by Matthew Cody
His mother opened her mouth to answer, but she seemed unable to speak. The sheriff answered for her.
“The king’s companions have all been imprisoned with him,” he said. “That’s all we know.”
Will looked at the faces of his family. His father wouldn’t be home by Christmas, if he made it home at all.
“I’m afraid it’s true, Will,” said Geoff. “We know the king was taken. I sent riders out yesterday and had it confirmed by reliable men. Soon the whole kingdom will know. But the prince sent Sir Guy to deliver another message meant for the barons and lords only. He’s spreading lies that King Richard is already dead.”
Will’s mind was whirling. King Richard the Lionheart dead? He was a legend, a hero that every boy idolized. He couldn’t die.
“If that’s true—”
“It’s not,” said Osbert.
“But if it is, then what does that mean for Father? Why would they keep Father alive if the king is already dead?”
“Listen to me, Will, and listen well,” said the sheriff. He put his arms on Will’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “This is about money. King Richard is being held for ransom by the Duke of Austria, and he’s not worth anything unless he’s alive and well. The same goes for his companions, the same goes for your father.”
“There’s only one person who would benefit from rumors of the king’s death, and that’s his brother,” said Osbert.
“I don’t understand,” said Will.
“That snake in the grass Prince John has been sniffing around the throne for a long while now, and he’s hoping that by spreading rumors of the king’s death, he’ll gain support for his own claim to the throne. The king’s most loyal lords, like your father, sailed with him on his crusade. There’s no better time than now for the prince to make his move.”
Will swallowed hard. He wouldn’t cry in front of these men. He would be strong, for his father.
Geoff picked at a loose splinter in the table. He looked like he’d tear the whole table apart if he could.
“The prince is sending out his dogs to sniff out the loyalties of the lords and barons,” said Geoff. “Guy was testing us last night to see who we’d stand with—John or Richard.”
“And between Geoff’s sulking and Osbert’s show, he got a very clear answer, I’d say,” said the sheriff. “The only one of you who performed with anything near diplomacy was the Wolfslayer here.”
Now Geoff got to his feet. “What place does diplomacy have in this? Richard’s the rightful king, and the barons must send a clear message to Lackland! If he tries for the throne, we will rise up against him. United! Prince John doesn’t have half the courage Richard does. He’ll never go through with it.”
“Only you aren’t united,” said the sheriff. “And John may not be brave, but he has the one advantage Richard does not.”
“Which is?” asked Geoff.
“He’s here and Richard’s there. Prince John doesn’t have to take what’s already his.”
A loud sigh escaped Osbert as he pulled himself to his feet. “Then we’ll shove the prince out kicking and screaming. We’ll give the whelp the whipping he deserves and send him crying for his nursemaid and his brother’s forgiveness!
“Now,” the old man continued, “I’m going to excuse myself so that I may vomit in peace. You learned men and ladies can keep talking of diplomacy.”
The last word he practically spat at the sheriff as he stalked out.
“For the royal record, it’s not last night’s wine that has sickened me this day.”
There was a strained silence in the room as they watched him leave and listened to him stomp down the hall.
After he was gone, Geoff turned to the sheriff.
“Mark, I can’t believe you, of all people, would have us side with Prince John!”
“I’m not saying you should swear allegiance to the prince,” the sheriff said. “But until King Richard is freed and Will’s father comes back safe and sound, there is no dishonor in looking out for your people and keeping these lands free of bloodshed and civil war.”
The sheriff put his hand on Geoff’s shoulder. “Lords weather the passing storms, Geoff, and the best way to do that is to stay neutral. Don’t come out for Prince John, but don’t come out against him, either. Tell Osbert no more foolish toasts, and leave kingly politics to kings.”
The sheriff gathered up his cloak and bowed to Will’s mother.
“Sir Guy will doubtless be gone by midday, off to report his chilly reception to the prince. Meanwhile, send an official invitation to John to spend Christmas here at Shackley Castle. I’ll deliver the message myself, if need be, including assurances of your neutrality. Prince John will likely refuse, now that he knows you won’t be the ally he’d hoped for, but he won’t make life difficult for you.
“You are right about one thing—the prince is weaker than his brother. If someday he ends up on the throne, he’ll be fearful of his claim to it. Easily swayed. John may not be the king we want, but we can make him the king England needs!”
As the sheriff was leaving, he winked at Will. “I hope you were taking notes, Lord Will. This’ll all be your problem one day. Heaven help you.”
After the sheriff was gone, Geoff turned to Will. “There’s one thing I agree with the sheriff on, Will. Your father is alive.”
“Do you really think so, Uncle?”
“I do.”
Will looked to his mother, standing there so still. Her face was stern, expressionless, but she gripped her arms around her stomach as if she might be sick at any moment. She nodded in agreement with Geoff and somehow managed a smile for Will.
Geoff rubbed his tired eyes. “Will, this is your first taste of how power really works in England. What do you think?”
Will thought for a minute. Should he muster up some false bravado and curse John’s name as Osbert would’ve? Or should he try to put on the sheriff’s calm demeanor and argue for something that made logical sense but just felt wrong somehow? In the end, he decided honesty would be the best policy.
“I think … I think the wolves were easier,” he said. “At least then I knew who the enemy was.”
Geoff nodded with a small smile. “Well said, lad. Well said.”
“Lady Katherine,” said Geoff. “It seems we are losing friends. Osbert will abandon us if we don’t openly support Richard. The sheriff will abandon us if we do.”
“The sheriff will not put his head on the chopping block for you, Geoffrey, but he won’t oppose you, either. Mark Brewer has been our friend for years.”
“Yes,” said Geoff. “He’s also ambitious, and he’s the prince’s own appointed sheriff now.”
“He doesn’t love John, and he came here to warn you,” she said. “That counts for something.”
“My brother left me the care of his people until his return. I won’t start a war. Much as I’d like to.”
“It’s because of that the prince has his eye on us, Geoffrey,” said Mother. “You are the loyal brother to Rodric. You are steadfast in your devotion to him, and it reflects poorly on Prince John by comparison. He knows the other lords would rally to your cause if you declared against him. The sheriff thinks you can stay neutral, but I don’t know if that will be enough.”
Geoff slammed his fist on the table. “I will not throw my lot in with Sir Guy of Gisborne and his kind! Brutes and robber-knights, that’s the sort of lord that’ll support John.”
Suddenly and without warning, Geoff sank into his chair. He looked deflated, like an empty wineskin. Will had never seen his uncle look so tired, or so small.
“How I wish Rodric had stayed put, and not run off to fight in Richard’s bloody war.”
“I wish that every day. And every night,” said Mother softly. “Every lonely wife and mother in England wishes that.”
Geoff waved them away. “I need sleep. We’ll talk more on this later.”
He plucked distractedly at the table, tearing at a
fresh splinter. “John won’t become king in a day.”
Will was wandering the halls looking for a place to take his troubled thoughts when he heard his name. He turned to see Mark Brewer, the sheriff, coming toward him. He was wearing his riding gear and a set of warm furs.
“Leaving already?” Will asked.
The sheriff nodded. “I’d rather be going to bed, believe me, but I have duties to attend to back in Nottingham. The peace doesn’t keep itself.”
Will walked with the sheriff a ways, past servants going about their morning chores. Despite the early hour, the castle around him was already alive with its regular morning routine. Most would be breaking their fast on leftover bread and cheese, but the kitchens would already be working on the midday meal, and the smells of roasting mutton and honeyed pork would soon start wafting through the halls. Outside, wood was being chopped for the never-ending fires, the horses rubbed down, and stable stalls cleaned. The servants went about their work, ignorant of the problems of their lords, or of England as a whole.
The sheriff stopped in front of one of the shuttered windows that overlooked the courtyard. The latch was stuck closed with frost, but after a moment’s fumbling he managed to pry it open. It swung outward and let in a blast of frigid morning air. The sheriff leaned his head out and breathed deep.
Will pulled his cloak tighter around him, but the wind still found its way past his clothes.
“Are you trying to freeze me to death?” he asked.
“It’s invigorating,” answered the sheriff.
“Says you. You’ve got your traveling furs on!”
The sheriff smiled but didn’t make any move to close the shutter. “When I was young, I spent so much time here. Geoff and I used to play knights and castles down there in that very courtyard. Just as you and that stableboy do—blast, what’s his name?”
“Milo,” Will said.
“Yes, Milo. I should’ve known that. He always takes such good care of my horse.…”
The sheriff turned and looked at Will.
“I’ve been away from this place too long, but that’s what happens when you grow up. I used to dream of having a manor house like this, of being an important man like your father, like your uncle. So I worked hard, I bowed and smiled at the right people, and when the prince appointed me sheriff, well … I learned there’s a point when you stop doing the things you want to do and you start doing the things you have to do. I don’t think your uncle understands that yet.”
“What do you mean?”
The sheriff didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out a hand and tousled Will’s hair, something he hadn’t done since Will was a young boy.
“Stop it,” said Will. “It gets all tangled as it is. And it’ll be your fault if Nan comes chasing after me with a comb!”
The sheriff laughed. “The Wolfslayer is afraid of Nan’s comb! God, that’s rich. You know, Will, you mustn’t tell your uncle this, but you really are my favorite person in this stubborn little house. Fools that you all are.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“It is what it is,” he said.
Then the sheriff bowed and walked down the hall toward the front doors. He didn’t bother closing the shutters, so Will watched him enter the courtyard below. Milo was already waiting for him there with the sheriff’s horse. Even from up in his window, Will could hear the sheriff thank Milo by name as he slipped him a coin.
Then Will closed the shutters (his teeth were chattering by now) and wandered off in search of something to take his mind off his troubles.
FOUR
We mustn’t let lawlessness go unpunished.
—SIR GUY OF GISBORNE
Will would’ve wandered down to the kitchens, but after all the talk of fighting and intrigue, he wasn’t in the mood for company. Avoiding people wasn’t difficult, as most were happy avoiding him in turn. The servants knew that trouble followed the young lord like thunder followed lightning, and many had been struck more than once.
But the trouble brewing inside Shackley House today was not of Will’s making. It was barely within his understanding. Richard was the rightful king of England, but while he was locked away in a foreign prison with Will’s father, the king’s younger brother John was scheming to steal the throne of England. And Will’s uncle was being asked to choose sides. No, not asked. He was being forced, as they all would be soon enough.
In truth, Will couldn’t care less about who wore the crown. All he wanted was his father back. These last two years had been hard on the family. Geoff did his best to look after his brother’s estate, but responsibility weighed heavily on him, and where he was once a joyful, laughing soul, now he scowled more than he smiled. Will’s mother endured the lonely days by hugging Will even closer to her, smothering him one moment and scolding him the next.
And Will was just lost. He knew that his childhood was over, but he had no earthly idea how to be a man. He had tutors and combat masters, and he had Geoff and Osbert, but they were all poor substitutes for his father. They meant well, but Geoff would lecture him on the importance of responsibility in one breath while railing against it in the next. Osbert advised him to get into fights. The more the better.
In his most secret thoughts, Will almost resented his father. Why did he have to choose King Richard over his family? Why was royal duty more important than duty to his son? Will was angry that he’d been gone so long, and terrified that he wouldn’t come back at all.
Will wondered how many days he’d carelessly run through these halls, laughing and playing while his father carried some secret worry in his own heart. If this was a taste of what it was to be a man, Will wanted none of it.
Feeling shut in by the narrow hallways, Will bundled himself up in his thick winter woolens and took a stroll in the crisp morning air down to the stables. Perhaps giving Bellwether a nice brush down would take his mind off lordly troubles.
The mare was always excitable, but she settled some as Will hand-fed her thick-cut oats. Once she was calm, he checked the poultice on her injured back leg—even a small wound needed to be watched carefully when inflicted by a wild animal. They’d both been bitten, so perhaps they’d turn feral together and transform into beasts by moonlight. A wolf-boy riding a wolf-horse through the forests. That would earn a place in Osbert’s drinking stories.
“Will! Will!”
Will turned to see Milo poking his head into Bellwether’s stall, his face barely recognizable beneath a ridiculous fur cap that had been sized for a grown man and kept sliding over the boy’s eyes. Milo had been Will’s playmate since he’d been able to walk. In that time, Will had dragged the poor boy into one spot of trouble after another.
“I was wondering when you’d show up here,” Milo said. “Haven’t seen you since you rode out on that wolf hunt. I heard you slew five of the devils and the rest changed back into men and ran all the way to Scotland!”
Will shook his head. The kitchen gossips had outdone themselves this time—not that Milo wasn’t easy prey.
“Don’t believe castle whispers, Milo,” Will said. “They were Irish, not Scots at all. And they didn’t run home, they swam.”
The young boy wrinkled his nose as he chewed over this new fact.
“Aww, you’re just having a go at me now, aren’t you?” he asked. “Why would they swim when they could hop a boat?”
Will laughed and Milo joined in, although he didn’t look entirely sure what they were laughing about. It felt good.
“She’s still spooked, poor Bellwether is,” said Milo. “But her wound will heal up nicely. I made that poultice myself. Vinegar and mint do the trick.”
Milo treated these horses better than most people treated their own families. “It’s fine work, Milo. I’m grateful.”
“Have you seen your presents?” asked Milo, his face lighting up. “I heard talk that they’re stacked up to the ceiling! Don’t think I could resist taking a peek myself. I love Christmas.”
Milo rubbed his hands together. “Still, I bet there’s some kingly gifts in there, hey? I peeked at my presents last year and found a fine woolen cape with a jeweled clasp—you remember the one? I called it my wizard’s cloak!”
Will did remember the cape, a gift from Milo’s mother. The clasp was inset with a gaudy glass bead, not a jewel at all. And he remembered that he had teased Milo mercilessly about it all last winter. He’d called it Milo’s ball gown, casually and callously insulting the one gift Milo really loved. His only gift, and Will had ruined it.
Will realized that Milo hadn’t worn it at all this season, despite the cold.
“It was a nice cape,” said Will. “Even if I didn’t say so.”
Milo shrugged beneath his too-big cap. Another gift from his mother, no doubt. “Doesn’t matter now. Still, I wouldn’t mind getting a look at those royal presents! If you’re up for a little sneaking.”
“Actually, I don’t know if today’s a good day. Maybe tomorrow …”
A cry interrupted him. A girl’s voice, from somewhere in the stables, shouting. Without waiting for his friend, Milo ran out of Bellwether’s stall toward the sound. He was the son of the head stable hand, and these were his horses—the stable was his domain.
Will followed swiftly behind, and as the two of them reached the far end, they found Jenny backed into an empty stall, cornered by a fat man wrapped up so tight in gaudy furs he looked like a stuffed hedgehog.
As Will got closer, he recognized the man as Sir Guy’s bribes master, the one with the wandering hands. They hadn’t left the castle yet after all. In one fist he held a horsewhip, and he seemed to be brandishing it at Jenny.
“What’s … what are you doing in here?” asked Milo.
“I found this wench sneaking through my saddlebags,” said the bribes master. “Looking to steal from her betters, she is.”
“That’s not true!” said Jenny. “I was just fetching some wood for the kitchen, and I stopped to pet the horses! I wasn’t anywhere near the saddlebags.”
