. He guessed this is what it felt like to be important, a great man people looked up to for leadership.
While it made him proud, it also made him anxious.
Everyone kept asking him for his opinion. Was King Richard dead? What was Lady Marian going to do? Was there a way to leave England safely? He didn’t have any answers, and so he felt as if he was letting people down.
Lady Marian, Friar Tuck, and the bard went into the forest together and they had not yet returned. He wished they would. Everyone should be asking them questions, not him. Still, he knew better than to go and disturb them. They’d come back when they were ready.
“How are you holding up, lad?” Old Soldier moved over to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m alright,” he told the old man.
The truth was he was a bit in awe of Old Soldier. He’d seen the man in battle now, and it was impossible not to be. In the day-to-day, Old Soldier was always sure of himself and what he was doing. When fighting, he was a hundred times more so. It made Much wonder why the man had ever given up being a soldier. He could have gone off on the crusade with King Richard.
Maybe if he had the king wouldn’t have been captured.
Much looked around the clearing. A lot of the men who were there and alive owed that to Old Soldier’s actions in the last couple of weeks. When he thought about that he was glad that Old Soldier hadn’t gone with King Richard. It made him feel guilty, but he was glad nonetheless.
“How are you?” Much asked. Little John and Old Soldier had been like brothers. If Much missed the fallen giant, he could only imagine how Old Soldier was feeling.
“Been worse,” the older man grunted enigmatically.
Much nodded. “Me, too,” he said, although truthfully he couldn’t remember ever being worse. There had been so much loss, so much tragedy. He still grieved the murder of his parents, the loss of his friends, and the death of his hero, Robin. It was a lot to take in. Too much. Maybe that was why he felt more than a little numb, and fuzzy headed, like he was sick somehow. He just kept going, though, trying to help as much as he could. He knew there were people hurting worse than him.
“Your father would be proud of the man you’ve become,” Old Soldier told him.
Much dropped his head. “Thank you,” he muttered. “I’m just doing what I can.”
“And that’s the mark of a man. You’ve done well, son.”
Much nodded, and the two of them stood there for a moment, neither moving, neither speaking, each somehow knowing they needed the other.
“There’s something else weighing on you,” Old Soldier observed after a minute.
Much frowned. “The trees at the edge of Sherwood. They’re dying.”
“This early winter is taking its toll on the forest same as everything else.”
Much shook his head. “It’s not like that. There’s something wr
ong with them. They look sick. Some of them have turned gray with black spots, and others look like they’re rotting.”
Old Soldier scowled. “It’s bad enough the Sheriff visits death and disease on the people, but to touch the forest…” He trailed off. Much understood. Sherwood was eternal, not like them. The fact that evil was harming it scared him. Much wondered how long it would be before evil reached all the way to their camp. He tried not to think those thoughts, but they would come unbidden, often at night. He wondered if Old Soldier had the same kind of bad dreams that he did.
Then there was movement just inside the tree line that caught their attention. Old Soldier’s hand went to his sword. When Marian, Friar Tuck, and Alan stepped into the clearing he let it drop.
“I think our lady has made up her mind,” Old Soldier muttered softly. “About something.”
Much nodded. He could feel it, too. She always glided across the ground with grace and authority. Now, though, there was something new. She moved faster and had a look of determination about her. Friar Tuck didn’t look happy, however, which made Much nervous.
Marian moved to sit on the felled log. She gathered herself before sitting down.
“She makes that log look a throne,” Much said, giving voice to how he felt.
“It is a throne. It’s her throne,” Old Soldier said. “Best not ever forget that. Now, look lively, she wants to see us.”
It was true. Friar Tuck signaled them to draw near, and they hastened to comply. As they did so, Much noticed a couple of others drawing close, including a tattered refugee, and the knight he had left in the care of the people who had taken to medic duties for the camp. The knight must have eaten, and he’d donned warmer clothes borrowed from someone. He was still gaunt and pale, but he was on his feet and no longer looked as though he had one foot in the grave.
The small group clustered together around Marian, looking to her for wisdom, her guidance. She took a moment and looked at each of them before she spoke.
“We find ourselves again in extraordinary circumstances,” she began. “We need the king’s men, and we need King Richard himself to help us in this fray. However, it seems they are more in need of our help than we are of theirs. Therefore, a small group of men will be sent to liberate the king and his soldiers, with the intention of bringing them home.”
“I will go back, milady,” the knight said, “and to show others the way. However, the distance is substantial. Several days’ journey at a hard pace on horseback, longer if we travel surreptitiously—and we will have to travel as such. The journey will be treacherous.”
“Sir Lawrence, I’d expect nothing less from you.” She smiled at him. “Your arrival here speaks of your honor and loyalty to the sovereignty of England. We thank you for your service. I will assign men of matching valor to accompany you.”
He nodded and took a slight step back, as though making room for others to step forward. As he did, Lady Marian turned and pinned Much with her gaze. He twitched and found himself stumbling forward as though she had compelled him to do so.
“Much, Old Soldier,” she said. “I’d like you both to accompany Sir Lawrence.”
“Me?” Much found himself asking her wonderingly. He had never dreamed to leave the area, let alone the country. The thought of traveling so far, and in service to Marian and the king, was at once exciting and overwhelming.
“Yes,” she replied. “You have the ability to see without being seen, and you are courageous and loyal. Old Soldier has tactical skill and can help plan the escape.”
“Thank you, milady,” Much said.
Old Soldier simply bowed.
Sir Lawrence spoke up. “You do not understand what we will face.”
“Then speak, man,” Old Soldier said.
Lawrence took a deep breath, facing Marian again. “They are held by Wulfhere.”
“Wulfhere Skullsplit?”
Lawrence nodded.
“The man is no real threat,” someone called from the crowd. “Richard put him down handily the last time he tried anything.”
“And yet King Richard and my fellow soldiers are all held within his keep, under lock and key if they haven’t been killed.” Lawrence spat over his shoulder. To Marian he said, “I tell you he is more powerful now. His men and he have fashioned themselves as Vikings of old, and they fight ferociously. They actually attacked us at sea. And… no, never mind.”
“What is it?” Marian asked.
“Milady, we should have been victorious over Wulfhere and his men, even with the ambush.” He shook his head. “It was as if they fought with more strength than men should have. And there was this darkness, it blinded us. So many were caught unaware, lost…”
Marian nodded.
Lawrence cleared his throat. “Three is hardly enough to counter an army.”
She turned to look at him. “But these two are each worth an army. I’m sure you’ve heard and seen a great deal since you returned.” Sir Lawrence nodded, but Marian continued as if he hadn’t. “The remaining nobles are dead, or in thrall to evil. We will find no help from them. The people have been starved, tortured, and driven from their homes. Very few have the strength to survive such a journey.
“I know the importance of this mission,” she said. “That is why I have given you two of my best fighters. What you will lack in numbers, you will make up for in the quality of your allies.”
Much felt himself swell with pride. The knight glowered, however, and Much had the urge to punch him for disrespecting her. Before he could, however, the refugee in the tattered clothes stepped forward, pushing through the crowd to stand next to Lawrence. Marian looked at him and he nodded. She turned back to Lawrence.
“I have one more I can send with you,” she said. “He is much needed here, but if he chooses to go and rescue the king, then I must respect his wishes.”
Sir Lawrence stared incredulously. “This beggar? You can’t be serious?”
“I’d have a care, Sir Lawrence, if I were you. Looks can be deceiving, particularly in these troubled times.” She glanced at the man in the tattered cloak and hood. “Isn’t that right?”
“It is, my lady,” the man said, straightening and shrugging off the ragged cloak like a shed skin.
Much gasped with shock and delight.
Robin Longstride had returned.
CHAPTER THREE
There were gasps from all around, and Robin’s name being repeated over and over. It had been Marian’s idea, to let people think he was dead while he healed. Some had painted him as a hero, even a savior. It did not sit well with him and so he had been convinced to shuffle around when in camp, to hide his face and simply be left alone. He was still injured, but he couldn’t afford to hide and lick his wounds any longer.
He hated the thought of leaving her, but knew that she was right—freeing King Richard and bringing him home was essential, if they were to prevail. If he could bring some of the king’s soldiers with them, all the better.
“Robin of Longstride?” Lawrence asked.
“Yes.” There was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to ask about his father, but there would be time for that later. Instead, Robin looked the knight over. “We should leave as soon as we can. As soon as you are able, Sir Lawrence,” he said. “Will you be prepared to do so in the morning, after you’ve had a chance to rest?”
The truth was the man probably needed a fortnight before he would be ready, but time was a luxury they couldn’t afford. As it was, waiting even that long was dangerous. Lawrence nodded gamely, and at Marian’s direction he was led off to one of the makeshift shelters.
That loosed the dam, and everyone swarmed around Robin— some crying, others laughing, all wanting to touch him and see for themselves that he was real and alive. He smiled and tried his best to bear up. These were his people, and they needed the reassurance. He glanced at Marian, who smiled wistfully at him. She knew he wasn’t fully healed, but she also knew that without him the mission to save Ric
hard would fail.
He turned back as Much gave him an unexpected hug, his thick arms gripping like a vice. Robin winced but didn’t say anything. The lad had lost so much.
* * *
After a time things quieted down, and the day turned to dusk. Marian wasn’t sure where Robin had got to, but she suspected he had slipped off into the woods. She didn’t blame him. He had an impossible task ahead of him, and he needed to be able to ready himself for it. She’d already instructed Friar Tuck to help Old Soldier pack whatever he thought they would need for the journey.
Marian sat on the log close to the fire trying to gather her thoughts. She looked up as she heard a soft rustling sound. Jansa, the cook from the castle, stood there looking anxious. Marian smiled at the woman, hoping to ease whatever anxiety she was feeling.
“Jansa, come, sit here next to me,” she said, patting the log next to her. Jansa hesitated a moment and then sat down on the barren ground in front of her. Marian wanted to urge the woman up onto the log, but decided it might cause her unneeded anxiety.
A moment of sorrow washed over her. Richard had warned her of the need to keep distance from those who saw him as their leader, lest his authority be undermined. She’d never truly understood before now, and she suddenly realized how desperately lonely her uncle must have been—must always be.
With Chastity there hadn’t been any such barriers, because they had been friends since childhood. She held back tears as she thought about her friend and sent a brief prayer heavenward. She shook herself slightly and turned her gaze down to meet Jansa’s.
“How are you faring?” she asked. “And how is your daughter, Esther?”
“Well, milady, better than we could have asked for,” Jansa said. She wrinkled her nose suddenly. “Although we’d be a mite better if that oaf, Thomas, wasn’t cooking. He always burns the meat and has no knowledge of how to make a proper stew. It’s not fit for man nor beast to eat.”
Marian stared at her in surprise. They were all living in the middle of the forest, in the worst conditions most of them could have imagined, and yet Jansa was concerned about the quality of the food. Then she smiled as she realized she shouldn’t be so surprised. Jansa was a cook, and a very good one, raised in the castle by her grandmother who had been a cook before her. Here in the middle of the forest, she was probably at her wits’ end. Perhaps feeling more than a little lost and useless.
Sovereign's War Page 3
