Mark of the Black Arrow

by Debbie Viguié

  Now he would be trapped working the farm under her watchful eye.

  Jesu, take me now.

  The brush rustled to his left. It was a huge bramble, a thick tangle of thin vines with knuckle-length barbed thorns. In the dim light of dawn filtering through the forest he could only see a wall of darkness.

  The bramble shook violently.

  His hand closed on his bow, lifting it to his lap while he pulled free an arrow.

  A sound rose up, rolling from the bramble. It was like the tearing of cloth in his ears. Loud chuffs of air bellowed toward him, then the vines split asunder, curling in on themselves and sending broken thorns flying through the air.

  Out stepped the Lord of the Forest.

  The majestic beast walked from the thorny knot with its head held high, the massive rack of antlers spreading like the branches of an oak. Its chest heaved under a thick pelt of fur. It stepped forward, moving until it was only a few paces away. Black eyes the size of Robin’s fists stared at him, through him, as the ancient stag turned and presented its shoulder and flank to him. Instantly his eyes picked out the spot half a handbreadth behind the front shoulder. The spot where the ribs opened wider than anywhere else as they pressed against the shoulder joint. The spot that led directly to the heart.

  The death spot.

  He could do it. He could draw and place his arrow feather deep into that chest. He could put the broadhead into the muscle of that mighty, beating heart and still it forever.

  He could take this creature down.

  The Forest Lord turned its head to look over its shoulder. Robin stared into that eye, the eye of a creature who may very well have walked this forest from the time of creation, a creature who had lived through all the changes wrought by the years and had been unaffected by any of them. This king of wood and glen was the protector of Sherwood and as long as he lived he would keep this sacred land whole.

  The knowledge seeped into him, and suddenly the world seemed right. His father could leave, his brother could follow, his mother could hate him and somehow, as long as this stag walked this wood, then all would be well.

  “Thank you,” he said, as he came to his feet.

  The stag watched him.

  He felt its ancient eyes on him the entire way as he walked home to begin his duty.

  * * *

  As morning dawned and pale sunlight kissed the water, Marian stood looking around at the encampment by the sea. The days had flown by, consumed by preparations. Prince John had made landfall and would be meeting them there, at the ships that would carry King Richard and many of his noblemen away to war.

  Tents flying colorful coats-of-arms stretched as far as the eye could see. Some of the men had arrived days before and waited, ready to accompany their sovereign on his great journey. The flag with the Longstride coat-of-arms flapped atop a pole. The sight of it caused a lump to form in her throat.

  Will Robin be going?

  After his display at the feast, she knew he wouldn’t want to, but Robin had always been unpredictable. He’d had time to think about this and discuss it with his father. He might have changed his mind, or been given no choice.

  She couldn’t help but worry that, with so many of their finest warriors leaving, England would be vulnerable to attack. The peace with France was uneasy at best, often preserved by virtue of Richard’s strength and the waters that separated the two countries. They wouldn’t hesitate to attack if they felt England had become weak. So she said a prayer that the French king had pledged troops to the Holy Crusade, as well, and in such numbers that an attacking force would be impossible to muster.

  Noise made her turn, a crunching of boot against graveled rock. King Richard walked up the hill to stand beside her. He took a deep breath of morning air and swung his hand out toward the tents, the ships, and the men bustling with weapons and supplies.

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?” His voice boomed out in the morning chill.

  She smiled at his uplifting spirit. “I cannot deny that.”

  “I’ve given the order to break camp,” he told her. “We’ll be sailing soon.”

  “But Prince John has not arrived at camp,” she protested.

  “He has. He came in the night.”

  Like a thief.

  She shook her head to clear away the thought.

  * * *

  Less than an hour later the sun hung a short distance above the horizon, sending a blinding glare off the water. The ships were loaded with supplies and men, the last of them leading blindfolded horses up gangplanks. The war beasts, bred to obey their riders in the chaos of battle, still shivered and whinnied as they swayed up the long, bending boards that took them onto the ships. The salt in their noses unsettled them, and one went off the edge between the ship and dock. It screamed like a woman, floundering blindly in the water.

  Two men dove in, managed to secure ropes around the beast, and had it hauled on board. Its flailing hooves struck one of the men and he was dragged onto the ship, unconscious and bleeding.

  Blood stained the hull in a wide streak of crimson.

  Marian shivered and turned away. Then she stopped abruptly, her eyes going wide.

  A man stood there, too close and looking down at her with dark eyes. His arms hung long by his sides and he slouched inside his cloak. The royal crest of England blazed out from a patch that covered his left breast.

  “Prince John.” Her hand fluttered to her chest. “I didn’t see you there.”

  His lips pulled up in what she thought was meant to be a smile. However, it didn’t reach his eyes or move any other part of his face—not his narrow chin or the fleshy pockets at the top of his cheeks.

  “Perhaps I came from the shadows, niece,” he said. His voice had a slippery quality, slick-sided and like an oily echo of her uncle’s. It soothed her and pulled at her.

  “I heard you came from Ireland,” she replied.

  He chuckled, dry and raspy. “They are one and the same, in truth.”

  “I always found the Emerald Isle to be entirely enchanting.” She tried to make her voice sound light, breezy.

  “It is a magical place.” His eyes shifted and he looked over her shoulder. She turned, following his gaze to the wide bloodstain on the side of Richard’s ship. He hummed. “I wonder, is that a sign of how the trip may go?”

  She took a step back. “How… what… how could you say something like that?”

  Prince John chuckled. “I merely meant that my brother will shed much blood in his Crusade against the forces of evil.” Pudgy fingers touched his forehead as he dipped his head toward her in a half-bow. “Some ancient practices actually use blood sacrifice to seal the fate of a voyage, beseeching the gods to shine on them with favor.”

  “Richard the Lionheart is a Christian king.”

  “So he is,” Prince John murmured, turning from her and walking away.

  She watched him cross the dock, moving toward a man who stood looking down at the people gathered to see off their king. His back to her, she couldn’t see the man’s face. Black armor that gleamed dully in the sunlight wrapped him from heel to throat. She’d never seen armor like it, interlocking plates that fit so close they looked like the carapace of an insect.

  One with a stinger… and venom.

  The man’s hand was bare, and so pale it looked dipped in milk. It rested on a great bastard sword that jutted off a narrow hip, the sheathed blade sweeping out behind him. A shock of white-blond hair hung down his back in a thick braid, glaring out in stark contrast to the ebony armor.

  He turned as Prince John drew near him. His face was clean-shaven, the skin smooth over sharply angled cheekbones and jawline, just as ghostly white as his hand, contrasting harshly with a wide furred collar that circled his throat. A straight and patrician nose jutted over a mouth framed with thin, villainous lips.

  John spoke to him. She strained her ears to hear what was being said, but the wind off the ocean blew from behind, carrying any sound away from her
. After a few sentences the man’s eyes flicked up to look at her.

  It took everything she possessed not to turn away. Instead, she stood resolute as they walked toward her.

  She jumped as a hand came down on her shoulder.

  King Richard stood next to her. He pulled her into a hug, his arms tight around her. She had a brief flash about proper etiquette, the decorum of how royalty should behave in public, but the thought was dashed in the warmth of her uncle’s embrace.

  He’ll be gone so soon.

  She gave herself over to the moment, embracing him in return, clinging to his strength with all of hers. Finally the king loosened his hold and stepped back. His eyes shimmered in the sunlight.

  “Ah, Marian,” he said, smiling. “I will miss you. Take care while I am away.”

  “I will miss you, too, more than you could possibly know.” Her voice choked.

  His thumb swept the tears from her eyes. “Enough of that—it is unbecoming for a king to weep before his people.” Richard cleared his throat and looked at the gathered crowd that waited for him to board.

  “It’s time.”

  She nodded, even though her heart had turned to lead.

  “Brother, send me in your place,” Prince John said from behind her. “England cannot afford to lose you.”

  “Would that I could,” Richard said with a smile. “Alas, the task that God has set before me is mine alone. I need you here, John, protecting England, keeping her safe for me.”

  “I am but your humble servant in this charge,” John said with a bow. He straightened, holding his hand toward the man in the black armor. “I have the finest adviser. Please allow me to introduce the Sheriff of Nottingham.”

  The Sheriff gave a small nod.

  “He will help… quell any unrest that stems from your leave-taking.”

  Richard looked at the man for a long moment, his face a blank.

  “Marian knows how I run my court. She will guide you,” he said, gesturing to her. “There should be no need of any quelling.”

  John turned and looked at her. She shivered. His eyes were empty, cold, like a snake’s.

  “She has grown,” he said. “It seems she has become a woman in my absence.”

  “I do not remember what kind of man you were, or know what kind you have become,” she said, subtly putting him on notice that she knew something was different about him. By the narrowing of his eyes, she knew that he had taken her meaning.

  At least we understand each other.

  She jerked as she felt something like a cold hand brush the back of her neck. Reflexively she turned her head to see who it was, but there was no one behind her.

  “Marian?” Richard asked.

  “Nothing, sire,” she said quickly, to hide her own uneasiness. “It was a chill.”

  “You should be careful, my dear,” John said. “We wouldn’t want you to become sick.”

  “I can assure you that I am in the best of health, and in no danger of suffering such a fate,” she smiled, even while she imagined slapping him across the face.

  “It’s reassuring to hear that,” he said.

  Yet someone was watching her, she could feel it like an oppressive weight. She glanced around. The Sheriff met her eyes and smiled slowly in a way that made the knot in her stomach twist, and she realized she had begun to sweat. What was this man that he had the power to make her feel that way?

  “Are you sure you’re alright, niece?”

  She could hear John speaking, but it was as if he was far away. She felt dizzy, lightheaded, and wished with all her heart that she was someplace else in that moment. She took a step back, and then another, struggling to get enough air. She couldn’t breathe, and her knees didn’t want to continue to support her.

  I’m going to faint, she realized.

  Then, suddenly, a steadying hand gripped her elbow, holding her up. Everything seemed to snap back into place. She gulped air as fast as she could as she looked up. Robin stared at her, brows knitted together in concern. He had a hand under her elbow and gripped her arm tight enough to keep her on her feet.

  “Are you alright?” he echoed.

  She nodded as she looked around and realized that she had walked farther away from King Richard than she had thought. Her head began to clear and she glanced around hurriedly, but didn’t see the man with the black armor.

  “Yes, thank you. I—I don’t know what happened,” she said.

  “I thought you were going to fall,” he said, slowly removing his hand from her arm.

  “Thank you for your timely intervention,” she said. Her head was clear again and her stomach no longer rebelled. She had no idea what had happened, but was grateful Robin had stepped in when he had.

  “I’m surprised to see you here,” she added. “Are you joining the crusaders?” The thought of Robin stepping aboard that boat, marching past that streak of blood-soaked wood, made her stomach feel hot and oily again.

  Please, no.

  He shook his head, dark hair falling over his eyes.

  “I came with my father, in the hopes of talking him out of going. I failed in that. He’s too damn proud, and stubborn.”

  “Traits you inherited.” Her hand fell on his arm. “You do know that, don’t you?”

  “So he tells me. Often.” His hand covered hers. “I just can’t shake the feeling that there is some dark hand at work in all of this.”

  Marian almost told him that she felt the same way, but realized she should be more circumspect. At least for the moment.

  “So then you are staying?”

  “Someone has to watch Longstride manor, and keep the wolves at bay,” Robin said, nodding.

  “Those sound more like your father’s words than yours.”

  “My mother’s actually.” He laughed without humor. “She just happens to think I’m not the watcher she needs.”

  He looked so wistful it hurt her heart. The enmity between Lady Longstride and her youngest son became obvious within a few moments of watching them together. She knew the ache of missing her own mother, and she couldn’t imagine how it would feel if her mother were still alive, but shunned her. It would destroy her.

  Her hand moved toward him before she thought, touching his chest.

  “You’ll prove her wrong.”

  His dark eyes turned toward her, and he smiled a crooked little smile full of longstanding sorrow. “Not to her, I won’t.”

  They looked at each other for a long moment.

  A commotion on the dock broke the stare. As much as she would have liked to stay with him, she had duties to be performed.

  “I should return to the king,” she said, glancing over at Richard and John.

  Robin tilted his head and stepped back. “I won’t keep you.” Marian gave him a smile before hurrying to Richard’s side. Just as she reached him, alongside his ship, he began to speak.

  “I appreciate your concern, brother, but there’s no need for that,” he said firmly. “I will return home soon enough to resume my rightful duties.”

  John turned away, walking over to the Sheriff, who was back watching the crowd. He spoke to the taller man, and their backs were turned to Marian and Richard.

  “What was he suggesting?” she inquired.

  Richard turned to look at her. “He voiced concern for the danger of my mission, and whether it might be prudent to give him the kingship now, so that I could focus entirely on matters in the Holy Land.”

  “But you are the rightful king of England,” Marian said, outraged at the very thought. “He has no claim.”

  Her uncle chuckled. “Calm yourself, my dear. I’m certain it was one of his advisers who pushed him to ask. I take no offense, nor should you. For the good of England I am leaving, and for the good of England I will return.” He leaned down, dropping his voice. “I am leaving behind the Kestrel. It is my fastest ship. I have ordered it to be maintained and ready for service at a moment’s notice during my absence.”

  “For wh
at purpose?”

  “If England needs me, if you need me, then you send a messenger to Donthos at the dock. He will maintain the Kestrel and put your man in that ship with a crew that can be trusted. They will have the charts and maps needed to find me.

  “If the need is true, then I will return aboard it immediately,” he continued. “You must only use it in the direst of circumstance, but use it if you must. You are the only one to whom I am giving this information.”

  Realization bloomed in her heart. She was his watchman on the wall then. If John harmed England in any way, her uncle expected her to call him back. With that thought, another seemed inescapable.

  Why does he doubt his own brother, his very choice?

  Yet she had no time to ask. Already he was preparing to depart. So she pushed it from her mind, determined that she would be true to his request. It was the most trust anyone had ever shown her, and the weight of it was tremendous.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

  “Be strong and of good faith.” He kissed her forehead. “I will return.” At that, he turned and strode up the gangplank. The crowd cheered at the sight of him. At the top he turned, unsheathed his sword, and lifted it high.

  “For the glory of Christ the Lord and the safety of England!”

  The crowd exploded with a roar. Richard sheathed his sword, nodded once, then turned and disappeared.

  Marian hugged herself. She vowed that she would watch the prince carefully in the days to come.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Adaryn knelt in her garden, clucking over some of the herbs she’d planted in the spring. Most were doing nicely, but her sage had been much slower to grow than the rest. She puzzled over it. It got the same water and sunshine as the others, and she spoke the same incantations over it at night. The plant should be flourishing. She needed it as a potent ingredient in several of the poultices and potions she created. It had healing properties and was good for all manner of ailments. Burning it could also cleanse a place and ward off evil spirits.