Orphan of Destiny

by Michael Spradlin

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Now we give my mother her celebration. There’s been enough crying today. Tomorrow, I’ll ride to Nottingham and speak to this Shire Reeve.”

  “Robard . . .”

  “No, Tristan. Enough talk. Look at the state of my home. If my father were alive, he’d die of disgrace. What of my poor mother having to live like this with the house and everything else falling down around her? Will and Allan have to scrape up whatever they can just to feed the hungry. We’ll have words, this Shire Reeve and I. Of that I assure you.”

  With that, Robard stalked off and disappeared behind the house.

  “I think young Hode is asking for trouble,” Little John remarked.

  “Yes, he needs to take leave and think. We’re in no shape to make another enemy of the Shire Reeve,” I said.

  “You’ll stand with him against the Reeve?” Little John asked.

  The breeze picked up just then and a small dusting of snow whipped up into the air and blew across the ground at us. I felt the wind cut through me, and if I had not been raised by Christian men, I would have thought it a sign, an omen of evil things to come. Despite my upbringing, for a moment I did think so. Something bad was coming our way.

  Little John, if he saw any of it, said nothing. I looked him in the eye. “All the way,” I said. “All the way.”

  20

  The celebration lasted late into the night. Given the circumstances, and not wanting to upset him, I avoided talking with Robard about his desire to seek out the man responsible for his father’s death. Will Scarlet came back with a deer he had shot in the forest. It was cleaned and cooked, and we enjoyed a spartan but delicious meal at Mistress Hode’s table. It was easy to see how much Robard enjoyed being home, and I cursed fate for taking his father from him and spoiling his return.

  I caught Maryam studying him carefully, knowing as did I how hot tempered and capable of rash acts he was. Yet as the night wore on, he appeared to relax somewhat, as if the edge of his anger had dulled, and when the time for sleep arrived, I thought perhaps he would have a clearer head come morning.

  Maryam had bathed and washed and combed her hair, and she wore a new tunic Mistress Hode had somehow found and altered to fit her. Her cloak had been washed and mended, and Maryam looked positively radiant. She laughed and joked with Robard and the men, and they obviously enjoyed her company, though it was evident she also made them nervous, as they remembered her skill with daggers.

  When our meal ended, Tuck, Little John and I made beds on the floor of the main room of the manor house, near the fireplace. We offered to sleep in the barn, but Mistress Hode would have none of it. Robard went to his room in the back of the house, and Will, Allan and the others departed for their own homes on the property. Maryam was given a bed in the upper level next to Mistress Hode’s sleeping quarters. We fell fast asleep. It had been an eventful day and we were all exhausted. Sleeping indoors, even on the hard floor, covered by the warm quilts provided us, was a welcome treat.

  I’m not sure what awakened me in the early morning hours. My sleep was usually deep and undisturbed, but perhaps a creak of a floorboard or the whispered sound of clothing passing nearby brought me to my senses. The fire was a bed of coals and the orange light gave off a soft glow, lighting the room just enough to see dim shapes. I heard the snores of Tuck and John, then the front door creak slowly open and shut. I stood and investigated immediately. I had slept in my clothes, and only needed to buckle on my sword as I crept quietly through the house.

  When I stepped through the door, I scanned the yard to see who was about this hour and caught a glimpse of Robard heading into the barn where the horses were stabled. My suspicions were confirmed. He had not given up on his intention of confronting the Shire Reeve but hoped to sneak away. Doing so would prevent his mother, Maryam and me from trying to talk him out of it.

  The night air was cold and the ground was covered in thick frost. The half moon was low in the sky, so daybreak was still some hours away. A few flakes of snow flew about on the breeze, but the sky was clearing and cloudless toward the east.

  Following Robard to the barn, I made no attempt to keep silent. The three of us had been traveling for months, always on guard, ever alert for danger, and surprising a King’s Archer in the dead of night was never a good idea. He had closed the barn door behind him and I opened it and stepped inside. A small oil lamp burned from a hanger on a post near the horse stalls, but Robard was nowhere to be seen.

  “Robard?” I called out. He did not answer.

  “Robard, it’s me, Tristan. I know where you’re going. Don’t do it alone. Let’s talk about it first.” The barn remained silent.

  I stepped farther in and looked up at the loft where hay was stacked. I strained to see into the darkened corners but still did not find my friend. How had he disappeared?

  “Robard, I know you can hear me. Believe me when I say I understand your feelings. We’ve both lost—” For a moment the words would not come as an image of the crosses lining the lane at St. Alban’s flooded my memory and grief briefly threatened to take over again.

  “Just know I share your sorrow, but please, I beg of you, do not do this.”

  There was another small door leading to the corral outside directly across from me, and I wondered for an instant if perhaps I had misjudged Robard’s intent. Maybe he had been unable to sleep and had merely gone for a walk to clear his head. But I discounted the thought; he would not have left a lamp burning where a fire could easily start.

  Just as I was about to call out to him again, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped in fright. “Don’t do that—” I said, turning to face Robard. But before I could ask him where he thought he was going, his gloved fist shot out and connected solidly with my jaw, and I fell to the ground unconscious.

  Something poked me in the chest and my eyes opened wide. “Robard, stop it. This is no time—” I looked up and found not Robard, but his mother, Little John, Maryam, Angel and Will all staring down at me. There was enough light to see them clearly, which meant it must be early morning. I sat up. Little John reached out to pull me to my feet.

  “Where is my son?” his mother asked me as I rubbed my aching jaw.

  “He’s gone?” I asked Will.

  “Aye, he’s nowhere about, Master Tristan. We’ve looked everywhere,” Will answered.

  “Where’s the tree?” Little John asked, smirking slightly at my bruised face.

  “I beg your pardon?” I replied.

  “The one you walked into. Looks like you took a nasty shot. Was it courtesy of your friend?”

  “Yes,” I said with a sigh. “I heard him leaving the house early this morning. I worried he was on his way to Nottingham. Tried to stop him, but he sneaked up on me and knocked me out. I don’t know how long he’s been gone.”

  “What a fool. When I get my hands on him . . .” Maryam stopped, her cheeks coloring, remembering Robard’s mother.

  “No worries, lass. He takes after his father, he does. Stubborn as a stump he was, and Rob is a bit of the bark off the same tree . . .” Mistress Hode shook her head and clasped her hands together in worry. “He can’t stand against the Shire Reeve, foolish boy. He has fifty bailiffs if he has one. What am I going to do?” Tears formed in her eyes, and my heart melted in my chest. In just the short time I’d known her, I’d seen her love and kindness go out to everyone she knew and met. Her son’s homecoming had brought her great joy after what must have been horrible months of loneliness and sorrow. Robard was my friend in fact and brother in spirit, if not in blood. Right then I decided I would bring him back to her. Alive.

  “Don’t you worry, Mistress Hode. We’ll go fetch him.”

  I reached out to put my hand on her shoulder and she instead took me in a fierce embrace, her small head buried in my chest. The thick wool of my cloak muffled her sobs. “Dear God in heaven, thank you, boy. Please do. Bring him back to me.”

  “Will, we’ll need you to
lead us there, if you agree.” I looked at him. From what I’d seen of him in our short time together, he’d be someone I’d want on my side in a fight. This was his territory, and Allan and the others would look to him before they ever followed me.

  “Aye, lad. I know the way. And if you’re willing to lead, I’m with you. Allan and the rest of the thane’s men will follow too, once I tell ’em ’tis so. We’ll fight for Robard and Mistress Hode and any other of our folk. Me and the boys, we did all right floatin’ through Sherwood and pinchin’ a purse or two. But you’re a soldier, and if we face the Shire Reeve, then I beg you to do the thinkin’.”

  “All right then,” I said. “Thank you, Will. If you’ll see to your men? The rest of us will make ready.” Will left the barn on the run.

  “Little John, I know you and Robard had your differences and this certainly isn’t your fight. But if you’re willing, we sure could use your help.”

  Little John stroked his thick beard, his staff held in one giant hand. For a moment, I thought he would beg off and take to the road again, which would certainly be his right. But then he smiled. “Why not? I’m already a wanted man. What’s a few more laws broken?” With a twinkle in his eye, he patted Robard’s mother gently on the head. “Besides, don’t tell him, but I’ve taken a liking to young Robard. He’s got spunk, he does. Might get all riled up now and then, but he’s a fighter. I’m in.”

  “Excellent. Let’s get the horses saddled and be on our way. Mistress Hode, would you be kind enough to fetch Brother Tuck? I’ll want him along with us.”

  In a few minutes we had the horses fed and watered and saddled. While we waited for Will’s return, Maryam took time to sharpen her daggers on a whetstone in the barn. Robard had left Sir Thomas’ battle sword behind and I lent it to John. He drew it from the scabbard and swung it once or twice, and it looked like a toy in his hand. Angel paced back and forth nervously in the yard, as if she knew Robard was missing. Tuck came to the barn with Mistress Hode and we walked our horses out to the yard, waiting for Will and the others. They arrived a few moments later.

  “Tristan,” Mistress Hode said to me as we all mounted up and prepared to ride. “You be right careful. Robard’s father ran afoul of this man the first day he met him. He’s vain, vicious and evil, he is. His name is William Wendenal and you will find no viler a creature on God’s earth. Watch your step, young squire, we’re about to run out of men here in Sherwood. Take care, now, and bring my Robard home.”

  “We’ll be careful,” I said, telling her not to worry as we rode away.

  After all, I thought as the faces of Sir Hugh, the Queen Mother, Richard the Lionheart and the High Counsel of Languedoc crossed my thoughts, standing against the vain and evil was apparently my specialty.

  21

  Nottingham was a smaller, more compact version of Dover. The difference was accentuated by Nottingham’s location here in the dense, wooded north country, whereas Dover lay by the coast, making it appear even larger with the sea as a backdrop. Nottingham still had a good-size marketplace and lots of shops and other buildings clustered together in a center square. But as we had seen in other towns and villages along our journey north, hard times had come here as well, and there wasn’t the level of activity and commerce you might expect. It was quiet, with only a few vendors visible in the square and small groups of people milling about.

  “What day is it, Will?” I asked.

  “I don’t rightly know, my lord. We tend to lose track of ’em out here in the woods. We’ve no priest at Sherwood now, and we can’t even keep track of the Holy Days, may the saints forgive us,” he said.

  “I’m sure they have already, Will. I just wondered if it might be Sunday. And please stop calling me ‘lord.’ I’m most definitely not a noble.” He smiled and shrugged and stared down at the town. We would draw unneeded attention if we rode into town on the Sabbath carrying weapons and bristling for a fight. But there appeared to be enough people about to indicate it was not a Sunday.

  “Where will we find the Shire Reeve?” I asked. “And is there anything else you can tell me about him?”

  “He keeps at the constabulary. It’s here in the tall tower near the center of town and the jail is next to it. He came here straight from Prince John’s court, ’tis told,” Will said, pointing out the building. “Like the mistress said, he’s a vile man, vain and pompous when you meet him. That’s all I can tell you, sire. Except if he catches any one of me or the boys, we’ll dangle from the rope for certain.”

  “Let’s try not to let that happen then. Something tells me we’ll find Robard at the constabulary,” I said. “Onward.”

  We cantered down the rise and into the village. The few people on the streets paid us little mind, and we stopped and dismounted outside a small inn about fifty yards away from the jail. Sure enough, Robard’s horse was tied to a hitching post right outside the building.

  “How many bailiffs does the Shire Reeve have available to him, Will?” I asked.

  “I don’t rightly know, lad. ’Tis many more of ’em than us,” he said. “I expect with times as hard as they are, a lot of men are signin’ on, working for food and board.”

  Another ideal situation, I thought. We were outnumbered and I was in unfamiliar territory. Straightening my tunic, I reached into my satchel, removing Sir Thomas’ ring and slipping it onto my finger. I stomped what mud I could from my boots and pulled my sword forward on my belt, trying to make myself presentable.

  “What are you going to do?” Maryam asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” I said. “You wait here. Try to draw as little attention as possible. Little John, if you would, position the men across the street from the jail and keep a sharp eye. Will, it’s best if you and your men look disinterested. Don’t string any bows or nock any arrows yet, but be ready. Robard has probably been thrown in jail already, and I’m going to have to get him out—one way or another. Maryam, you stay with John and watch the door. If I’m not out in a reasonable amount of time, the two of you had best enter the constabulary and . . . help. Come on, Angel,” I said. She sat up and, although tired from her long and vigorous trek, eagerly loped along beside me.

  Walking down the street, I attempted to appear important and determined, in case anyone was observing my approach. The front door of the constabulary was unguarded, and I entered without knocking. Inside I found a dim room, with meager light coming from two windows on either side of the door. The walls held oil lamps, but the plank wood floor and lack of any furniture or decorations gave the room a dismal, fearful quality.

  “Hello!” I shouted out.

  A hallway led away from the main room, and the sound of footsteps echoed on the wooden floor. A few seconds later, a tall, thin man entered. He was splendidly dressed, with a purple velvet tunic, immaculate white leggings and a dark red cape draped around his shoulders. His eyes were ice blue, and his beard was neatly trimmed and flecked with gray. It was hard to guess his age, but he had the appearance of confidence. If this was the Shire Reeve, he would not be easily persuaded.

  He stared at me in total disdain but did not speak.

  “I seek the Shire Reeve of Nottingham,” I said.

  “You have found him,” he said.

  “Ah, thank you, sire,” I said. “I’m Tristan of St. Alban’s of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and King Solomon’s Temple and I—”

  “You’re a Knight of the Temple?” he sneered, hardly believing me. Angel, sitting at my side, let out a low growl. I shushed her, and he glanced down and blanched, as if I’d committed a mortal sin by bringing a dog into his constabulary.

  “Oh no, sire, not a knight, certainly. I’m a squire, actually, but I’ve been sent here on a matter of utmost urgency to the Order. I’m in pursuit of a man,” I said, spinning my web.

  “And how does this concern me?” he asked.

  “Well, sire, his name is Robard Hode, of Sherwood Forest. He has recently returned home from distinguished service in the Crusades
and . . . may I have your name, sire?” I asked.

  The man sniffed. “My name is William Wendenal. And your Robard Hode arrived here but a short while ago, making many wild accusations. He was subdued by my bailiffs and now resides in my jail. I hardly believe such a ruffian would be of any interest to the Order.”

  “I understand, sire, I rightly do. And from what I’ve heard he is a hot-tempered sort. But there’s Order business involving Master Hode I must see to. I’ve a letter here from my knight, Sir Thomas Leux. It asks anyone whom I encounter for their assistance, with the thanks and praise of the Templar Knights.” I removed Sir Thomas’ letter from my satchel, hoping the oilskin had preserved it well enough that it was still readable. Why hadn’t I checked it before I came in? But there was no time now. I handed it to Wendenal with Sir Thomas’ ring showing on my finger. I sincerely hoped it would be enough to convince him I was a legitimate servante of the Order.

  It was not.

  “Do you take me for a fool, boy?” he sneered, shoving the parchment back at me without even reading it.

  “I assure you, sire, I do not,” I replied with as much earnestness as I could muster.

  “Good. Then you will understand perfectly well when I tell you I have no intention of releasing my prisoner to you.” He thrust Sir Thomas’ letter into my hand.

  “That is most unfortunate, sire. What can I do to convince you of the seriousness of this matter?” I pleaded.

  “Nothing. Now, take your dog and leave or I shall have my bailiffs escort you out.”

  With a heavy sigh, I rolled up Sir Thomas’ parchment letter and returned it to the satchel.