The Ivanhoe Gambit

by Simon Hawke

"His name shall not pass my lips," said Cedric. "He left my home to mingle with the nobles at your brother's court, where he learned your Norman ways and tricks of horsemanship. He acted contrary to my wishes and commands and in the days of Alfred, such disobedience as his would have been a crime severely punished! Nor is it my least quarrel with my son that he stooped to hold, as feudal vassal, the very lands which his fathers possessed in free and independent right!"

  John smiled. "Then it would seem that we would have your sanction, Cedric, if we were to confer this fief upon a person whose dignity would not be diminished by the holding of it. Sir Maurice De Bracy, will you keep the Barony of Ivanhoe, so that Sir Wilfred shall not further incur Cedric's displeasure by being a feudal vassal of the Crown?"

  "By God," said De Bracy, "I'll be called a Saxon before Cedric or Wilfred or the best of English blood shall take away from me this gift, Your Highness!"

  "Anyone calling you a Saxon, Sir Maurice," said Cedric, "would be doing you an honor as great as it is undeserved."

  "No doubt the noble Cedric speaks the truth," said John. "His race may, indeed, claim precedence over us in the length of their pedigrees. The pictish blue with which his fathers painted themselves doubtless imparted the nobility of color to their veins."

  "They do go before us in the field," said Father Aymer, "much as deer go before the dogs."

  "And we should not forget their singular abstemiousness and temperance," said De Bracy, chuckling at Athelstane, who stood literally quivering with rage.

  "Together with the courage and the conduct by which they distinguished themselves at Hastings and elsewhere," said Bois-Guilbert.

  "Whatever be the defects of their race, real or imagined," said the heretofore silent de la Croix, "as one who has had occasion to partake of Saxon hospitality, I can at least vouchsafe that I know no Saxon who, in his own hall and while his own wine cup has been passed, has ever treated an unoffending guest to such a display of discourtesy as I have seen here on this night."

  There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence, broken finally by Cedric, who rose to his feet ponderously.

  "My thanks, Sir Knight," he said, controlling his voice with difficulty. "At least there is one among you who does not stoop to use a guest in such a wanton fashion. As for the misfortune of our fathers upon the field of Hastings, those may at least be silent who have within the past few hours once again been tumbled from the saddle by a Saxon lance!"

  "By my faith, a biting jest!" said John, laughing. "Our Saxon subjects rise in spirit and courage, become shrewd in wit and bold in bearing in these unsettled times! Alas, I fear it may be best if we were to board our galleys and flee for Normandy in the face of such an uprising!"

  "What, for fear of Saxons?" said De Bracy. "We need only shake our hunting spears to set these unruly boars to flight."

  "A truce with your raillery, my lords," Fitzurse said. "Perhaps Your Highness would do well to assure the noble Cedric that there has been no insult intended by these good-natured jests."

  "Insult?" said Prince John. "No, surely the noble Cedric perceives our humor and knows that I would not permit such insults to be offered in my presence. My lords, I fill my cup and drink to Cedric, since he will not abide our pledging his son's health."

  "And to Sir Athelstane of Coningsburgh," Fitzurse said.

  The guests all echoed the sentiment and drank, though Cedric and Athelstane remained visibly unappeased.

  "Now, good Cedric, noble Athelstane," said John, "since we have drunk your health, is there not some Norman whose mention may at least sully your mouth, so that you might wash down with wine all bitterness?"

  Cedric sat silent for a long moment, then at last raised his goblet, having made a great show of filling it.

  "I have been asked to name a Norman deserving of all our praise and honor," he said. "This is not an easy task, as it requires a slave to sing the praises of his master. The beaten dog is asked to lick the hand that wields the whip. Yet I will name a Norman. I will name the best and noblest of his race. And those who will refuse to pledge his health, I term false and dishonored. I give you Richard the Lionhearted!"

  John, who had been smiling, expecting to be named himself in a show of courtesy, now had the smile freeze upon his face. No one touched their goblets until his hand reached for his and he stood, a bit unsteadily, holding his goblet out before him.

  "Richard of England," he said tonelessly. Then, after a pause, "Long may he live."

  "Richard of England," echoed the other guests, all save De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert, whose goblets remained untouched upon the table.

  Cedric set his goblet down, looking long and hard at Bois-Guilbert and De Bracy.

  "I thank you, my lords," he said. "And now, having partaken of your hospitality, I think the time has come for us to leave. Come Athelstane, Rowena.... Perhaps these Normans will share some of our Saxon hospitality another time. I warrant they'll find our manner not so courtly, but I doubt our courtesies will suffer by comparison, overwhelming though their own courtesy has been."

  As they passed by Lucas on their way out, he lowered his head, bowing low to Cedric.

  "If you are on the road to Rotherwood, my lord," he said, "perhaps you would not mind if a poor palmer traveled with you. The hour is getting late and I hear these woods are dangerous at night."

  "Come and you are welcome, pilgrim," Cedric said. "As welcome as the news you brought us of your journeys and the sights that you have seen. I find myself sore in need of some diversion on this night."

  * * * *

  "It came to pass, just as you said it would," said de la Croix. "Maurice De Bracy was granted the Barony of Ivanhoe by Prince John and the Templar swore to meet with Sir Wilfred when and if he should return to England. I sat in wonder, watching as all came to pass as you predicted."

  "Did you doubt me?" Irving said.

  As they spoke, Andre was removing her armor, changing one suit for another. Irving was dressed in a black cloak, barely visible in the night where they stood among the trees.

  "If I did, I shall not doubt you again," said Andre. "Perhaps, when this is over, you will predict my future. Or, better yet, do not. I am not sure I wish to know."

  "I can safely predict that your future will be dim if you fail me tonight," said Irving.

  "I will not fail if these men know their work." She glanced at the group of men who stood off at a distance, talking quietly among themselves. They were all equipped with daggers and longbows and dressed in suits of lincoln green.

  "They are the pick of Sir Guy's men at arms," said Goldblum. "They will not fail you. Now turn around. Let's have a look at you."

  Andre complied, standing erect and turning for his inspection. She was dressed in gold and carrying a shield with a flaming sword upon it.

  "Excellent," said Irving. "No one will know you from De Bracy. Tonight's escapade will prove more than the local Saxons can bear. When Normans, aided by the outlaws, start attacking them and carrying off their women, they will eagerly rally to my cause when I come to rescue them from such oppression. You know what is to be done. Now mount up and ride. The Saxons have a fair head start."

  Chapter 7

  The miserable Will Scarlet arrived back at camp hung from a pole as though the victim of a hunt. Finn ordered his two companions, Oswald and Ian, to carry him around the camp three times, which they did to the delight of the other merry men, who greeted Scarlet with hoots of derision and pelted him with sticks.

  The camp itself was primitive in the extreme. Built around an ancient oak, in which was built a tiny wooden platform for one man to keep watch, the camp was situated in a grassy clearing and surrounded on all sides by thick undergrowth. The merry men lived a carefree and slovenly existence in small, poorly constructed wooden huts covered with thatch. There was one large pit dug for a cooking fire and several smaller ones, these being uncomfortably close to the highly combustible dwellings. From one of these haphazardly built shelters came a short and he
avy curtal friar, a man almost as wide as he was tall. His cassock was coarse and filthy and what little hair he had was matted to his head as though plastered down by water. The friar waddled up to them and both Finn and Bobby became uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was sweating profusely. His perspiration had an overpowering smell of garlic to it.

  "John! Robin! What were you thinking of? Disappearing like that for days on end and then entering a Norman tournament! Marion was furious when she found out!"

  "So?" said Finn.

  "So? So she'll flay you two alive, that's what's so!" said Tuck. "You had best hope her hunt's successful. If she comes home without her meat, she'll be in an evil humor."

  "Whether she comes home with venison or not," said Finn, "Marion will find that there have been some changes made."

  "Changes? What changes?"

  Bobby put his arm around Friar Tuck's shoulders, doing his best to ignore the odor. "The time has come for us to change, Tuck," he said. "I have given it much thought. This going off on drunken binges and stumbling through the forest and falling in the brambles ill serves our cause. We saw the exercises put on by the Normans and from my days at Locksley Hall, I still recall some of the teachings of the drillmaster to our men at arms. John and I have devised some methods whereby we might all become the more efficient at the plying of our trade. We must begin to work immediately."

  "Work?" said the friar. "Did he say work? Have you gone mad?" He turned from one to the other. "Has he gone mad?"

  "More to the point, good friar, we have both gone sane," said Bobby.

  "And what of Marion?"

  "Yes, and what of Marion?" said a new voice and Finn and Bobby turned to see a small party entering the camp, two of them carrying an eight-pointer on a pole. In the vanguard of this group was a young woman dressed in lincoln green. She was perhaps nineteen or twenty years old with her dark blonde hair worn uncharacteristically short for a woman of the time. She looked like a Saxon peasant youth and only her distinctly feminine figure gave the lie to that impression. She wore two long daggers at her waist and carried a longbow in her hand, even though she looked hardly strong enough to string it.

  "Godfrey, Neville, see to that stag," she said. "And as for you two springals, where the devil have you been?"

  "John and I had thought to go to Ashby to watch the Normans flail at each other," Bobby said. "It seemed good for some amusement. On our way, we both became quite paralyzed with drink and, to our misfortune, we ran across some of the sheriff's men. We both barely escaped with our lives. It was a sobering experience. So sobering, in fact, that we came to the conclusion that we must bring to an end our dissolute existence. We both lay in the forest, shaking and sweating as we struggled with our demons and, at long last, the crystal clarity of true sobriety returned to us. And, with my sobriety returned, so were my long lost skills at archery, as you have doubtless heard by now."

  "Do you mean to tell me that it's true that you split Hubert's shaft and won the tournament?" said Marion.

  "It is the very truth," said Bobby. "And if I, who have always been the most dissolute amongst us, have so benefitted by my new abstemiousness, think what the rest of the merry men could do if kept from drink and given some direction. Why, we would be the very terror of the forests!"

  "We are the terror of the forests!" protested Tuck.

  "The only terror that we cause, good Tuck," said Bobby, "is in the rabbits and the woodcocks whose poor ears are assailed by our noise of drunken revelry. As for the gentry hereabouts, the only terror which we cause them results from fear that they might die of laughing at our bumbling prowess."

  "If you were as abstemious of words as you claim to have become of drink, then I would be impressed, indeed," said Marion. "But that would be asking for the moon, no doubt. Hold out your hands."

  Bobby held his hands out before him.

  "They appear steady enough," said Marion, dubiously. "But I have heard this claim of temperance many times before. How long will it last this time? One day? One hour?"

  "Well, wait and see," said Bobby.

  Marion made a wry face. "You'll never change. You'll ever work your mouth far better than you shoot a bow. You, John, and that other wastrel, Alan-a-dale. Forever drinking yourselves blind and making up those absurd songs about yourselves. 'Robin Hood, Robin Hood, riding through the glen,' my buttocks! You've got half the shire singing that drivel and believing it, as well. You forget that I know better. Singing and carousing were all you were ever good at." She chuckled. "That, and perhaps another thing or two, besides."

  "Marion!" said Bobby, with a great show of indignation. "I have had a most profound experience! How can you doubt me?"

  "I am to believe you split a shaft of Hubert's? Prince John's finest archer?"

  "But some of the men saw it! Did they not tell you?"

  "Oh, they'll say anything to please you and you know it. Am I also to believe that you had a confrontation with my husband's men and came away to speak of it?"

  Bobby glanced at Finn. "Your husband?"

  "Are you now forgetting the very lies that crossed your lips mere moments ago?" she said. "Did you or did you not claim to have met the sheriff's men and lived to tell the tale?"

  "Oh, well, yes, of course . . ." said Bobby, trying desperately to recover. Marion was married to the Sheriff of Nottingham?

  "Oh, you're contemptible!" she said. "I ought to thrash you!" Then she smiled. "But just the same, I'm glad to have you back. I will forgive you if you come give me a kiss."

  Bobby smiled as she held her arms out to him and he approached her, pleased to note as he did so that she took at least some pains to keep herself clean, for while there was a slight musky smell about her, she did not stink anywhere near so badly as did Tuck. She put her arms around him and kissed him energetically, but the moment they broke the kiss, she hauled off and smashed a right into his jaw.

  Bobby staggered and almost fell.

  "What was that for?"

  "You never kissed that well before! Where have you been taking lessons?"

  Finn burst out laughing.

  "You find it funny, do you, John?" she said, advancing toward him, her right hand going to the hilt of one of her long daggers. When he wouldn't stop laughing, she drew the dagger and waved it at him threateningly. "Stop your laughing, or so help me, I'll—"

  Finn quickly pivoted on the ball of his left foot, bringing his right foot around in a lightning fast spinning wheel kick. He caught her knife hand just at the wrist and the dagger went flying out of her grasp. For a moment, she stared at him, stunned, then she furiously drew the other dagger and lunged at him. Finn trapped her wrist, then using her arm as a lever against her, he casually flipped her. She fell flat on her back. The other merry men stared at him with their jaws hanging open. It was the first time in their lives they had ever seen a demonstration of the Oriental martial arts.

  Marion got up slowly, rubbing her hip. "Where did you learn that trick?" she said, no longer angry.

  Finn shrugged. "It's no great feat," he said. "It is a way of fighting they have in the East. It was taught to me and Robin by a knight returned from the Crusades."

  "A knight! Why would a knight bother with a Saxon outlaw?"

  "This was a Saxon knight," said Bobby. "We met him at the tournament. He was much impressed with the way I handle a longbow and offered to teach me and John some of the art of this foreign way of fighting in return for instructing him in archery."

  "You taught a knight the longbow?" she said, astonished.

  "Well, it was not completely foreign to him, being a Saxon," Bobby said. "And he already had some skill with a crossbow."

  "You taught him? You?"

  "John, I don't think she believes me," Bobby said.

  Finn shrugged. "Show her."

  Bobby strung his bow. He looked at Marion and grinned. "What shall we shoot at?"

  "I think you're starting to believe your own fantastic boasts," she said. "You could never
beat me."

  "Ah, but that was before I gave up drinking," Bobby said.

  Marion strung her own bow. "I see it's time to put you in your place again," she said. "Very well." She nocked an arrow and, choosing a stout oak tree on the far side of the camp, she drew her bow back and let fly. The arrow sailed across the camp, narrowly missing one of the men who had just exited his hut. He yelped and dove back inside. The arrow struck the tree trunk and stuck there.

  "Right," said Marion. "Let's see how close you can place your shaft to mine. Perhaps you'll even split it as you did Hubert's." She laughed, mockingly.

  Bobby removed his quiver from his shoulder, handing it to John.

  "Hold that for me, will you, Little John?"

  Finn winked at Bobby as Bobby drew out a black arrow. With Bobby standing between him and Marion, Finn reached into the quiver and drew out the little black box.

  "A black arrow?" Marion said.

  "A new idea of mine," said Bobby. "I thought to have all the merry men use black arrows."

  "Why?"

  "To strike fear into the hearts of our enemies, to mark that the arrow comes from one of Robin Hood's merry men."

  "Ah, I see," said Marion, with mock gravity. "Perhaps we should all wear some sort of crest upon our chests, as well? Crossed black arrows upon a cask of ale?"

  By way of an answer, Bobby nocked the arrow, first taking care to quickly disarm it, drew the bow back to his ear, and let it fly. The black box did the rest. Marion's arrow was neatly split.

  The merry men cheered, throwing their caps into the air and pounding one another on the back. Marion stared at him with total disbelief.

  "I could not believe that story about your winning the tournament," she said, "yet now I see it with my own two eyes! You really can shoot!"

  "And you doubted me," said Bobby.

  Marion unstrung her bow, then swung it with both hands. It whistled through the air and struck Bobby on the side of his head.

  "Jesus!" He clapped his hand to his left ear, wincing with pain. "Are you crazy?"

  "All this time, you could shoot so well, and yet you deprived me of such marksmanship by being a drunkard!" She grabbed him by the hair and shook his head furiously. "If I ever see you touch a drop of drink again, God be my judge, you 'II live out the remainder of your life a gelding!"