Sovereign's War

by Debbie Viguié

  Stumbling, she nearly fell on the uneven ground, and a sob escaped her. She regained her footing and glanced toward the road. The riders had cut the distance between them in half. They were angling toward the two horses. At the rate they were moving they would capture Bartholomew and the children with him. The only two who even stood a chance were the children who were running, since they were the closest to their goal.

  Only half the children were safe inside Sherwood. Even so, her heart began to fill with despair. With no one to take care of them, they might die even in the protection of the trees.

  Just drop them.

  Save who you can.

  Save yourself.

  The voice that echoed in her head wasn’t the same one that had come to her in the dungeon. This voice was hard, insistent, and there was something seductive about it. Despite that, she tightened her grip, determined to fight on to her last breath. She thought of Will and how he’d sacrificed himself. Though his wound had been fatal, he’d done what he could to buy time for the others.

  Buy time.

  She stopped in her tracks. The children slid out of her nearly paralyzed hands and fell limply to the ground. Freed from the extra weight she felt dizzy light for a moment. Then, she picked up her tattered skirts, turned, and ran straight toward the riders.

  As she ran she began to scream. It was unlikely the riders could hear her over the pounding of their horses’ hooves, but it helped give her strength and courage. She raced toward them as fast as she could, ignoring the searing pain in her feet. Images of Will flashed through her mind. She’d be with him once more. That filled her with an even fiercer determination. Soon her battle would be ended.

  “Will!” she began shouting his name. She would fight in his place. She would do what he would have done. She could save the children. Surely at least the ones on horseback.

  The pain in her body seemed to stop, and suddenly she felt as if she was running even faster. A final gift from God. He would help her to save the innocents.

  One of the men turned his head. He saw her. He must have shouted to the others because they all turned to look at her. She waved her arms in the air and probably looked like a lunatic, but she didn’t care. Whatever it took to keep their focus on her, and not the children.

  Two of the riders broke from the other four and headed toward her. Chastity’s heart sank. She had hoped to distract them all. With only two coming her way, though, she had failed. The others would kill the children.

  Still she ran forward, because she didn’t know what else to do. Tucked in her bodice she had the knife she had used to kill the two soldiers. She pulled it free now and held it in her right hand, determined to fight with her last breath. Maybe if she did it would be enough to distract the others and bring them back.

  The two horses closed the gap quickly. She would try to unseat the riders. If they were on the ground, she’d have more of a fighting chance. Then she began to stumble, and she realized that what strength she had left was fading fast. The rider nearest her unsheathed a long, wicked sword.

  He held it aloft, to try to cut her down with it. She had to be more clever than him, though. Her mind was slowing down, going fuzzy even as she tried to think about how she could get the upper hand.

  They were nearly to her.

  She stumbled again, then staggered, swaying slightly as the riders came just feet away. Then, her legs gave out completely, and she fell face down in the grass. The ground shook as the horses rushed by her. Wind whistled over her, and she waited for the blow that would kill her.

  Then suddenly she realized that she couldn’t hear the thundering of the horses any longer. She turned her head and pushed herself up to her hands and knees. The riders had passed her. The horses stood, fifteen feet away, their riders motionless in the saddles. She shoved the hair out of her face and stared.

  Suddenly the two men tumbled from their saddles and hit the ground. Their horses screamed in fear and lunged sideways before running off.

  There, sitting astride one of the horses the children had been riding, a cloaked figure sat with an arrow notched in his bow. Her eyes flew toward the forest. She could see the children still running. There was no sign of Bartholomew and the other horse.

  The horses of the other four riders milled about in confusion. Near them she could see dark forms on the ground. She turned back to the man in front of her, who lowered his bow. Her mind tried to process what was happening. Had God sent them an angel, a rescuer?

  The cloaked figure returned the arrow to its sheath, slung the bow over his left shoulder, dismounted, and began walking toward her.

  “Robin?” Chastity called out, her voice shaking.

  “Not quite,” the figure said before pushing back the hood back.

  Chastity gaped in shock.

  Marian, her lady, stared down at her anxiously.

  “Are you alright?” Marian asked.

  Chastity nodded fiercely. “No, milady, but praise Jesu I will be now.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It was Much’s turn on watch and he stood it proudly. The trust that Lord Robin and Old Soldier placed in him meant more to him than anything. He always took the early morning watch, which was darker than sin and twice as nasty. It was quiet, though. The creatures of the night usually had started to settle down. He also got the joy of watching the first light of dawn fight back against the darkness. He imagined that was what they were doing, and it gave him a thrill.

  He wished his parents could have lived to know the great deeds he had accomplished, and the responsibilities that had been entrusted to him. He believed, though, that up in heaven they had to be smiling down on him and telling him what a good lad he was, that he was making them proud.

  It had been a rough night. After the appearance of Lord Longstride, it had taken effort for any of them to get back to sleep. Well, all except Sir Lawrence. The knight had drifted off right away, his snores faint—fainter even than they had been the night before. That worried Much, and he knew the truth of it.

  Sir Lawrence was dying. Much personally suspected that the man had been holding out just to get them to the place where the king was being held captive. Now that Lord Longstride had arrived and could do that, though, Much wondered if Sir Lawrence might just decide to die in his sleep.

  As light began to streak the sky he felt a hand descend on his shoulder. He prided himself on not jumping, even though Lord Robin had once again managed to sneak up on him.

  “I don’t think you slept,” Much observed.

  “I always said, the ears of a fox,” Lord Robin said kindly.

  Much smiled.

  They stood together for a couple of minutes, watching the sunrise. At last they heard Old Soldier moving around and turned away. He joined them and handed each of them some hard cheese, some salted deer meat, and some bread. It had been the same food every morning since they left Sherwood, but it satisfied.

  Much ate his while standing, like Robin did. Old Soldier squatted while he ate. As they were finishing Lord Longstride stirred and sat up with a shout. He looked around wildly for a moment, his hands raised as if to fight and then his shoulders slumped.

  “Nightmare,” he muttered before heaving himself to his feet and moving off a ways to do his business.

  Old Soldier nodded sagely. “He’ll be having those for a while.”

  Robin was busy surveying the landscape. His father had shouted loud enough to wake the dead, which made it all the more concerning that Sir Lawrence still slept. If it weren’t for the tiny whisper of sound coming from him as he breathed in and out, Much would have thought for sure he was finally gone.

  * * *

  Robin debated inwardly what to do about Sir Lawrence. With his father’s arrival they no longer needed the man as a guide. It might behoove them to leave him here with food and water, so that he could rest up for the journey back. Deep in his gut, though, he knew there was no journey back for the man. He sighed. This was one of the aspects of leaders
hip that he hated the most. Deciding who lived, who died, and, sometimes, how they died.

  He hated putting others in harm’s way.

  His father came back and took the food proffered by Old Soldier, giving a grunt of gratitude. He made a happy sound as he bit into the meat.

  “Venison,” he said, turning to eye Robin. “From Sherwood, no doubt.”

  Robin shrugged. “The forest provides for its own.”

  The old man squinted at him. “How many you got living there now?”

  “Round about seventy, with more coming each day,” Old Soldier said. Robin was grateful that he was able to supply a number. The truth was, he had never bothered to stop and count.

  “Seventy men?” his father asked in surprise.

  “Men, women, and children,” Robin corrected.

  “You’ve got women and children living in the woods… like animals?” his father said, the familiar disapproving tone cropping up.

  “Yes, living,” Robin replied, locking his jaw. “Which they wouldn’t be doing if they’d stayed where they were.” His father stared at him for several seconds, then nodded before taking another bite of the meat.

  “Some of those are as good fighters as the men,” Old Soldier said, pride in his voice.

  “I don’t doubt it,” Lord Longstride said, sounding suddenly weary. “I just wish it didn’t have to come to that.”

  “They’ve got a right to fight for their lives, their families, their country same as anyone else, the way I see it,” Robin said.

  Old Soldier snorted. “And good luck trying to stop them.”

  Robin gave a short laugh. “Especially Marian.”

  “The lady Marian?” His father blinked. “You’ve dragged her into all of this?”

  “Queen Marian,” Much spoke up with sudden reverence.

  “Queen?”

  “She traveled to the heart of Sherwood, and sovereignty of the land was granted to her by the forest guardians,” Robin said. “And I didn’t drag her into all this. Truth is, she dragged me,” he admitted, warming as he thought of her.

  His father chewed contemplatively for a moment, then swallowed.

  “Anything else I should know?” he asked sarcastically.

  Robin smirked. “Well, you should be proud of me. I finally did one thing you told me to.”

  “Oh, and what’s that?”

  “I think it’s safe to say I got Marian to pledge herself to me,” Robin said with a chuckle.

  Much and Old Soldier laughed as well.

  “Oh, what makes you so certain she has?” his father asked gruffly.

  “Well, I think she made it pretty clear when she insisted that Friar Tuck marry us before I left to free the king.” He was rewarded by the look of complete and utter shock on his father’s face.

  “You’re married?”

  “Yes, father, I am,” he said, unable to hold back the grin that spread across his face.

  “To the lady Marian?”

  “The same.”

  His father lurched forward…

  …and threw his arms around Robin. “By thunder, you finally did do something I told you to do.” His grip was tight, and when he pulled away, his face was beaming with pride as he slapped Robin on the back with one of his large hands.

  “Congratulations, my boy!”

  Robin managed to stand his ground under the onslaught, but barely.

  “Thanks,” he said, enjoying his father’s enthusiasm with a hint of confusion. It was nice, as was the feeling of warmth radiating through him.

  “Did you get a child on her yet?”

  “We’d only been married a handful of hours when we left,” he said. “I did my best, though,” he added, his cheeks burning. His father roared with approval and slapped him on the back again.

  “Then we need to move fast. You’ve got someone waiting at home for you, and we wouldn’t want her waiting too long,” he said with a wink.

  “I must admit I’m eager to be back myself.”

  His father laughed again and Robin braced himself.

  “What’s all the commotion?” Sir Lawrence asked groggily as he slowly sat up.

  “My boy’s a man,” Philemon said. “A married one at that.”

  Lawrence nodded tiredly. “The lady seemed quite pleased about it, as well.”

  “I knew she liked you,” the elder Longstride said, pride rolling off of him. “No lady gives every dance to just one suitor unless she’s making a statement.”

  “You were right,” Robin said. He was still grinning.

  “Of course I was,” Philemon said. “Now, let’s get this over with so I can congratulate my daughter-in-law in person.”

  Robin was amazed at how the news had lifted his father’s spirits. He was grateful, as well. After the devastating news he’d had to give him the night before, it was nice to be the bearer of welcome tidings.

  “How far from here is the king being held?” Robin asked.

  “Fifteen miles, give or take,” Philemon said, his expression serious again. Robin glanced at Sir Lawrence, who nodded.

  “I knew we were getting close.”

  “Yes, you’ve done very well,” he said gently.

  “Where’s he being held?” Old Soldier asked.

  “Dungeons below the castle. I was there, too, until I made too much of a nuisance of myself,” Philemon said.

  “And what of the soldiers?”

  “Last I saw they were being herded into cages outside, like they were some kind of animals waiting to be slaughtered,” Philemon said, anger filling his voice. He spat on the ground. “A pox on Wulfhere.”

  “Are they expecting any kind of rescue attempt?” Old Soldier asked.

  “No. In fact, as I understand it, that mangy bastard is in league with the scoundrel John. Or, rather, was. Can’t say I’m sorry to hear that the bastard is dead. He’s been communicating with the Sheriff of late.”

  “How are they communicating?” Robin asked.

  “By messenger, I believe.”

  “What is it, Lord Robin?” Old Soldier asked.

  “I’m thinking I pass myself off as an envoy from the Sheriff. That will get us access to the castle. From there we can study the lay of the land and figure out how best to proceed.”

  “He’s a cunning one,” Philemon said. “He wouldn’t have lived this long without being so, curse his black heart. It will be hard to fool him.”

  “Then we’ll have to be even more cunning,” Robin replied. He turned to Much and gave the young man a wink. “Like a fox.”

  * * *

  Friar Tuck was worried. It was dawn and there had been no sign of Marian. He didn’t think anyone else had noticed, but he had, and he was starting to become truly concerned.

  It wasn’t unusual of late for her to disappear in the woods for hours, and he respected her time spent there contemplating, planning, and communing with the forest and its denizens. This, though, was unprecedented. She’d never failed to sleep at the camp.

  The worst part was, if she was in trouble, he had no idea how to help her. He had no idea which direction she would have gone or what dangers she might have encountered. Next to Robin she was the one who knew the most about this area of the woods, given the time she’d spent exploring it.

  He was going to have to ask Alan’s help.

  Discretely, though, so as not to raise the alarm. The last thing they needed was everyone panicking over the disappearance of their queen, as many had taken to addressing her.

  It had been a night of revelry, the first for many in a long, long time. The way Jansa and Thomas had looked at each other, he wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up performing another wedding ceremony soon. He was glad for them, but it was hard to feel any sense of joy or hope under the circumstances.

  * * *

  At last Alan approached, looking as if he hadn’t slept at all. Tuck led him away from the others so that he could speak without being overheard.

  “Marian did not return last
night,” he said gruffly, struggling to keep his voice low. Alan nodded slowly, but didn’t show the surprise that Tuck had expected. The monk narrowed his eyes as he studied his friend’s face.

  “What do you know?”

  Alan looked as if he was about to shrug. Tuck glared at him and, with a sigh, Alan pulled some parchment out of his bag. Tuck stood, waiting, and once again cursed their enemies. Before Alan could write, however, there was a noise in the woods.

  A deer darted past, as if running from something. Friar Tuck stiffened, wondering if the devil’s own had finally found a way to breech the forest and attack them in their sanctuary. Alan shoved the parchment and chalk back into his bag. They locked eyes for a moment, and the friar could see his own fears mirrored in his friend’s eyes.

  It couldn’t just be Marian. The deer didn’t run from her.

  No, this was something, someone new.

  His mouth went dry even as he prepared to raise the alarm. He half turned, ready to run over and wake up all the others, tell them to prepare to fight for their lives. Just then, Alan laid a restraining hand on his arm and shook his head.

  “Have you gone mad?” Friar Tuck hissed.

  Then there was a lot more noise—including the snort of a horse. It sounded as if an entire army was tromping through the woods, headed their way. Friar Tuck tensed, wishing he’d kept a weapon on him, like Old Soldier had urged them all to do. Suddenly the brush in front of them parted, and a small boy staggered into the clearing.

  Painfully thin, he was covered from head to toe in filth, and his hair was long and ragged. His clothes were torn and hanging off him. However, Tuck realized, they were clothes that only a noble child would wear. He blinked in shock as another child came from the bushes, plowing into the first and tripping over him.

  Behind him the camp stirred to life. He could hear the noise and the confusion as everyone called out to their neighbor, wondering what was happening. Friar Tuck just stared, slowly becoming aware that they were witnessing a miracle.

  Even more children staggered out of the brush and the trees, only to collapse on the grass in the clearing. Then, finally, Marian came on foot, leading two horses. Behind her two boys and a young woman led six others. They all pushed their way into the clearing.