Orphan of Destiny

by Michael Spradlin

  Finally a single rider appeared. He was not more than ten yards away, but he kept his eyes forward, looking for an ambush. Angel’s body shook and I held her with my free hand, silently imploring her to remain still. He passed us by, never even glancing in my direction. Then the next rider appeared, then another.

  I had failed to notice it in those first tense moments, but from all around me came the gentle humming sound of the Grail. Sir Hugh’s men were so close to me that I almost could have reached out and tapped each of them on the shoulder. And as it had so many times before, the music enveloped me like a blanket. I knew then that I was safe. They would not find me here. Their horses would not catch my scent and whinny in alarm. Their eyes would work the shadows of the rocks and roots lining the gorge, but they would never see me. I believed it would be possible for me to walk out of the ravine right in front of Sir Hugh and he would see nothing. But in all these many months I had yet to tempt the miracle of deliverance the Grail had brought to me so many times. I would not start now.

  The knight riding point reined up and the others stopped, slowly and cautiously looking about. How many were there? I could hear the quiet murmur of conversation between them. I heard the sound of hoofbeats above and on either side of the ravine. Sir Hugh had sent some of his men to follow the ravine from the top.

  I heard Sir Hugh’s voice. He had stayed up there, where he would hope to find himself safe from arrows.

  “Anything?” he shouted.

  “No, sire,” one of them replied.

  “He must have ridden off,” Sir Hugh pondered. “Move out!”

  They spurred their horses and soon disappeared from my sight. I let out a huge sigh of relief. I counted to one hundred, waiting to make sure they did not double back to confirm I hadn’t hidden from them. Then I counted to one hundred again, just to be doubly safe, before Angel and I hurried back through the ravine and toward the thicket where we had left Maryam and Robard. I had ridden some distance, and it took nearly half an hour to make our way back.

  As we neared the hiding spot, I remembered Robard’s itchy fingers. The last thing I needed was to surprise them and take an arrow for my trouble. When I was fifty paces away, I called out quietly, “Beauseant!” There was no reply.

  “Beauseant!” Still no response.

  “Robard! Maryam, where . . .” The words died in my throat as from my right came a blur and something crashed into me, knocking me harshly to the ground. My face went hard against the dirt and the breath rushed from my lungs. Someone pulled my head back, and something cold and sharp was placed against my neck.

  “Maryam, it’s me, Tristan,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Stand up slowly.” Robard’s voice came from somewhere above me, but I couldn’t see him with my head pushed into the dirt.

  “It’s me. Beauseant? Remember?” I coughed.

  Maryam released me and I groaned in pain, standing slowly. When fully erect, I found I faced Robard’s bow, drawn taut, the arrow pointed at my chest. He lowered it slowly.

  “It’s you!” he said happily.

  “Who did you expect?” I replied, rubbing my side where my wound started a fresh round of burning after being thrown to the ground.

  “We didn’t recognize you without your tunic. Thought maybe Hugh had sent someone back looking like you, or maybe tortured you so you would tell him where we waited,” he explained as he returned the arrow to his wallet.

  “And this would all happen in the short time I’ve been gone?” I asked incredulously.

  “Never can tell,” he said. “He’s a slippery one, that Hugh. Better to be safe.”

  “Well, he didn’t capture or torture me. In fact I got rougher treatment from my two supposed friends,” I said sarcastically, rubbing my wounded side. “And you!” I said, looking sternly at Angel. “No warning at all? You couldn’t growl or bark to let me know I was about to be attacked?” Angel stared at me with a cocked head, then wagged her tail. Of course she wouldn’t bark at Robard or Maryam. She looked at me as if to say, “You should have known.”

  Robard and Maryam shared a horse again, and with a groan I was able to climb up onto my mine. We rode north this time. There was no doubt Sir Hugh and his men would catch my horse. I wanted to be as far away as possible before they backtracked.

  The ride was still difficult through the thick woods, but before long we found a shallow stream and rode along it for several leagues. It would hide our tracks and make it more difficult to follow us. The moon was sinking behind the clouds and it would be daylight soon. We needed to decide: keep riding and risk someone spotting us, or go to ground and give Sir Hugh time to catch up.

  “Do you think we’ve lost him?” Robard asked after we’d ridden for a while.

  I gave him my answer by digging my heels into the side of my horse and urging him on. If we had lost Sir Hugh, it wasn’t for long. Of that I was sure.

  11

  We rode through the remainder of the night, not daring to stop except to rest briefly and water the horses. Robard took the lead most of the way, and rode with his bow strung and held across the pommel of his saddle. All the excitement in Dover had weakened me considerably. My wound ached, and before long every step of my horse sent a jolt of pain through my side.

  When we were safely beyond the city, we turned back north, riding at an easy pace, giving the horses a rest, and following a well-marked but little-traveled trail through the forest. Near daybreak, we rounded a bend and found a crude wooden bridge crossing over a fairly wide stream. The area around us had grown marshy and wet, and the bridge was built in a perfect spot, spanning the deepest run of the water and leading to dry ground on the other side. It was made of rough plank and wide enough for a man on horseback to pass, but not much wider. Robard cantered up onto the bridge. We all nearly died from fright when a man suddenly appeared at the other end. He was tall, gigantic even, cloaked in a black tunic and simple leggings with a cowl obscuring his face. In one giant hand he held a wooden staff, and his other hand was held out.

  “HALT!” he commanded.

  Robard’s horse spooked, nearly rearing, and he fought to bring it under control. They both could have plunged into the murky water below. With no room to turn around, Robard slowly backed up, until he was off the bridge.

  “Who are you? Why do you order us to halt?” he shouted.

  “This is my bridge. If you wish to cross, you must pay a toll!” the mysterious man shouted back. His voice sounded familiar and pulled at a string of my memory, but it was vague. Unfortunately Robard was already losing his temper.

  “A toll? Pay to cross? Not bloody likely!” he shouted.

  “Then come forward at your own risk,” the man replied. “You’ll not pass unless you pay. Two crosslets each!”

  “Robard, let’s not bother with this. We can head farther north and find another place to ford the stream,” I pleaded.

  “Nonsense! I don’t believe him for an instant. Toll bridge, my arse! I’ll not be bullied by some would-be troll who dares me to cross a stream. This isn’t the Holy Land, it’s my home country, and I’ll not stand for it.” Robard leapt from the back of his horse and handed the reins to Maryam.

  “Robard, what are you doing?” she asked. “Tristan is right. This isn’t worth it. We can find another place to cross upstream.”

  “I won’t be but a minute,” he said. He removed his bow and wallet, hanging them on the saddle, and drew Sir Thomas’ battle sword, which I was still too weak to carry. He marched up to the bridge and walked slowly toward the center, shouting all the way.

  “All right, you miserable pile of polecat dung! Charge me to cross a bridge, will you? I think not!”

  The man at the other end walked toward Robard slowly and unafraid, his staff tapping lightly on the wooden planks. Maryam and I sucked in our breath—he was huge, the biggest man I’d ever seen and nearly a full head taller than Robard.

  “Oh no,” Maryam said.

  “Oh . . . yes . . .
,” I said. And then I shouted, “Robard! Wait! Come back!” For as the man reached the center of the bridge, he removed his cowl and there stood John Little, the Dover blacksmith who had forged my sword and saved me from the ruffians set upon me by the King’s Guards.

  But Robard didn’t hear my cry. Instead he raised the sword above his head and with a mighty yell went charging forward.

  Cringing, I leapt from my horse, hobbling as best I could after Robard, desperate to save my friend from the thrashing coming his way. But it was too late. Robard rushed ahead, screaming at the top of his lungs. John Little stood silently, staff held loosely in both hands, and watched Robard’s charge with a slightly bemused expression on his face.

  When he was a few feet away from the giant man, Robard reared back and unleashed a mighty swing. The sword swept forward, and momentarily I feared he would connect and slay poor John.

  But with an agility that belied his great size, John Little easily ducked the swing, and his staff flicked out like a serpent’s tongue, hooking Robard in the back of the knees. Robard went down in a heap, and John put his foot on the blade, holding it fast. With his staff, he pressed down on Robard’s chest, pinning him to the bridge.

  “As I said. Two crosslets each,” John Little said quietly.

  “Wait! Stop!” I cried. But my shout was drowned out by the sound of Maryam’s devilishly loud war cry. She nearly knocked me off the bridge as she went hurtling past, her daggers gleaming.

  “Maryam, NO!” I yelled, and just managed to snatch her tunic as she ran by. She stopped short in my grasp and spun, eyes blazing, ready to fight me if necessary.

  “What . . . Let me go!” she yelled, pulling me along as she wiggled her way toward the center of the bridge.

  “Everyone stop!” I shouted. Maryam’s eyes were full of confusion, and John stared at me with rapt concentration. Only Robard fought on, still squirming beneath the foot and staff of the giant.

  I quickly drew my short sword and held it out hilt first toward the blacksmith. “John Little? You are a friend of Sir Thomas Leux. You made this sword for me, last spring, in Dover.” I raised it higher so he could get a better view of it. “My name is Tristan, of St. Alban’s. . . . I am . . . was Sir Thomas’ squire. Remember? I brought his stallion Dauntless for you to reshoe and those two ruffians attacked me?”

  “Yes. I remember you,” he said quietly. John stepped back and released Robard, who remained on his back for the moment.

  “Little John. You told me everyone calls you Little John,” I went on.

  Robard rolled to his feet. “You know this scoundrel?” he asked.

  Before I or anyone could answer, Robard suddenly went flying through the air and landed with a resounding smack in the stream.

  Little John had stepped forward, catlike, and with his staff as a lever lifted Robard off the ground, flipping him into the water. He had moved so quickly, I wondered if my eyes had deceived me. Robard came up sputtering and grabbed the bridge for support. He was cursing, and Maryam, who had grown calm as suddenly as she had been ready to fight, had to stifle a laugh.

  Little John shook his head. “No need for name calling,” he said quietly.

  “Fine, you’ve made your point. We’ll cross elsewhere,” Robard said. “Will you help me up or will that cost two crosslets as well?” He held his left hand out to the giant.

  “As long as you’ve learned your lesson,” John said, grasping Robard’s hand. He pulled and Robard braced his feet against the bridge timbers, letting John raise him out of the water. But when he was nearly halfway up, Robard’s other hand shot out, grabbing John behind his right knee. Robard pulled hard, and as the big man’s knee collapsed, his weight pulled him forward. Before any of us knew it, Robard had thrown the giant over his shoulder and into the water. It was John’s turn to come up sputtering.

  “Know this, Big John or Giant Man or Little Tiny Lad or whatever you call yourself. I am Robard Hode of Sherwood and no one to be trifled with. I’ll not pay your toll and I’ll not be thrown into a stream by the likes of you without getting my satisfaction, are we clear?”

  Little John roared, and with frightening speed he lifted himself onto the bridge and retrieved his fallen staff. I rushed across the bridge and, without thinking, put myself between the two dripping wet combatants.

  “Stop this now!” I commanded. “Robard, cease! Little John is a friend. This is a huge misunderstanding!” Trying to keep them apart was like standing between two prancing bulls, and I feared all three of us would tumble off the bridge. Eventually the steam went out of them and they stood quiet, if not quite placid.

  “Little John,” I said, shaking his hand, “it is good to see you!”

  “And you, Tristan. Tell me, why are you not with Sir Thomas?” he asked.

  With as little detail as possible, I told him what had happened to us since he and I had last met in Dover. When I related what I feared of Sir Thomas’ fate, he bowed his head and went still a moment.

  “A good man, that one,” he said. “I pray God watches over his soul.”

  “John, why are you here? What happened to your smithy in Dover?” I asked him.

  “Hmph. My smithy? The Lionheart’s brother John took care of that. Come. I’ve a camp not far from here. There isn’t much but I’ll share it with you. Even you, Robard Hode of Sherwood,” he said, shooting him a less than friendly look.

  “I hardly think so—” Robard sputtered, but I put my hand on his chest and shushed him.

  “That would be wonderful. We’ve had . . . a . . . what you could call a very eventful day, and we could use the rest,” I said. Without another word, Little John retreated in the direction from which he’d come. We gathered up our gear and horses and followed as he disappeared into the thick woods, Robard fuming and muttering curses under his breath the whole way. Angel took the lead, content to sniff at the ground and follow Little John’s scent.

  In a short while, we arrived at his camp. The fire was stoked and his tunic and other wet clothing dried on a bush nearby. He had changed into a loose-fitting cloak the size of a ship’s sail. An iron kettle full of pottage warmed over the fire. It was quite inviting.

  He had placed several cut sections of logs near the fire and bade us sit.

  “I don’t have much, but let the pottage simmer for a while and I’ll be happy to share.” John sat on a log, his hands holding his knees. Angel sniffed lightly at John’s leg and then leapt up into his lap and enthusiastically licked his face.

  “Whoa! What have we here?” he exclaimed. He scratched Angel behind the ears and she flopped onto her back so John could rub her belly. Her head lolled over and I swear she locked her eyes directly on Robard, who paced back and forth behind Maryam and I while we sat on the logs near the fire.

  “Traitorous beast,” he muttered under his breath.

  “John, what happened in these last few months to make you leave Dover?” I asked.

  “When Richard departed for the Holy Land, he left his sniveling brat of a brother John in charge. The bas—” He stopped, giving Maryam a sideways look. “Let’s just say he’s never met a tax he wouldn’t raise. He declared a ‘state of emergency’ to support the war, and he’s levied taxes on nearly every merchant, farmer and tradesman in the entire kingdom. No one can pay what he demands. And you can’t charge more to shoe a horse to cover the tax because no one else has money to pay you either.” He kicked at a log in the fire and sparks rose. The sun was peeking over the eastern sky, but it was still dark and overcast, and the flaming flecks swirled up into the air like swarms of bees.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  He shrugged his giant shoulders. “I couldn’t keep my smithy open, and one day a group of King’s Guards showed up with the Shire Reeve. John was sending his own guards out to collect taxes. I guess the bailiffs and the reeves couldn’t collect it fast enough to feed his little pig face. Anyway, they told me what I owed and knew I couldn’t pay it. So they took my equipment and things got ro
ugh. I took on six of them, and gave ’em a licking, that’s for certain,” he said.

  “Maybe I’m beginning to like you after all,” Robard muttered.

  John laughed. “Wasn’t anything left for me there. They tried dragging me off for assault, but I broke loose, took a horse and ran. I’ve been hiding out here ever since. When I served with Sir Thomas in King Henry’s army, I learned to always make sure I had a backup plan. Always kept a cache of tools and a few crosslets hidden nearby, enough to make do for a while. I found that bridge there and have been charging a toll to whoever passes by. I expect some baron owns the land, and he’ll find me out soon enough and I’ll have to move on. It’s thievin’, what I’m doing, I guess, but what else can a man do?”

  We each nodded, not knowing what to tell him. The pottage bubbled on the fire and smelled delicious, and John passed out a wooden plate that we shared, eating until we had our fill. Robard sat down next to Maryam and filled the plate, letting her eat first before he took his meal. When he was finished, he scooped out a bit and blew on it to cool, placing it on the ground for Angel. She devoured it in three gulps, then curled up by the fire and went instantly to sleep.

  “What are your plans now, Tristan? Why did Sir Thomas order you away from his side?” Little John asked.

  “I have very important dispatches for the Master of the Order. Sir Thomas ordered me to deliver them to . . . London . . . but I . . . ah . . . learned . . . the Master is in Scotland. So I must travel there to find him. I met Robard and Maryam along the way and we’ve been traveling together ever since.” I hadn’t lied, much, but I had withheld most of the truth. Desperately wanting to steer the conversation away from Sir Thomas and my duty, I asked, “What are you going to do, John?”

  He was quiet for a moment as he stared into the fire. “I’m not certain. I really haven’t thought about it. I keep hoping some of the nobles will rise up and knock some sense into Prince John, but we could easily starve before that happens.”