GREENWOOD

by Sue Wilson

  "I do not think he will awaken," she said, watching Nottingham's face for the smallest reaction. "I cannot say with certainty even what the poison was, although I suspect henbane. It is deadly enough. Four leaves, ground, dissolved in wine-it would require no more."

  "How long, do you think?" The Sheriff peered down at her, his features an unreadable mask.

  "Hours."

  He looked at the heavy, iron-banded door as if he could see through it to the man inside, but said nothing.

  "How is Gisborne?" Thea asked finally.

  "Playing the dutiful, if belatedly prodigal, son. He has questioned staff and guests, and conducted a search of rooms and belongings to such a thorough degree that this castle will no doubt be removed from the royal itinerary henceforth."

  Nottingham exhaled sharply, then continued. "Privately, he seems relieved. If there were ever any feelings between them as might exist between father and son, the last twenty years dulled them considerably. DeGisborne's attempt to make his son his pawn, once again, and after all this time, put to death anything that remained between them. It is something I cannot say I ever noticed in him myself-Guy's need to be his own man. I accepted his loyalty as begrudgingly as he offered it."

  "Then you do not think-? Forgive me, I have no right even to suggest such a thing."

  "That he poisoned the wine himself, to be rid of me, to claim my position? No, Gisborne is the least suspect of the lot of them. Even if he had the means." The Sheriff laughed ruefully. "God knows, if Gisborne coveted this office for himself, he could have let me die easily enough in Sherwood, or found any number of other ways to eliminate me over the years. And while I suppose the thought crossed his mind on more than one occasion, he would never carry it through. As much as Gisborne wants power, he does not have the courage to pick it up or assume the responsibility that comes with it. That he told me of the jeopardy I faced is all the proof I need. No, he is not the one."

  "Then who? Have you uncovered anything?"

  "There have been rumors, of course, which I have tried to lay to rest."

  "Yes?"

  Nottingham hesitated. "I suppose it is only a natural assumption, Thea, and I cannot protest overmuch lest I draw even more suspicion."

  "They cannot suspect you!"

  He shook his head, and when he looked at her, his eyes lanced through every shattered nerve she had tried to mend in the last few days. "No, Thea, they want you for questioning."

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Evening had fallen, and the remnants of the last meal had been cleared from the tables. The Yule log still blazed, and the garlands of holly and ivy still draped the great hall, but no sign of festivity or merriment remained. The high table was lit by torches at either end, and seated beneath the Plantagenet banner were Prince John and a group of several lords, Monteforte among them. Gisborne, too, had taken position there.

  The rest of the hall had been cleared, trestle tables broken down and pushed aside, sleeping pallets removed. Nottingham directed Thea to a single chair that had been placed on the floor below the dais, and she lowered herself to the seat, feeling dwarfed by the expanse of the hall.

  It had been hours since she had slept, and then only in intermittent snatches as deGisborne's condition worsened, days since she had first donned the now wrinkled kirtle or brushed her hair. She smelled of vomit and medicinal herbs, of sickness and impending death, and deGisborne's blood splotched her skirts and sleeves from carrying away the bowl after the surgeon had opened his vein.

  Nottingham had insisted she come immediately, to put an end to the nonsense and let him be about the matter of finding deGisborne's assailant, and, in truth, she had not had time to acknowledge the tension gathering within her. Now, sitting alone in the cavernous hall, a brace of candles at her side illuminating her face, she felt the first stirring of apprehension.

  Thea told herself she had nothing to fear. She had done no wrong, had rushed immediately to deGisborne's aid, had offered her services and supplies to the surgeon, and although her skills had been repudiated, she had stayed close at hand, performing the menial, but essential tasks of the sickroom. She buried her hands in the folds of her kirtle, and vowed silently to show her interrogators no alarm and every willingness to cooperate. They were assembled only to find deGisborne's killer, and of that she was innocent.

  No one knew that at this very moment, Nottingham Castle had been infiltrated by outlaws scheming to undermine these traitors' plans, that, indeed, she had been the one to summon them. No one need know.

  The heavy double doors to the hall closed behind her, sealing the room from any curious passerby. Two guards, armed and mailed, took position at the barred entrance, as the Sheriff mounted the dais and stood before his empty chair. He nodded to his scribe, who uncorked a bottle of ink and took up his pen.

  "Let the record read: On this, the 26th of December, in the year of our lord, 1193, the suspect, Thea Aelredson, comes of her own volition to be questioned in the matter of the poisoning of Lord Roger deGisborne, that present here are..."

  The Sheriff's words were empty of emotion. He seemed immobile with stiff resolution. It was a formality, Thea told herself, and he could not exempt her from undergoing what every other denizen or guest of Nottingham Castle had been through.

  "Thea Aelredson-"

  She drew a deep breath, steadied herself, fingers gripping her stained skirts.

  "You are called here to answer in the matter of the attempted slaying of Roger deGisborne. Having proved yourself skillful and knowledgeable in the use of all manner of herbs, with, indeed, access to a store of such medicaments-"

  "You will find no henbane, my lord. Or belladonna, if that is the-"

  "I must caution you not to interrupt, but answer only when a question is posed you."

  "Then ask, and let me put an end to this nonsense!"

  Even from the distance between them, Thea could see the Sheriff's jaw clench, his hand draw into a tightened fist. Clearing his throat, Nottingham repeated his last statement and continued, "And that possessing both ability and means, you have fallen under suspicion of attempted murder. Let the record also state that, at the request of those present, these proceedings will be conducted by Prince John of England, Count of Mortain, to whom I now relinquish the jurisdiction of my office. I attach my seal forthwith-"

  "What?" Thea rose to her feet. "What right has he to question me?"

  Lackland had been sitting slouched on his chair. He now shoved his seat back and stood. He looked down at her for a moment, gathering the silence around him to his advantage. "We choose to disregard your outburst at this time, but we will not countenance another interruption." He glanced to the end of the table and said in a lower voice, "This need not be part of the record, scribe."

  "Mistress Aelredson," he continued, his flint-hard eyes boring into hers, "were our brother, King Richard, present, would you not submit yourself to his interrogation, as rightful ruler of this land?"

  "Aye, but-"

  "We rule England in his stead, and at his command. Furthermore, it cannot go unnoticed that your liaison with the High Sheriff hardly makes him an impartial judge. Not that you are here to be judged, mind you, but surely you must agree that in such a serious matter as the attempt on a man's life, we must take every precaution to achieve an unbiased interrogation."

  Color rushed to her cheeks, and she glanced at the Sheriff. Nottingham stared down at his clasped hands, avoiding her gaze.

  "You played their lackey?" Thea demanded. "Coming to fetch me to this mockery of a trial when you knew all along-"

  "Silence!" Prince John's voice resounded within the empty hall. "You are even now in peril of your life. Be seated, and do not tempt our disfavor further by displaying your contempt of these proceedings." He strode from his seat to the end of the dais with slow, measured steps, as if giving himself time to contemplate, then nodded toward the scribe, who dipped his quill anew in the ink.

  Thea felt for the chair and lowered hers
elf into the seat, her legs trembling.

  "To every question you are posed then, do we have your oath that you speak the truth?"

  Thea looked at Nottingham in time to see the dark glance that met hers, then fell back to his laced fingers. There was nothing there, no comfort, no hope, not even a warning of caution. Had he abandoned her? Now? She turned back to the prince, steeling herself for his questions, and nodded.

  "Very well. Are you familiar with the herbs which have been said to have rendered Lord deGisborne ill?"

  Thea swallowed hard. Her throat had grown dry; words seemed to stick to each other in her mouth. "Aye, your Highness. I know of henbane and its medicinal virtues. Its leaves can cool inflammation in the eyes, and if boiled in wine, can have a soothing effect upon joints that have stiffened in the cold. A decoction of the plant will kill lice-"

  "Have you used it in this way before?"

  Thea shook her head. "Nay, Sire, for there are other nostrums that bring similar results. I find them more useful."

  "So you do not, as a matter of course, use the plant in your healing?"

  "Nay, I do not."

  "Do you have it in your possession, on your person or in your chamber or in the castle garden?"

  "Nay, I do not keep henbane."

  "Liar!" Baron Monteforte's fist thundered down upon the table. "For your rooms were checked, wench, and it was found among your store of simples."

  "That is not possible. Perhaps the one who examined it was mistaken."

  Lackland drew forth a vial and set it on the table. "Would you examine it yourself, then, and tell us what this substance appears to be?"

  Thea stalled, a chill rushing through her. How could they find what was not there? Unless it had been placed there by another.

  "You may come forth," the prince prodded her.

  She rose on knees suddenly weak, and walked to the edge of the dais, reached up for the bottle, and removed the cork. She sniffed the herb inside, frowning at the foul odor, then spilled some into the palm of her hand, stirred it with her index finger, and brought a few grains to the tip of her tongue. She immediately felt the hot sting of the herb, tasted the sour spice of it.

  "But this cannot be-"

  "Is this henbane?"

  "Aye, but-"

  "Aye!" Baron Monteforte interjected, "and found in your cupboard! You've lied to us about having the poison. Are we to believe you have any truth to tell in this matter? Your Highness, I believe the wench knows more than she's telling!"

  "As you indicated in deGisborne's chamber," Thea replied, her voice rising, "but I would not harm deGisborne. I would harm no one!"

  "You had the herb, the wine was at your place at table!" Color burned in Monteforte's face.

  "But I am no murderess! By my oath, I have done everything in my power, all that I was permitted to do, to save the man's life!"

  "Enough!" Prince John commanded. "Monteforte, your enthusiasm for the task at hand is duly noted, but we need no assistance from you in this matter." He leaned across the table toward Thea, bracing himself on outstretched arms, and although he feigned an air to evoke her confidence, his narrow eyes turned to blackened slits. "No one here accuses you of trying to harm deGisborne intentionally. However, there have been reports that, of late, you have engaged in argument with the Lord High Sheriff."

  "And what reports are these, your Highness?"

  "Servants, soldiers..." Lackland brushed the question aside with an impatient flick of his wrist. "Did you, in fact, argue with the Sheriff?"

  Thea lifted her chin and looked at Nottingham. His fingers were so tightly laced that the knuckles whitened. The tiny muscle in the side of his jaw pulsed, and for a moment she was certain he would leap to his feet in outrage at this travesty. He did nothing. His overly restrained silence filled the pit of her stomach with impending doom.

  "I argue with the Sheriff all the time," she retorted, feeling her temper rise.

  "Ah-"

  "But there is nothing in the nature of our quarrels to warrant poisoning-"

  "A lover's quarrel, mayhap. A petty jealousy. It happens all the time. A woman feels slighted, decides to take revenge, something silly and inconsequential. Mayhap you thought to work your wiles on the Sheriff's gut. A plan to undermine him for the eve, keep him cloistered in the garderobe with a case of the flux-"

  "I did no such thing!"

  "Not murder, but an unfortunate accident, which you tried to remedy the moment you saw deGisborne take the wine."

  "Nay!"

  "We have caught you in one lie already. If you will-"

  "I have spoken no lies!" Thea's words trampled over those of the prince, and if his face grew ruddy with mounting anger, it was but a fraction of the rage she felt.

  "Our generous nature permits you to save yourself, if you've a mind. Confess to your guilt and plead to the lesser crime-"

  "I confess to nothing! I have no poison, no henbane! If it was placed in the wine at the Sheriff's table, then look elsewhere for a culprit. Look to your own motives, to whoever among you has cause to do Nottingham harm, for did not you plan it all along? Did not you, Monteforte, make threat of-"

  Monteforte bolted from his chair. "I will not listen to the lies and accusations of this witch a moment longer! To make such charges against the nobility of this shire-a common peasant!"

  Thea's hands clenched into fists at her side. "A peasant, aye, but no murderess, and certainly no traitor to the Crown!"

  Monteforte choked on a gasp of outrage.

  "You would seek to condemn me?" Thea continued. "It is the lot of you who should be brought to trial! Every last one of you in evil league with this usurper!"

  "Sweet Mary and all the saints!" Monteforte roared. Two of the barons rose beside him; one seated next to Lackland slammed his goblet down, adding his voice to the furor.

  "You charge us? How dare you?"

  "I shall not suffer an affront from this woman!"

  "Nor should your Highness." Monteforte turned to the prince, fist thundering into his palm. "She should suffer for every false, evil utterance that spills from her lips!"

  The more enflamed the baron's speech, the calmer Prince John grew in contrast. He looked down upon Thea as his jeweled fingers drummed a slow tattoo upon the table.

  When he had heard enough, his voice rose above the others. "And she will pay the price, Baron. But our cause is not to indict her today-or to rebuke her for what are obviously misinformed opinions-merely to determine the possibility of guilt. I believe we have done that."

  "Nay!" Thea cried out.

  "Lord Sheriff, have your men escort Mistress Aelredson to your gaol for safekeeping, where she may reflect upon her grievous errors and, in due course, confess her crime."

  The two guards appeared suddenly at her side, each grasping one of her arms, fingers digging in.

  "I have done nothing, I swear to you!"

  "At the very least, you have tried my patience," Prince John said tersely. "Take her."

  She twisted frantically in the soldiers' grip as they dragged her, forcibly, from the dais. She struggled to look back, to see the Sheriff, to find some stray glimmer of hope in his eyes, but one of the soldiers wrapped her braid around the palm of his hand and jerked her head forward. As they reached the door, she heard the prince's dry, humorless laugh.

  "I hope she's been worth it, Nottingham. This one will hang."

  ~*~

  Outside the hall, the guards dropped all pretense of civility. They jerked Thea's wrists behind her, bound them, and once again on either side of her, shoved her forward.

  She struggled briefly, and paid for it with an open-palmed strike across cheek and mouth that sent her staggering back against the mortared walls. Her lip tore against her teeth, and the salty, metallic tang of blood filled her mouth even as she was hauled up indiscriminately by her kirtle and hair.

  "There'll be no mercy for the likes of you, wench," one soldier said, "a whore who takes the life of a nobleman. And
do not think the Sheriff will save you. You'll not be the first he beds and hangs, when the cause is just."

  This time when they prodded her forward, she stumbled along between them, tripping over her skirts and the uneven stones that paved the corridor to the dungeon. When she did not keep pace with them, they dragged her; her feet scraped stone, a slipper torn from her foot.

  Even before she had reached the bottom of the stairs that plunged below the bedrock of the castle, Thea could smell the rank odor of dampness and filth and death. The remembered horrors of her single visit to the dungeon flew back to her: the stench of roasting flesh, the sounds of implements sharpened on whetstone, the crack of the whip, the inhuman groans and whimpers, the darkness and decay.

  "Prisoner!" one of the guards announced, and the turnkey advanced to open the grate to one of the cells. His perspiring bulk loomed over her as he grinned, revealing a row of large, yellowed teeth, chiseled to points.

  "The Sheriff's whore. I remember you," he said. "Found the high and mighty Sheriff lacking and come to seek out other delights?" His large, bronze hand reached to caress her cheek where Thea could feel the beginning bloom of a bruise. "You'll be put to good use down here." His thumb traced her lips before plunging suggestively into her mouth.

  Thea bit down, tasted his blood mingling with hers. The gaoler yowled in pain, and the soldiers laughed.

  "This one's a murderess. And a witch. I'd be keeping your distance, Gryffyd." One of her captors thrust Thea inside the cell, watching in amusement as she landed hard amid soiled straw, and slammed the iron door shut. "For safekeeping, wench."

  She ignored the continued taunts of her guards, and in time, bored with her silence, they returned to their duties in the hall. The turnkey continued to eye her warily, but even he kept his distance.

  She could see little in the darkness, could hardly move in the cramped space. There was no bench, not even enough straw to make a serviceable mattress, and the close air was thick with the odor of waste and sweat. She drew her knees up to her chin, clamping her mouth shut against the urge to retch, and took small, shallow breaths until she had grown more accustomed to the stench.