Trouble in the Forest Book Two

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  How Sir Gui would come

  to Nottingham

  OSBERT was out of breath as he careened into the Sheriffs study, his eyes shining merrily, his scrawny legs churning in excitement, his young face alight. “The courier has come! Sir Gui will arrive tomorrow!” He grinned in anticipation.

  “The chambers will be prepared,” said Hugh deSteny, looking up from his review of the kitchen inventories; this was the third such dispatch he had received in the last week, and he was beginning to wonder if Sir Gui deGisbourne actually intended to come to Nottingham at all, or was planning to remain at his hunting estate with his companions right through the end of the year. “I must dispatch more huntsmen, assuming he will be here. And we in Nottingham must make ourselves ready to receive Sir Gui.” He hated the necessity of sending men into Sherwood, but Sir Gui and his suite would have to be properly fed, and the kitchen had supplies enough for that for no more than three days. He knew he shouldn’t take any chances with food. “Fetch Quain to me,” he said wearily. “And send for Chilton, the warden. We must send out the hunt at dawn tomorrow.”

  “And Sir Humphrey?” asked Osbert, enjoying the little authority he had been granted.

  “I will call upon him, and Bishop Tilton as well, when I have finished here.” He clapped his hands. “Go, lad. Be about your duty.”

  The youngster hurried out of the study, almost humming with satisfaction.

  DeSteny returned his attention to the page in front of him. They would have to bring down at least three deer, or four. Then fowlers would have to bring ducks and geese, cranes and curlews, partridges and chickens for the cooks to spit. They should also have four sheep and ten goats, four or five cattle, and pigs to augment the wild boar he would hope the huntsmen would supply. He was trying to calculate the cheeses and eggs the cooks would need when Quain came in the door. Hugh deSteny put his inventory aside and greeted the chief huntsman. “Good hunting to you.”

  “As God wills,” said Quain, an angular man with powerful muscles and tired grey eyes.

  “God and your men,” said deSteny.

  “The lad—Osbert, is it?—said that Sir Gui will be here tomorrow. Do you think he’ll really come this time, or is he only threatening?” He closed his hand on the hilt of his long hunting knife. “Is that what you wanted to see me about?”

  “It is. Apparently another courier has arrived. This time we are to expect him, I fear.” He shrugged. “I do not like having to ask you and your men to go out into the forest, but you and I know Sir Gui will not hunt along the way, not with Sherwood so unsafe.”

  “It must be done. Deer and boar, I suppose?” Quain cleared his throat. “At least three of each.”

  “Four would be better, or five. We have smoked meats we can serve, but we will need more than that for Sir Gui, for his tastes are most cultivated.” He considered Quain a short while. “Is that asking too much?”

  “It may be. My men will not stay in the forest once the light begins to fade,” said Quain. “What we find, we find. But we will not put ourselves into more danger than we must.”

  “A prudent decision,” said deSteny. “I will ask nothing more of you.”

  “Then we’ll be out soon after dawn, if the day is clear,” said Quain.

  “Take the page Nicholas Woodhull with you, in case you need a messenger to carry news.”

  “Just the one page? Wouldn’t it be better to send a soldier for such a mission?” Quain scowled as he considered the problems.

  “I think a lad on his own might be safer than a soldier—a soldier is a much more tempting target, don’t you reckon?” deSteny responded.

  Quain thought this over. “I take your point, but it is still a risk.”

  “So it is,” deSteny agreed. “And for that reason, have your horses checked carefully, and your tack. Don’t take any questionable mounts with you when you go. I want none of you to be lost in Sherwood.” DeSteny rose. “When you return, send me word what game you have, and I’ll decide then how we’re to arrange matters for later.”

  “That I will,” said Quain.

  “I’m sending word to Chilton, the warden. He’ll be at your disposal, as well, so you will have someone with you who knows the forest well.” DeSteny’s tone was somber. “Little as he may want to do this, he must.”

  “Chilton has not been himself of late,” said Quain.

  “Is that any reason to keep him from assisting you?” deSteny asked.

  “Some of my men may think so, but I don’t. I am satisfied that this man still knows his work, no matter how frightened he may be,” said Quain.

  “Is that all there is to it?” deSteny asked, knowing it was not.

  “No. There are some who say that Chilton helps the outlaws, or has become one of them. He may not fight them, and he may be willing to aid them in finding crofters, I don’t know, but he does nothing worse than that, and one can say that of many another. I do not fault the man for making what peace he can with the denizens of the forest, so long as he does not forget where his fealty must lie.” For Quain this was a great deal to say.

  “Do you know he has helped the outlaws? Is that a rumor or have you personal knowledge?” deSteny inquired.

  “I don’t know from my own experience, but it is whispered about him, and some of the men believe it. One of the Blue Friars has said he has heard something about Chilton from a crofter,” said Quain.

  “Yet you are willing to work with him,” said deSteny, thinking as he did of Radulf Parr. “All of us make accommodations, don’t we?”

  “Sir Gui is coming, and we must bring in game for the cooks or the city will be dishonored.” Quain sighed. “I will make what arrangements I have to in order to fulfill my duty as a subject of Richard of England, and a vassal of Gui deGisbourne.”

  “Very good,” said deSteny. “Then I shall assume you will supply the table for a feast in two days. It is what Sir Gui will expect.”

  “That is so,” said Quain drily.

  “You take my meaning, then,” said deSteny. “Let us give him no reason to complain. Our next few weeks will be difficult enough without that.”

  Quain pursed his lips. “He demands his rights, and it is for us to honor them.”

  “So he thinks,” said deSteny.

  “He was born to it,” said Quain, ducking his head as a sign that he was through. “I will tell you what we have provided when we return. I will be with you before Vespers.”

  “I hope you do well,” said deSteny.

  “And I,” said Quain as he departed, leaving deSteny to make notes on his inventory.

  By the time he went to call upon Sir Humphrey, deSteny had arranged for six barrels of flour from the miller at Swinford, he had dispatched small groups of men—at—arms to local crofters to confiscate cheese and butter and eggs, and to the abbeys for wine and mead as well as peas for porridge for those below the salt. He went to Sir Humphrey’s house after speaking with the Bishop. He had a burgeoning sense of accomplishment, and he found himself contemplating Sir Gui’s arrival with the semblance of imperturbability. He would be able to endure Sir Gui’s incessant demands for as long as he had to, assuming the food held out. With crofters bringing stock to market, he was hopeful that there would be enough to keep Sir Gui and his suite sated while the Fair continued.

  “I have arranged for two harpers,” said Sir Humphrey. “They were coming to the Fair in any case and have agreed to come early to entertain Sir Gui and his entourage.”

  DeSteny heard this with more delight than he would have thought possible. “An excellent notion, Sir Humphrey.”

  “Sir Gui expects it,” said Sir Humphrey with forced enthusiasm.

  “What more have you planned?” deSteny asked, coming into the main hall,

  “I don’t suppose he would like a display of arms,” said
Sir Humphrey.

  “No, it isn’t likely,” said deSteny, and fell silent. “The harpers will earn their keep,” said Sir Humphrey.

  “Do we have any display of pomp we may offer?” deSteny wondered aloud. “Lovelace and Dare have well—trained horses, and they could perform a show of equestrian feats. What do you think? Would Sir Gui be pleased with that? The men are going to compete in the Fair, but they probably won’t object to presenting their skills to Sir Gui.”

  “Sir Gui might want to claim the horses for his own use,” Sir Humphrey pointed out.

  DeSteny sighed. “He might at that. Well. Let me think about this for a short while. There must be some way to deal with his covetousness.”

  “It’s not your concern. They’re my men. I’ll talk to them.” Sir Humphrey lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “It is not an easy matter to receive Sir Gui.”

  “No, it isn’t,” said deSteny. “The Bishop has said the monks will sing a High Mass for him, and that should be enough to satisfy him on that score.”

  “For a day or two,” said Sir Humphrey bleakly.

  “There will be hunting in the day,” said deSteny.

  “And with any luck, he’ll be laid up for the whole of the Fair; he hunts badly,” Sir Humphrey muttered. “I am not ashamed for saying so.”

  “As you may do to me, without worry about reprisal,” said deSteny. “When did the courier say Sir Gui planned to arrive?”

  “Between midday and Vespers,” said Sir Humphrey, gathering himself and assuming a more correct demeanor. “We’ll set out flags of his device on the battlements in the morning, and that should make for a good welcome.

  “Yes,” agreed deSteny. “He will think this fitting.”

  Sir Humphrey said nothing for a short while. “Is there housing enough for his suite?”

  “If he brings no more than forty men with him, we should be able to accommodate them. More than that and we will have to place his men in houses in the town.” DeSteny looked up as a servant brought two tankards of apple wine. “This is very generous of you.”

  “I’ve had six barrels brought. It should be enough for his soldiers.” Sir Humphrey lifted his tankard.

  “How much beer do you have?” DeSteny tasted the apple wine, finding it tart and slightly fizzy. “This is very good.”

  “I have ten hogsheads,” said Sir Humphrey. “It is powerful stuff. Soldiers will like it on that account alone. I hope the ten will suffice.”

  “The men will drink; as you say, it is the way of soldiers, and Fairgoers,” said deSteny. “I will send over some of the barrels I am getting from the abbeys. You may add them to your stores. I will have some of my promised kegs tomorrow, or so I understand. It should help to supplement what you already have. But we must save some for the Fair. And be glad that the crofters will bring their own beer to sell, and apple wine, too.”

  “Many brewers will come to the Fair,” said Sir Humphrey. “I have no worry that we’ll be able to have drink for all. Beer and cider and berry wine.” He smacked his lips and then grew somber. “No, it is the trouble we may have before then.”

  DeSteny nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “For which I thank you.” He drank again. “I’ll post the heralds on the walls, with their trumpets to sound the welcome when Sir Gui is sighted.”

  “Very good,” said deSteny. “We’ll all benefit by the warning.”

  “Of course,” said Sir Humphrey.

  “I’ll have your horse ready so you may ride out with me to greet him.” DeSteny took a slow sip of the apple wine.

  “I will be ready, surcote, shield and all. No weapons, of course.” He looked far from pleased at this prospect.

  “And I,” said deSteny. “I’ll send Jotham to you after he breaks his fast, in case you need a messenger.”

  “I appreciate that,” said Sir Humphrey. He almost finished his apple wine. “I’ll order one of my pages to wait upon you.”

  “Well and good,” said deSteny, preparing to depart. “You are ready for the Fair?”

  “I am, as much as I may be. My men are planning to enter many of the contests, which encourages them.” He looked over at deSteny as the Sheriff put down his tankard. “You are adamant about the soldiers not appearing in their fighting gear?”

  “I am,” said deSteny. “And when you consider what we are up against, you will be so, too.”

  “I take your meaning,” said Sir Humphrey, ducking his head and allowing himself to be convinced.

  “Then I will wish you a good day, Sir Humphrey, and thank you for your cleverness and aid. I am grateful.”

  “You are good to tell me so.” He bowed slightly to deSteny and left the hall, returning to his own quarters where he fretted far into the night, and only sought his bed when he heard the soft chime calling monks to Vigil prayers.

  What Prince John found

  on the Great North Road

  “YOU have the book?” the Prince whispered to Mother Barnaba as he drew in his big Spanish copper—dun destrier beside her spotted jennet.

  “In my habit, under my girdle,” she answered, and added, more loudly, “Thank God you are going to relieve the men of Nottingham. They need your wisdom as much as your soldiers to protect them.”

  “See you keep it safe, and if we are not successful, do your utmost to pass on its wisdom to those who must continue our fight,” said Prince John.

  “That I will, with God’s help,” said Mother Barnaba.

  “May God bring us to a good end,” said Prince John, and moved forward to his position near the front of the line in front of all the court, four mailed knights ahead of him, one on each side, and another twenty flanking the north—bound party of nobles, with another four bringing up the rear. “Then, Sir Olvan Hodge, call the march.”

  The Prince’s marshal, Sir Olvan Hodge, a veteran of the Crusades with the scars to prove it, rode in the dexter van. At forty—five, he was ancient compared to most of his men, and left many of the more demanding tasks of his office to Sir Vulpes and Sir Ninian, his lieutenants. He raised his gauntleted fist and called out, “At the slow trot. Forward!”

  The Prince’s train began to move, his courtiers accommodating the pace of the escorting knights. Sholto and Purvis, the huntsmen who had first encountered Mother Barnaba at Windsor, rode immediately behind her, carrying hunting spears and crossbows—they had been charged with the task of protecting her, and they knew they were expected to do as Prince John enjoined them. Botolf was also assigned to guard her, but at night and when the party was settled for sleep. The rest of the courtiers followed by rank and precedence, even two women among their numbers. Most of them were wrapped in cloaks against the brisk wind that whistled among the trees and set the branches moaning together.

  The town of Windsor was soon left behind and the fastness of Sherwood Forest was entered. The Great North Road seemed little more than a game track among the trees. The jog—trot pace was kept up for a while, but slowed to a walk after the first bridge was crossed, The shifting shadows under the trees were colored an intense green, and made the travelers look as if they were moving through the depths of the ocean.

  At the Abbey of Saint Clodoaldus the Prince’s party stopped for their mid—day meal. The Abbot, a slender old man of pious reputation, received them with great courtesy, offering them pork as well as fish, and setting his novice monks to groom their horses.

  “You should reach the Fortress d’Eiss well before sundown,” Abbot Severn told Sir Olvan. “Merchants came through yesterday and said the way is clear.”

  “Very good,” said Sir Olvan. “We will continue on.”

  After the meal the Prince’s party mounted up and went on, reaching Fortress d’Eiss without incident, where the Marshal of the Fortress, Sir Beresford Wythe, welcomed them with courtesy and the most pom
p they could muster in the old, square, stone fortress. It occupied a high clearing, each of its four corners surmounted with a blunt tower, and as such, it had as much of a view of the Great North Road as was possible at any place other than town watch—towers. The fortress was manned by a force of sixty, who, with their families, lived within the walls and kept their stretch of the road clear of hazards.

  “They say it will rain tomorrow,” said Sir Beresford. “We have a wise woman who is usually right in such matters.”

  “Then we will plan to travel a shorter distance,” said Sir Olvan. “The Prince has ordered we are not to be in the forest and unprotected at night.”

  “An excellent precaution,” Sir Beresford approved. “We have been losing crofters of late, and no one can be assured of a safe-hold in villages and hamlets—especially the hamlets, for they lack churches.”

  Sir Olvan made a gesture of agreement. “Indeed,” he said.

  “As of yesterday, the road was clear to Pagett Saint Oswald,” Sir Beresford told Sir Olvan. “The abbey there is still said to be safe.”

  “I will keep that in mind. We can easily reach Pagett Saint Oswald by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Unless there are problems we cannot alter. In the dark of a rainy day—” Sir Beresford remarked.

  Sir Olvan nodded. “Yes. That is something to consider.”

  The two knights parted, each to attend to his duties for the evening, and did not meet again until they met at supper. Both were seated at the Prince’s table, on John’s right, along with Baron Lytton and Baron Courvier. There was ale in quantity, and roasted goat was served with ramps and cabbage cooked in cream. A juggler entertained them, tossing apples and daggers into the air with equal aplomb. By the time they retired, no one was inclined to discuss anything about the dangers in Sherwood.