Orphan of Destiny tyt-3

by Michael Spradlin

  We headed north, and Robard, Maryam and the others left me alone as we traveled through the countryside. Even Angel kept her distance, but she found another friend, as she clearly delighted in Brother Tuck’s company. We rode during the day, avoiding farms and villages. On occasion Robard doubled back to make sure we weren’t being followed.

  Winter fully arrived a few days later, and the weather, which had been cool, grew colder. Tuck replaced my lost tunic with a brown monk’s robe from one of his bags and insisted I wear it. The thick wool helped to cut some of the wind and cold, but I worried the weather would slow us up. We needed to make fires at night or risk freezing, which worked in Sir Hugh’s favor, as they made us easier to find.

  The leaves had fallen from trees and everything around us was gray and barren. On occasion snowflakes swirled through the sky. We slept close to the fire at night.

  When I tried to sleep, I was haunted by the faces of the brothers. They tormented me and I continued blaming myself for their deaths. I thought of Eleanor’s proclamation in Calais, and of Sir Thomas. The abbot had deceived me all these years. He knew who I was, but had kept it from me so I would be safe. But now Sir Thomas was dead, and the full truth of my parentage had died with him. Death followed me everywhere, and in my darkest moments of despair, I cursed God. If he hadn’t seen fit to guide me to St. Alban’s, the brothers would still be alive.

  As we moved farther north, Robard’s spirits improved with each passing day. He was happy to be going home, something he had yearned for since I first met him in Outremer. And despite my foul mood, I tried to be happy for him. He took special pride in showing Maryam the many things he knew about the forest.

  Yet try as I might, I could not lift the veil of darkness overwhelming me. When we camped at night, I would often stalk off into the woods alone to practice with my sword, swinging it back and forth, thrusting and parrying until, despite the cold weather, the sweat dripped from my brow. Maryam and even Tuck in his own silent way would beg me to rest. But I refused. My wounded side ached, but Tuck kept applying his poultices, and eventually it stopped hurting as much.

  We circled around London, staying closer to the coast, and found a spot where we could swim the horses across the Thames. The water was dreadfully cold, and once across we needed to stop and build a fire immediately to warm ourselves before turning back inland and heading toward Robard’s homestead. We passed a few cities and towns on the way, Northampton and Leicester and other places I knew of only from the tales of travelers who had visited St. Alban’s.

  But trouble was following us. I felt it, and I think the others did too. In France, while I had gone to Celia’s aid, I had felt a presence lurking behind me and knew it was Sir Hugh. I wondered if somehow it was the Grail warning me.

  Two days past the Thames, Robard rode hurriedly into the small glen where we were resting the horses.

  “Templars!” he said. “Quickly.” We all leapt to the saddle and hurried off. Three leagues away, we found a spot offering good cover on a ridge above a well-traveled road. Dismounting, we hid in the trees and waited. A few minutes later a dozen Templars thundered by below us. Sir Hugh was not among them, but they were going hard, pushing their horses. We waited until they were well past before we started out again. It was a close call, and if Robard hadn’t been watching, they likely would have ridden right upon us. I couldn’t tell if they were Sir Hugh’s men or not, but I now assumed every commandery in England was on the lookout. In my darker moments I believed Sir Hugh was the devil himself, and seeing these men only served to remind me that his fingers were in every corner of the kingdom.

  We became more cautious. It was impossible to travel without being seen occasionally, and Sir Hugh had proven before to be an able tracker. No matter our pace, where we camped or how cautiously we proceeded, someone was going to notice us.

  After many more days, we passed around a village that Robard called Loughborough.

  “We’re close, my friends,” he exclaimed happily. “We’re no more than a good day’s journey from my family’s farm now. We’ll find shelter there and plenty of food. We can safely rest while we plan our next move.”

  Seven days had passed since we’d left St. Alban’s. Mostly we traveled in the early morning and at twilight, resting in the middle of the day when more people were about and the likelihood of being discovered was higher. Riding at night had finally proved too difficult. We became lost on more than one occasion, and unless we followed a well-used road, we made poor time picking our way through the wooded countryside.

  While we camped at night, Little John told me stories of Sir Thomas and the time they spent together in King Henry’s army, in an effort to lift my spirits. Since the incident on the bridge, Robard took to insulting John whenever he could. This night, Robard scoffed at his story. “From listening to you talk, it would appear that you and Sir Thomas defeated the French single-handedly. Good thing it was only the French and not Saracens.” Little John bristled but let the comment slide. In these passing days I learned he was far more patient than Robard, and the rest of us found we enjoyed his company. He took a special interest in Tuck, letting the monk use his potions and creams to treat a variety of ailments I suspected did not really exist. But it made Tuck feel useful.

  Whenever Robard tried to draw him into an argument, he would control his temper, and it really annoyed Robard that he was so slow to anger. One morning, as we were readying to break camp, they nearly came to blows. Little John was again telling me stories of his army service under King Henry and some of the details of his campaigns with Sir Thomas. I loved hearing his tales, especially about Sir Thomas. After one particularly adventuresome account of their defeat of French knights, Robard couldn’t resist.

  “Ha. It sounds like you won the war single-handedly. From your description it sounds as if the French folded like a tent in a windstorm. .,” he remarked as he was mounting his horse. Robard didn’t get the chance to finish. Little John flew across the campsite and pulled Robard off the horse with one hand, tossing him to the ground and knocking the breath from his lungs.

  Maryam moved to intercede and I put out an arm to stop her. “Wait,” I said quietly.

  Little John stood squatting over Robard, who tried to regain his feet but was held effortlessly on the forest floor by the giant man. “Listen to me, archer, and hear me well. You are a soldier and a man of honor, and I do not dispute it. You’ve spoken of your father and his father, who have also defended the kingdom, and their sacrifice is noted. The Hode family has my gratitude. But know this: you are not the only man who has served. You are not the only Crusader who has seen the waste of lives and terror of warfare. I won’t tolerate rude behavior, especially when it comes to my service in the name of England. Are we clear?”

  Robard’s face reddened as he struggled to free himself. But I saw John’s words finally reach him, and his anger subsided. “All right, Little John. I apologize. You are right, I had no call to make light of your service.” Little John nodded, and Robard extended his hand and was helped to his feet. Without another word he mounted his horse and rode off, not waiting for us to follow behind him.

  As the morning passed, Robard grew more animated. “We’re close, my friends. Sherwood lies to the west of Nottingham. We can be there by nightfall if we push hard enough! We’ll dine at my father’s table and you’ll see some of the finest land in all of England.” He went on in a similar vein until we were no longer listening.

  In the late afternoon, still many hours from Robard’s home, according to his estimate, we decided to make camp. The horses could go no farther without rest. Robard argued to keep pushing on, but Little John and Maryam counseled against it.

  “Now is not the time to grow careless,” Little John cautioned. “Let’s say we keep going and find ourselves surrounded by Templars or King’s Guards. Our horses are less than fleet as it is. We could not outrun well-mounted troops.”

  Robard finally agreed. We made our camp in a small stan
d of trees with a shallow stream nearby. My bones ached from riding, and I welcomed the freedom from the saddle. We ate a dinner of smoked hare and fell fast asleep.

  The next morning we woke to find the woods shrouded in fog. It had grown considerably colder overnight, and we wasted no time building a fire. With any luck, Robard told us, we’d be sitting by his hearth come evening.

  The mist swirled over and around and through the trees, making it difficult to see more than a few yards in any direction. The forest was quiet, and the birds and other sounds you would expect to hear even on a winter morning were missing. As we gathered up our gear and saddled the horses, Robard paced about the camp nervously.

  “Is something wrong?” Little John asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Robard finally answered.

  “Do you think we’re in danger?” Maryam asked, her hands unconsciously moving inside the sleeves of her tunic.

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know. It might just be the weather,” he said. “My father used to call a foggy morning like this ‘a bandit’s day.’ It’s easier for someone up to no good to move about the forest. I guess it’s just. . nothing, I’m sure.”

  Everyone hurried to get under way as Robard circled the campsite, peering through the mist and straining to listen to the sounds of the forest. It was just past sunup, but it would be some time before the fog was burned away. He strung his bow before he mounted his horse, and rode with it in his left hand across the pommel of his saddle.

  As it turned out, he was right about the weather. It was a perfect day for bandits. Less than half a league from our camp five men stepped out of the fog and demanded that we halt. They were dressed as foresters and like Robard carried longbows, but their faces were hidden by hooded cloaks.

  And they each had an arrow nocked and pointed at us.

  17

  Their sudden appearance was so shocking that I nearly cried out. After a moment, two of the bandits took the lead horses by the reins while two others blocked our retreat. We were effectively cut off.

  Despite our situation, Robard was a study in calm determination, his hands in the air.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  None of them answered. Without speaking, the leader directed the others with a series of shrugs and shakes of his head, the arrow in his bow never wavering from the center of Robard’s chest. One of the men went for Sir Thomas’ battle sword at Robard’s waist. He removed it, belt and all, and slung the sword over his shoulder. I was thankful for the robe Tuck had given me, for I had taken to wearing the satchel beneath it so it was not visible. I strained to listen, hoping for the Grail to sound, assuring me we would survive this encounter, but it was silent.

  “You’ll answer for this,” Robard said. “I know these woods and know them well. There is nowhere you can hide that I won’t find you.”

  His threats had no effect. The thieves stood as still as statues, save for the one gathering up our valuables. Brother Tuck made his familiar clicking sound as the man advanced and rocked back and forth nervously astride his horse. He was scared, and I worried he might do something to cause himself harm.

  “Easy, Tuck,” I said, reaching over to take him by the arm, hoping I could calm him.

  Maryam started acting like a frightened girl. “What do you want with us?” she whined. “Please don’t hurt us!” She dropped her reins, slumping in the saddle, and cried the worst fake tears I’d ever heard. But as she hugged her arms, I could see she was reaching up the sleeves of her tunic.

  The cowled leader, however, kept his eyes on Robard. Finally, he said quietly, “Drop the bow.”

  Robard still clutched his bow in one hand. “I think not,” he replied.

  “I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if I have to. Release it.”

  “Not on your life,” Robard answered.

  “Drop it! Or it’s an arrow for your morning meal!”

  The bandit standing next to Tuck was momentarily distracted and thus caught completely unaware when the monk goaded his horse forward and brought his giant fist down on top of the bandit’s head. The man crumpled to the ground as if he had been felled by an ax.

  “Now!” Robard shouted. I dropped the reins and winced as I rolled backward off my horse. The distinctive twang of a bowstring sounded, and for a moment I swore I felt the rush of air as an arrow passed through the space where I had been just an instant before.

  I landed on my feet with my horse between me and the bandit on my right, and drew my sword. Maryam’s ululating cry echoed off the trees, and Robard’s shouts and curses rang through the morning air. To my left, Little John shouted that he and Tuck had already subdued the other archer. Angel barked and growled and snapped. She was no doubt making life difficult for one of the thieves, but I kept my focus on the man just beyond my horse.

  Since they had probably intended to steal our mounts to begin with, and they appeared well trained and organized, I assumed the bandit was too disciplined to shoot one of the horses. Keeping the animal between us, I grabbed its halter and whacked its rump, steering it at a quick pace toward the bandit.

  The man was brave, I’ll give him that. He held his ground. When I was nearly upon him, I whacked the horse on the rump again and this time he reared, forelegs flashing and kicking while the bandit shouted in alarm.

  Twisting and charging around the horse, I was close on the man before he could get a shot off. I swung my sword and he jumped back, holding his bow out in front of him for protection. The flashing steel cut through the wood with little resistance, and it flew apart. Without a second thought, the man turned and ran, disappearing into the foggy woods.

  We had nearly triumphed. One man lay on the ground unconscious. Little John held one, his giant arm around the man’s neck. Maryam had one pinned to the ground, a golden dagger at his throat.

  Only Robard and the leader still grappled. They had both dropped their bows and wrestled hand to hand, trading blows right and left, but neither gained an advantage. Grasping each other’s shoulders, they spun around and around, until finally, one of Robard’s legs kicked out and caught the other man at the knee. He went down on his back and Robard leapt on top of him.

  With his knees on the man’s arms, Robard pummeled him with blow after blow, but the bandit was strong and still struggled, whereas Robard was tiring. I rushed forward and put the point of my sword at the man’s throat. Even then he fought to free himself.

  “Enough!” I said.

  Finally his body sagged in defeat. He lay back on the ground, arms and body relaxed but appearing as if he could spring on us at any moment.

  Robard pulled at the hood, which fit tightly around the man’s face. He yanked and tugged until finally we could see him clearly.

  “Oh,” said Robard in surprise. “Oh my God! Will? Will Scarlet, is that you?”

  18

  Who are you?” the man on the ground demanded. “It’s me, Will. Rob. Robard Hode. Surely you recognize me?” he asked. In confusion I removed my sword from the man’s neck. His eyes widened in recognition, and a large and happy smile crossed his face. “Master Robard! Praise God, can it be true?”

  “It is, Will. My duty with the King’s Archers is over and I’m on my way home. What in the world are you doing? Why did you try to rob us?”

  The man stood, dusting himself off, but kept his head down as if ashamed of what had just happened.

  “Um, Robard?” I asked cautiously.

  “Oh. Yes. Sorry. Tristan, Maryam, everyone, meet Will Scarlet. He is, or at least was when I left, my father’s forester.”

  For a moment Robard’s words did not register. “Your father has a forester?” I asked. “I thought you were poor farmers.” No farmer I had ever met at St. Alban’s or on the nearby plots surrounding it had ever been able to afford a forester, a hired man who managed the workers and lands owned by his thane.

  Robard’s face colored and he shrugged. “Well, we are poor. I mean in comparison to some of the barons and lords with proper
ty surrounding ours.” He quickly changed the subject. “Will, why have you taken up thieving? If my father knew of this-”

  “Yes, Rob, I know. But, there’re things. . you don’t. . Much has changed, lad, since you’ve been gone. They’ve gotten much worse. The crown has raised taxes tenfold and the harvest has been poor these last two years, and since your father. . Rob, the young lady there, she isn’t going to kill poor Allan, is she?” He pointed at Maryam, who still sat astride a bandit, her golden dagger held tightly against his throat.

  “What? Oh, no. Maryam, please release him,” Robard said.

  “I don’t like bandits,” Maryam said, not moving a muscle.

  “These men are not bandits. Not really. So if you would, please don’t kill him. His name is Allan Aidale. He also works for my father,” Robard said.

  “’Lo, everyone,” Allan said meekly from the ground.

  Maryam let out a disgusted sigh, then stared at Allan, her dark eyes aflame with anger. “Never, ever point a weapon at me again. Understood?” she said to the man pinned beneath her. He nodded vigorously and she stood, sheathing her daggers in one motion. The man scrambled to his feet as Tuck and Little John released their grip on the bandit they had been holding. The man on the ground was still unconscious, and the one I’d chased off had yet to reappear.

  “I’ve known you all my life, Will. Why do you resort to this?” Robard was either very sad or very angry. It was hard to tell.

  “Rob. . I. . we are hungry and the children of Sherwood are starving. There is a new Shire Reeve in Nottingham. He’s worse than the one we had before you left, and he was right bad enough. He’s forbiddin’ us to hunt without payment to the crown. More than three dozen men from the shire sent off to London town, and we hear tell most have been thrown in the Tower and some even worse. We didn’t know if you were alive or dead. . if you were ever coming back. . ” Will Scarlet’s voice trailed off and I felt sorry for him.