Immortal Outlaw

by Lisa Hendrix

  Once more Matilda felt the upheaval in Steinarr’s spirit, but he nodded.

  “Will, I want you to stay in the yard with the horses as our watch. Can you whistle like this?” Steinarr blew the low but penetrating pipe of a bullfinch, and Will copied it. “Good. If there is any sign of trouble, if you think there might be any sign of trouble, whistle twice, then get to Marian and get her away.”

  The steward was as pleased to show them to the solar as the priest had said, and they followed him through the hall. Robin leaned on Tuck’s sturdy arm for support as they climbed the narrow wooden stairs.

  “Here, my lord,” said the steward, throwing the door open. “You see it is a very fine work.”

  Matilda gasped as she saw it. The entire vault of the solar glowed in deepest blue, with silver-leafed stars sparkling around a clear white moon. But her eye went straight to the comet, a magnificent star of sparkling gold trailing its fairy-dust tail directly overhead. The heavy gold leaf shone so brightly that it took Matilda a moment to make out that the center of the star was a round of gold, about the size of her palm. She could not see the lion in the middle from there, but it had to be her father’s planchet. She had to bite her tongue to keep it to herself.

  The problem was, it was also some four or five yards off the ground, well above the thick timber beams that crossed the chamber overhead. She glanced to Robin and saw him pale. On his other side, Tuck watched him a moment, then looked to her. She glanced at the comet, and he nodded.

  “Well then,” said the steward, ready to lead them back out.

  “It speaks to me of Heaven’s greatness,” said Friar Tuck. “By your leave, my lord, might we take a moment’s prayer beneath this glorious roof?”

  “A fine idea, Friar,” said Steinarr, then to the steward, “Your lady would not mind?”

  “No. No, of course not. She would take great pleasure in knowing it inspired such piety. Take your time, my lord. I will send up bread and wine for after.”

  “Kind, but unnecessary,” said Steinarr. “We will pray and then be away. I will tell Lord Ulmar of your kindness on his behalf when next I see him.”

  The little group gathered around Tuck as though to prepare for prayer and the steward retreated, saying his thanks. No sooner had the door shut than they all gathered below the comet.

  “Boost me up,” said Ari. “I can reach it.”

  “No, I go.”

  Everyone turned to Robin at once. “Do not be foolish.” “Your leg.” “There is nothing to hold to for balance.”

  Robin set his jaw. “This quest was meant for me, yet I have done nothing in it.”

  “That is not your fault, Rob. Father should not have sent you up a rotten tree.”

  “No, but this is a sturdy beam, not a rotten tree. He meant it to challenge my fears. If I cannot do at least this much, perhaps I do not deserve to be lord.” He turned to Steinarr. “I will need your aid, monsire.”

  HIS AID? HELP Robin get what he so desperately wanted for himself? Steinarr felt his face drain of color. He nodded, unable to speak.

  “Tuck, guard the door.” Ari came over to stand beside Steinarr, offering some support by his presence. “We will put you up there, by the wall, Robin. You can use it to stand, then make your way to the center.” He put his hands out to link arms with Steinarr to make a step.

  Reaching deep for the wherewithal, Steinarr shook his head. “He can climb me, like we used to do to go over palings. It will be easier with that leg.”

  He turned and braced himself against the wall, arms locked and one knee bent to make a step. With a few words, Ari directed Robin where to put his feet. A stiff scramble put Robin up on Steinarr’s shoulders, within reach of the beam. Steinarr straightened to give him the extra inches, and Robin wrapped his arms around the beam and swung his good leg up and over. He clung there, panting with effort, for so long it appeared he would go no farther.

  Freeze, willed Steinarr. Give up. I will get the piece and it will be mine to take by right, along with her.

  “Robin?” Marian’s voice cut through the fantasy.

  “I am fine.” Slowly, Robin pulled himself up onto the beam, then gathered himself and sat up, pressing his back against the wall. “I can do this.” He steadied himself and slowly pressed to his feet. He put his hand up and touched the vault. “ ‘Tis not so high as it looks. I can reach it easily.”

  “The blue must make it seem higher,” said Ari. “Keep one hand on the roof and work your way out.”

  Step by tentative step, Robin edged out on the beam. Steinarr watched with such intensity that all else dropped away, everything but Robin and Marian, her eyes round with worry as they flickered from Robin to him and back again. He prayed she wouldn’t reach out with her mind, knowing his hold on himself was so fragile that her touch would shatter his will like the first thin ice on a pond.

  Finally, Robin stood directly below the comet. He felt around the center.

  “There is an edge.” He reached for his knife. The motion threw him off-kilter and he swayed.

  “Rob!” Marian’s gasp launched Steinarr forward, arms out to catch him.

  But Robin pressed both hands to the roof, just catching himself. He froze there, trembling and bloodless, for a long while before he moved again, more carefully. Pulling his knife from its sheath, he dragged the tip around the golden round. Blue plaster dust sprinkled down over Steinarr and Ari like falling sky.

  And then the round came away in Robin’s hand. He bobbled again and dropped to his knees, flattening on the beam to lie there, clinging, breathing hard. “I cannot deal with the token and with coming down, both. Sir Steinarr, catch it.”

  And as simply as that, Robin dropped the planchet into his hands.

  He didn’t even have to flip it over. The little lion he had not seen since the day Cwen had ripped it from his neck winked up at him, an ancient design of age-darkened silver set within a round of royal gold. Mine. His heart thundered in his chest. He looked up to see Marian smiling at him, reaching out. Mine. They are both mine, and I am free.

  Ari gave Steinarr another of those looks. Take it, his eyes said. Go.

  Odin, what do I do?

  “Some help, if you please, messires.”

  “Make your way to the wall,” said Ari. “And hurry before that steward comes back.”

  “I do not think that will be a problem, my lord,” said Tuck by the door. “I just heard Will whistle. I think we have company.”

  “Down, Robin. Swing off. We will catch you.” Steinarr slipped the planchet into his gown, letting the solid weight of the gold lay against his belly as he and Ari moved into position.

  Robin wrapped his arms around the beam and carefully levered himself off, lowering his legs so he hung in midair. His bony arms strained with the effort. “Help.”

  “We have you. Let go.”

  Robin dropped, landing awkwardly to protect his bad leg, and Marian stepped forward to give him a quick hug. “I knew you could do it.”

  “Go,” urged Tuck.

  They pounded down the stairs and out past the bewildered steward. A quick check showed Will still alone in the yard. He waved them forward. “Hurry. Riders come.”

  They dashed for their horses. Ari flung Robin up on the mare and Steinarr boosted Marian onto the stallion, but it was too late. A small band of horsemen appeared in the gate, Guy’s red and yellow standing out in the center.

  “Get the boy,” ordered Guy. “Kill him.”

  The first rider swept toward Robin. Steinarr threw himself into his path, startling the horse so it reared. He dragged the man off and tossed him against the wellhouse, where he crumpled. Ari disposed of another rider in similar fashion, while Tuck stepped forward with his quarterstaff and simply swept the next off with a deadly swing.

  The remaining men dismounted and charged forward with weapons drawn. Drawing their swords, Steinarr and Ari each took on two men, while Will stepped forward to put himself between Marian and a big fellow wearing
Baldwin’s colors. Steel rang as they flailed and parried.

  Steinarr took down one man with a quick cut to the leg. The fellow screamed and bright blood sprayed across the dirt. With a roar, the other kept coming. Steinarr blocked first one blow, then another. He stepped in with a flick of the sword to disarm the man, but slipped in the blood. As he went down, the man raised his sword high to strike. Steinarr ducked under the blow, and as the fellow spun to follow, brought his sword around underhand. The tip caught the man from below, laying open the underside of his arm from armpit to elbow and sending his sword flying from nerveless fingers. He sagged to the ground in a heap next to Ari’s wounded man, wailing and clutching his arm. Baldwin’s man went down with a scream as Will’s sword bit into his shoulder. Another skull rang under Tuck’s staff.

  Steinarr dealt with another man, sending him spinning into the quintain head first. “Will! Get her out of here.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Will dashed for his mount.

  Steinarr spun, searching for Guy. He spotted the rooster and barreled toward him. But Guy was headed for the stallion, and before Steinarr could reach him, he had snagged the reins and dragged Marian off. She landed with a thump in the dirt and Guy hauled her to her feet, locking his arm around her waist to hold her before him as a shield.

  Steinarr skidded to a stop, sword at ready. “Everyone stay back.”

  “Fils a putain.” Cursing, Marian struggled against Guy’s arm. “Turn me loose, you dog’s turd.” She kicked backward and connected with his shin.

  He grunted in pain, then brought his sword up to her neck. “Stay, cuz, lest you cut your own throat.” The point bit into her skin and she stilled. “I am going to have to train that mouth to better suit me.”

  Steinarr stepped forward, shifting his sword. “You will not live that long.”

  “Oh, I think I will. The sheriff is on his way. When I heard you had ridden into Edwinstowe with the bastard, I sent a man to him. He hunts not far from here. I do not like betrayal, la Roche. And neither does the sheriff.”

  “I wonder how he feels about being lied to.”

  Bright pink spots formed in Gisburne’s cheeks, making him appear feverish. “There was no lie. The boy is a bastard and not fit to be lord of a kennel, much less Huntingdon.”

  “And you are?” sneered Marian. She kicked at his leg again.

  “Shut up.” He jerked his arm tight and she gasped for breath.

  And suddenly Robin was flying through the air, launched from the back of the mare as she galloped past. He hit Gisburne square on, dragging his sword arm aside. Marian popped free and Steinarr caught her. Robin hit the ground with an oof, but rolled up to his feet.

  Guy turned on Robin with a roar, and they grappled, barely an instant, and then there was the sound of a blade driving into flesh and a bubbling exhalation of air.

  “Robin!” Marian lurched forward. Steinarr stopped her and shoved her behind him, and he and Ari stepped forward, swords ready.

  Guy wavered and slowly folded to the ground, Robin’s knife buried to the hilt between his ribs. Robin stood over him, shaking, his face a mask of fury. “You will never touch her again.”

  Friar Tuck rushed forward and dropped next to Guy. Hurriedly pulling a flacon of holy oil from his little scrip, he spilled a few drops into his palm, touched his thumb, and smeared a mark across Guy’s forehead. “Per istam sanctan unctionem …”

  Through the rite, Guy’s eyes fixed on Robin. “Bastard,” he whispered as Tuck touched oil to his eyes, his lips, his ears, his palms. “You are no lord.”

  Robert leaned down as the last of Guy’s breath frothed the blood around the blade. “But I will be. And you can carry that knowledge with you to Hell.”

  He straightened, and Marian pushed between Steinarr and Ari and threw her arms around his neck, weeping. “I thought you dead.”

  “So did I.” He gave her a rough hug, then set her away, and it was as if the last vestiges of boyhood had vanished as the light faded from Guy’s eyes. “We must go. I need to get to the king before word of this does.”

  “I hear more riders coming,” called Will.

  “The sheriff,” said Steinarr.

  “Go,” urged Ari. “I will see to him.”

  Steinarr looked at Marian, then at Robin, who had earned his right to lordship twice over. “Aye. You will.”

  He reached into his gown and fished out the planchet. He looked at his lion one last time and pressed it into Robin’s hands. “Your token, my lord Robert. Carry it to Edward, and do well for your sister and your people.”

  He kissed Marian fast and hard, then whistled for the stallion and swung up in the saddle.

  Marian grabbed his leg. “Where are you going?”

  “Giving you and Robin the time you need to reach Edward.” He looked to Robin. “Raise the hue and cry, as if I were the one who killed Guy. The sheriff will chase me and you can race to Clipstone and the king.”

  “But you—”

  “They come,” cried Tuck. “Ride!”

  “Take care of them, Ari.” Steinarr wheeled the horse out the gate and headed north, and behind him, the cry went up. “Murderer! Murderer! Halloo. Stop the murderer!”

  He slowed just long enough to be sure the sheriff’s men took up the chase, then put the spurs to the stallion and hared off, racing both them and the rapidly setting sun into the forest, certain that he was a fool.

  But a fool with a piece of his honor back. And perhaps a fool that Marian could love.

  “WHO GOES THERE?” demanded a nervous voice.

  “Only a poor traveler, robbed by a madman.” Torvald stepped out of the darkness of the forest night into the circle of firelight.

  “You are naked, man,” exclaimed one of the soldiers.

  “Aye. He stole everything. My horse. My purse. My clothes. Even my breeks.”

  “Send that fellow over here to me,” commanded a voice from the far side of the fire.

  “Yes, my lord.” Torvald made his way around the circle, then bowed to the well-dressed man lounging beneath a tree. “Would there be a spare cloak among your men, my lord? ’Tis a cold night.”

  “Find him some clothes. Do you know who I am?”

  “Aye, I have seen you. You are the lord sheriff.” Someone tossed him a cloak and Torvald pulled it around his shoulders.

  “Good. Who robbed you?”

  “A big fellow, gold hair, dressed in green.”

  “Was he riding a horse?”

  “Aye, a fine white stallion. And yet he took my poor brown mare.” A short gown was produced and Torvald pulled it on and replaced the cloak. “I do not know why he’d want either my clothes or my horse, my lord. Neither were as fine as his.”

  “He is a murderer, running from the gallows. He likely looks to disguise himself.”

  “A murderer. Then I will count myself lucky to be freezing, for it means I am still alive.” A pair of chausses were passed across the circle, and Torvald sat down to pull them on. “I suppose no one has extra breeks or shoes? No. Well, I am grateful for what I have.”

  “Which way did he go?”

  Torvald looked around, then scratched his head as though working it out. “That way, my lord. North by west. And if he wears my clothes, he will be in blue and yellow.”

  The sheriff nodded, his beliefs confirmed. “What are you doing so deep in the woods alone?”

  “I did not start alone. I am headed to work the hunt at Clipstone, but I became separated from my companions. And then that madman robbed me. I have been walking a long while, trying to stay warm.”

  “Mmm.” The sheriff considered him. “You may have a place by our fire. We will be on our way before dawn, but you will be safe for a few hours.” He snapped his fingers at one of the men. “Give the poor devil some food.”

  “You are most kind, my lord. I will say a prayer for you when I reach Clipstone.”

  Torvald took a place by the fire, enjoying the bit of bread and ale that the men shared. As th
ey settled down to catch a few hours of sleep, he wrapped his borrowed cloak around his shoulders and eased back. A long while later, he heard some creature moving through the brush, far beyond the fire, headed south, and hoped it was the lion. He wasn’t sure Steinarr had enough control over the beast, but perhaps so.

  Sometime before dawn he would head south as well, and leave these new clothes in an obvious place in the hope Steinarr would find them. A mile or two north and west, the sheriff’s men would find another, more obvious pile of clothing, the abandoned green garb belonging to the supposed murderer of Sir Guy of Gisburne. The white horse would be gone, of course, but they would follow a false trail north until it got lost among the tracks on the Mansfield road.

  And by sundown tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, they would give up the chase, certain the outlaw had escaped into Yorkshire, never to be found.

  “ THAT I WILL hold only to thee, my lord and king, and to thy successors against all others …”

  Matilda stood in the church at Edwinstowe, listening to Robert recite the vow of fealty to the king. He had already made his pledge of homage, and now, hands pressed to the Gospel, was confirming the duties he owed the Crown in exchange for the lands at Huntingdon and Loxley.

  As the lengthy vows stretched out, she glanced around the chapel. The presence of so many great barons of England at the ceremony—all those hunting with the King—assured that no one would challenge Robert’s right to hold the title. He even had men of his own in attendance, or two men, at least: Will stood by, calling himself Will Scarlet to avoid arrest, but ready to do homage, and Tuck had agreed to serve as chaplain to Huntingdon.

  But the face she most wanted to see was not there. Three full days had passed, and still neither he nor Ari, who had ridden off after seeing her and Robert to Clipstone, had turned up.

  Robert finished his vows, received the king’s acceptance, and rose to be presented to the waiting barons. She stood off to the side between Will and Tuck, watching her brother, now Lord Robert, make his way between the rows of powerful men.