Mark of the Black Arrow

by Debbie Viguié

  Marian sighed. “Well, then I hope they are not offended by this breach in protocol.”

  He straightened, pulling at his tunic. “I can assure milady that I acted on the king’s order.”

  Prince, she thought.

  Jansa handed Marian a small cake wrapped in cloth.

  “Milady.”

  “Thank you,” Marian said. She turned and didn’t give the steward another word as she swept out of the kitchens with her head held high. A short distance down the corridor, out of sight of the kitchen, she stopped and leaned back against the wall. The stone was cold against her back, her body heat leeching away through the linen of her gown.

  The castle felt suddenly stifling to her, the bare walls of it too close, the ceilings too low. She longed for the freedom of the outdoors. She needed to clear her head and think. She wanted nothing more than to grab a horse and ride with the wind in her face until she had put all this far behind her. There was work to be done, though. She had a feeling that whatever the reason for John’s meeting with the nobles, it would be of great interest to her—and hopefully to King Richard, as well.

  She turned, making her way to a hidden entrance that led to the throne room. King Richard had often made use of it, and she hoped John had not yet discovered it. When she reached the door in question she stood for a moment, and then opened it just a crack so that she could see inside.

  When she did, her blood ran cold.

  Two men were on the floor—dead, from the looks of it. Noblemen. Her heart started hammering in her chest.

  What is happening in there?

  * * *

  Will was mostly sober by the time he and Robin reached the castle. As they dismounted, a handful of noblemen he had known since childhood exited the main building, huddled together.

  “Looks like we missed all the excitement,” Will said. “I told you we’d be late.”

  “And I told you I didn’t care,” Robin replied. “I only came to keep your soggy self from falling off your horse.”

  As they walked up to the group, servants appeared, carrying the bodies of two men. Will blinked in astonishment as he recognized the face of old Minter. It was him, but it wasn’t. The skin had lost its color and his eyes were fixed in death. Blood covered his clothes. His shock deepened when he recognized the other as Staunton. Companions in life, they were companions still, even in death.

  “What happened here?” Robin asked sharply before Will could find his tongue.

  Lord Brighton stepped closer and lowered his voice. “The king had them killed because they objected to the new way of doing things.”

  “And pray tell, what new way is that?” Will asked, recovering from his initial shock.

  “Taxes, and lots of them. One half of our harvest and one third of our retinue.”

  “He can’t do that,” Robin said. “Winter is too close.”

  “I think Minter would beg to differ,” Brighton said grimly.

  “It’s madness. We need our people—they are our responsibility, as well. Even if he takes some at sword point, how are we supposed to feed the rest with only half our harvest?” Robin demanded.

  Will spoke up. “If the nobles stood together…”

  “They won’t,” Brighton interrupted. “We won’t. Locksley has already started licking the prince’s boots. He volunteered to lead the tax collectors.”

  “Like hell he will,” Robin growled, starting forward. Will grabbed his arm, knowing full well that he was endangering himself by doing so.

  “Easy…” Brighton stepped in front of Robin. “Or you’ll end up like Minter. Then who will look after your people?” He paused as that sunk in. “Locksley would be only too happy to bring them into his fold. And even if you manage to kill him and escape, the prince has decreed that any who fight the tax will forfeit their family’s lands and the homes of those they protect.”

  “Robin, there must be a better way than that,” Will pleaded. “Think of your mother. Think of your sisters.” For a moment, however, it seemed as if nothing he or Brighton had to say would dissuade his cousin.

  Then, slowly, Robin took a step back.

  “If there’s a better way, find it,” he hissed, looking from one man to the next. He paused the longest on Will. Then he turned and, in a moment, had mounted his horse. “I’ll give you a fortnight,” he growled, jerking the reins and riding away.

  “Fool is going to get himself killed,” Brighton muttered. “I just hope he doesn’t take a bunch of us with him when he does.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears,” Will muttered. He shook his head and took a deep breath. “Good day to you, Lord Brighton.”

  “No. It’s not.”

  * * *

  Will walked inside the castle. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but someone had to keep a cool head in order to help thwart the prince’s plans, whatever they were.

  It was hard to imagine what Prince John had in mind, that he would demand so much from his nobles. If he were building his own army, he would have specified that only able-bodied men be sent to him, but he hadn’t. Perhaps he was just testing the loyalty of the nobles.

  Or perhaps he was trying to break them.

  Fixing a smile upon his face, he walked past more noblemen who were moving to exit the castle. Each of them wore a dour expression, all except for Locksley—whose smile was likely as fake as his own.

  “I hear you are to be congratulated,” Will said. Locksley inclined his head, but didn’t answer, leaving with the others.

  Will entered the hall that the men were vacating. At the far end Prince John sat on his throne, deep in conversation with the Sheriff. Will approached, stepping carefully around a large pool of blood gone tacky on the floor. He stopped at a respectful distance, waiting to be acknowledged.

  At last the Sheriff left without a glance, and the prince turned toward Will, who bowed low.

  “You have something to say?”

  “Your Majesty, I just wanted to congratulate you on bringing the nobles so quickly to heel. It was a masterful stroke,” Will said, letting the flattery roll off his tongue.

  “You think so?” John asked, studying him.

  “Absolutely. I always thought that many of them were far too impudent. Richard let them get away with it, much to his disadvantage. They will think twice now before questioning their king.”

  “As they should.”

  “My only regret is that my horse was too slow to allow me to hear you instruct them.” Will said. John peered at him for a long, silent moment.

  “Rest assured, you will be given all of the pertinent details,” Prince John said finally. “You shall be a permanent member of my court, and henceforth shall reside here at the castle. You may send for your things. I can use a smart man like you, one who knows where the true power lies.”

  “You honor me, Your Majesty. I will do my best to be of service,” Will said, bowing deeply again. He hadn’t looked for such an invitation to come so soon, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a sign of the prince’s trust… or mistrust. Either way he would turn it to his advantage.

  When it became apparent that the conversation was at an end, he turned, but before he could take a step he saw the cardinal being escorted in by a servant. Together they drew near until the holy man was standing next to Will.

  “Your Majesty, may I present Cardinal Fran—” the servant began.

  “What are you doing here?” the prince asked, his voice cold.

  “My prince, I heard you were assembling the nobles,” the cardinal said. “Since I had not yet departed, I thought I should attend as well. To offer my services as needed.”

  “You thought wrong,” John said, waving a hand dismissively. “I have no need of you.”

  “But your brother often found my advice worthy of an ear.”

  “I am not my brother,” the prince replied. “Since you are here, however, I will inform you personally of the new taxes that I am implementing.”

  “I he
ard some of the nobles discussing them outside.”

  “Yes, well, the church shall not be immune,” John said, and Will saw the holy man stiffen. “It shall be expected to do its part.”

  “There is no precedent for that,” the cardinal said, his voice admirably calm. “What is given to God’s work must be used in the furtherance of God’s work. If you were to make such a radical change in the relationship between the crown and the church, you would contend with Rome on that matter.”

  The prince leaned forward on his throne, his face twisting in a sneer.

  “Let Rome come to me, if they wish to complain.”

  The Sheriff reappeared, stepping from behind the throne. Will shivered, and fought the urge to step back. He hadn’t even realized the man was there.

  The cardinal did step back.

  “Your liege has tolerated your presence long enough,” the Sheriff said, his voice little more than a growl. “Be gone, before I remove you myself.”

  Will sucked in his breath. It wasn’t a lowly monk they were daring to order around in such a manner. This was a cardinal, an adviser to the pope himself. It was he who had been sent from Rome to discuss the Crusade with King Richard. The audacity they displayed in attempting to order him around was stunning. Yet the cardinal stood tall, his eyes shrewd and his hands clenched at his side.

  “I would have a care,” he said. “Men reign on this earth only at the pleasure of God. I would be happy to discuss with you the finer aspects of His will.”

  “Get out!” the prince roared, standing abruptly. There was going to be bloodshed. Will could feel it as a tightening in his stomach, a sickening sensation. He found himself stepping involuntarily toward the cardinal.

  “It’s time to go, old man,” he said, looking meaningfully into his eyes. He’d have to beg forgiveness later for the disrespect, but for now it was important that Cardinal Francis leave before there was a fight, and that Will continue to earn the prince’s trust.

  “I will go, for now,” the cardinal said, “but this shall not go unanswered.” He turned and swept from the room, a thousand times more regal than the man who stood in front of the throne, the crown on his head slipping down over one eye. It was appropriate, Will realized, for surely power was blinding him.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Marian swiftly made it back to her room, her head still reeling from everything she’d seen and heard. There was no use going to the cardinal with this—it would just be wasting precious time. Richard had entrusted her with the way to get hold of him, and she had something now that was sure to bring him home.

  She sat at her writing desk, pulling out a piece of parchment and uncorking her inkwell. She dipped her quill in the ink, set it on the parchment, and began to write, recounting as bluntly as she could all that had happened. She was cautious about revealing her identity, and there were several coded ways she and Richard had used to communicate with each other over the years. So Marian wrote in a way that he would know it was she.

  When at last she had finished she folded the letter and poured sealing wax upon it. She did not use her seal, though, knowing that, if her messenger was intercepted, it would be disastrous not only for her, but also for all those she cared about. She had no wish to see Chastity lying in a pool of her own blood.

  To that end she thought long and hard about the messenger she would choose, as Friar Tuck had suggested. She couldn’t risk losing Chastity. There was another whom she had decided she could trust, and already had been testing in a few small ways.

  She tucked the letter into her bodice and made her way stealthily back to the kitchens, where she secured an apple. Then she headed for the stables. Murther saw her approaching and hurried to meet her.

  “Begging your pardon, Highness, we’re still clearing the stable of all the nobles’ horses. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Walk with me,” she said softly.

  He looked confused for a moment, then nodded and fell into step beside her. Together they entered the stable and walked down to Merryweather’s stall. The horse was happy to see her, but happier still to see the apple that Marian held out for her. Fortunately, there was no one else at this end of the stable.

  “Do you know the way to the docks?” she asked.

  “A’course Highness,” Murther replied. “I was there when the king sailed for the Holy Land. Everyone was.”

  She looked into his earnest, young face. He was loyal to the throne.

  And he was so young.

  She took a deep breath, turned, and pulled the parchment from her bodice. She turned back to him.

  “Take my horse and ride there now. Find a man named Donthos and tell him that I have sent you. He will direct you from there.” She handed him the letter. “He is going to take you on a boat.”

  Murther’s eyes grew wide, and he looked concerned.

  “I’ve never been on a boat before.” He pushed the letter into the pocket of his jerkin. “Don’t they make you sick?”

  She smiled at his naïveté, even as it panged through her chest.

  “For some they do,” she replied gently, “but if you can ride a horse, you can ride the sea. It’s actually very exhilarating. I’m sure you will love it. But no one must know what you are doing.”

  “How long will I be gone for?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Days at least. Perhaps weeks even.” Then a thought struck her. “Do you need to tell your family?”

  “No, Highness,” he said. “I’m indentured to the stable. I live here. The stable master is the only one I report to.” He dropped his head, sheepishly. “But he will be right angry if I leave. I will be jailed when I return.”

  She let out a sigh of relief. This, thank goodness, was something she could address, though she would need to be circumspect.

  “Do not give it another thought—I will speak with the stable master,” she said. “Then, when you return, I will see to it that you are freed from your servitude and given a plot with a home on it, as reward.”

  As wide as they already were, the boy’s eyes went even wider. “That is most generous, Highness.” He bowed. “I will do my best to earn it.”

  Marian thought for a long moment. “If you have any family who are indentured or otherwise indebted, I will make sure their obligation is released as well, and that they are freed or sent to your new holding, as you see fit.”

  Murther gulped. “Would that make me a lord?”

  “No, but it is the first step. Property, then people, then profit to become a lord. Or you can simply remain a free man with a home, and the opportunity to make your own way.”

  He thought about it, mouth agape at the possibilities. Then he shut his jaw firmly with a sharp nod.

  All he could say was, “Very, very generous.”

  * * *

  The horse moved beneath Murther with long, sure strides and he thrilled at the feeling of the wind in his face. His insides were tight, adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream. He had been allowed to exercise the horses he tended before, but never out in the country, and rarely at more than a trot.

  If he did as his lady had commanded, he would have a horse of his own, and more, as hard as it was to imagine.

  Sherwood was haunted, so he skirted the edge of the forest, even though Lady Marian’s warning about being unseen rang through his mind. The trees of the forest loomed on each side of him, gradually becoming thinner, and open sky hung over him the entire journey. The road he was on would lead straight to the water’s edge. He’d follow it to the docks and the waiting ship.

  He glanced up at the sky.

  Bless Lady Marian for this chance to aid her.

  Then he closed his eyes, enjoying the wind and the sun, exulting in the power of the horse beneath him.

  Mayhap I will start my own stable.

  He opened his eyes and smiled.

  Something flashed across the road a short distance in front of him, darting from one clump of bushes to another.


  Merryweather planted her front hooves, driving them into the hard-packed earth. Her body jerked short, rear legs lifting from the ground, still pushed by the momentum of her run. Murther pitched forward, his face slamming into the animal’s solid neck. Instinctively his hands and legs clamped down, locking tight on the horseflesh under him.

  His quick reflexes were the only thing that saved him from being thrown and landing on his skull. Breathing hard, heart pounding in his chest like a blacksmith’s hammer, he held onto the horse’s neck for a moment before straightening up slowly and pushing back over his ear the lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

  What was that?

  It had been too large to be a rabbit or even a fox. It was nearer the size of a wolf. Beneath him, Merryweather shook, muscles trembling under her sleek coat. The animal took a step backward, whinnying in fear.

  “Easy, easy,” he muttered, rubbing a soothing hand on the horse’s withers. Merryweather jerked her head, baring wide teeth at him. Still she continued to retreat, hopping as if a snake were in the road.

  He leaned back, jerking the reins to make her stop.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Murther kicked his heels and snapped the reins. “It’s nothing. Let’s go!”

  Merryweather shook her head and snorted. He felt her lock up under him, and doubt crept in. Should he turn back? To find another path would cost him several hours on the journey.

  “It was just an animal,” he said, not sure if he was trying to convince himself or the horse. “It’s already run off.” Could it have been a deer? It might have been big enough, but it had seemed as if it was much darker even than a stag. He watched the bushes closely for any sign of movement. If it had been an animal, then likely it was gone, or at least far more frightened than he was.

  It had to be an animal. No man moved in that way, or with that speed.

  No man.

  His fingers crossed his body. Sudden fear knotted his stomach and bile flooded his mouth. He choked it down and kicked Merryweather as hard as he could. She neighed in pain but refused to move. He kicked again, driving his boot heels deep into her side. She jerked and screamed the high-pitched scream of a horse in a barn fire. He kicked once more and drove his fists into her withers.