“It is sufficient for them to fight well and put an end to this. I don’t suppose that the men are here for their own glory, but for the deliverance of Sherwood. The dignity of the Crown depends upon it.” Sir Humphrey put his hand on Upton’s shoulder. “I’ll do all that I can to make sure my men are worthy of your soldiers. This fortress will determine who rules in Sherwood, and we must persevere.”
“Tell our soldiers that and I will think us fortunate.” Upton went ahead of Sir Humphrey into the guardhouse at the mid-point of the battlements. “As you see, we have many arrows and a good supply of wooden quarrels for the crossbows.”
“If the vampires get close enough to need the crossbows,” said Sir Humphrey, adding a bit of a swagger to his walk.
“Do you think they will not?” Upton sounded somber.
“I pray they will not,” said Sir Humphrey in the same solemn voice.
Upton stared out toward the doorway onto the northern battlements, his visage severe. “I think we must prepare for fighting to the limits of our strength.”
“From what I have seen, that may be wise,” Sir Humphrey allowed, and gave a signal. “My men will be ready.”
“And mine,” said Upton. “This is their home and it is fitting that they defend it to the last breath.”
They started down the narrow, twisting stairs to the main courtyard, Sir Humphrey walking behind Upton. “This is a fine location, and this fortress is made to withstand every kind of assault except trebuchet.”
“Vampires don’t have such formidable war machines; we have what we need to fight them, I think. Pikes and wooden arrows and halberds should be sufficient.” Upton pointed to the stack of pikes waiting by the door.
“They may not have trebuchets or balistas, but those who do are not like the fiends who are going to come into this fortress. These followers of Hood are sufficiently powerful to face any army and bring it to ruin.” Sir Humphrey picked up one of the pikes and gave it an experimental swipe at the air.
The sound of this lethal swish brought Sir Maynard out from the arming post near the stockpile of weapons. He had donned a mail shirt and coif, but had not yet put on a helmet. A sword hung from his girdle and he carried a battle-axe on a thong looped around his wrist. He no longer looked like a zany wanderer of the forest, but like the old Crusader he was. “Sir Humphrey, Upton, I didn’t realize it was you.”
“I didn’t see you there, Sir Maynard,” said Upton when he had mastered his shock at this sudden appearance.
“I was preparing to go on duty,” Sir Maynard went on. “It is nearly dusk—time I stood my post.”
“And where are you assigned?” asked Sir Humphrey to cover his moment of near-panic.
“I am to guard the door outside the keep that leads to the lower levels, in case Hood should send some of his men to attack from beneath.” He hefted his battle-axe. “Vampires cannot stand against this, I think.” There was a sinister light in his eyes, and he thumbed he blade of his axe as if to emphasize his intent.
“No, probably not,” said Upton, and motioned Sir Humphrey to follow him out into the courtyard where the men of the fortress were marshaling, preparing to take their positions.
“The men look ready,” said Sir Humphrey.
“Tell me what you plan to do,” said Upton. “Your men are under orders, but you haven’t said where you plan to be.”
“I am putting myself to Mother Barnaba’s service. She is going to need some help. She may send me to the battlements, but I want her to have the option of my protection.” Sir Humphrey was deliberately vague, having no good notion himself of what she would want of him.
“Do you think the Prince can truly help us to fight these fell beings?” Upton asked abruptly.
“I think he is a most knowledgeable lord, and he has much he can do through his learning that you and I may only guess at.” Which was as loyal a way as he could say that he had no idea what the Prince could or would do.
“Do you think Hood will try for deSteny?” Upton asked as they reached the main door of the bailey. Upton opened it for them.
“It would be like him,” said Sir Humphrey. “Particularly if he doesn’t know the Sheriff is dying.”
“Are you sure he is dying?” Upton asked, hoping Sir Humphrey would allay his own fears. They were in the wide corridor that led to the Great Hall and darkness closed around them, alleviated by torchlight near the entrance to the Great Hall.
“DeSteny knows it,” said Sir Humphrey. “I must suppose that there are several in Cannock-Norton who suspect it.”
“So what shall you do if Hood finds him?” Upton looked over his shoulder as if wondering if they were being heard.
“Kill him, if I can. Sir Maynard will have an opportunity if I should fail.” Sir Humphrey achieved a vulpine smile that changed his pleasant features to an expression that was disturbing. “I am prepared to do all that I must to end Hood’s reign in the forest.”
“May you succeed,” said Upton, preparing to continue his rounds. He nodded to Sir Humphrey. “I will see you at Mass after dawn.”
“So I hope,” said Sir Humphrey, going along the corridor. He was looking for Mother Barnaba, who would shortly help deSteny to the little arming room near the tunnel entrance two floors below the Great Hall.
There were six pages in the Great Hall, each youth trying to look brave but all obviously scared. One of them started toward Sir Humphrey, saying as pluckily as he could, “I am told to take you to the old Prioress.”
“Very good,” said Sir Humphrey. “Are all of you assigned a duty tonight?”
“I believe so,” said the youngest, a boy of six or seven.
“Then the sooner you are about them, the sooner you will lose your fear.” He knew this wasn’t so, but that the longer they were inactive, the more frightened they would become.
“Yes, Sir Humphrey,” said another of the lads, and started away from his companions. “Let’s be about it.”
The group of pages broke apart and the youngsters scurried off in several directions, some of them more enthusiastically than others, leaving Sir Humphrey with his escort.
“Come with me,” said the page. “Mother Barnaba is with deSteny, and she would like your help in taking him down to his—” The page said nothing more, he went to the stairs to the gallery. “If you’ll come with me.”
Sir Humphrey went with the page up the stairs and along the narrow gallery to the room that had been given to the Sheriff, where he found Mother Barnaba, trying to lever deSteny out of his bed.
“Sir Humphrey. Thank you for coming,” Mother Barnaba said. “As you see, the Sheriff can use our help.”
Sir Humphrey was taken aback at how deSteny had failed in a single afternoon: his skin was pale but with reddish patches on his face and neck. His breathing was labored; he shuddered as he rose, as if his legs could not fully support him. “Sheriff,” he said.
“Oh, I know, Sir Humphrey. I know. The arrow is doing its damage. Hood will be pleased. But perhaps I may still help to end his tyranny.” He coughed, bending almost double from pain.
Sir Humphrey did his best to rally deSteny. “Do not despair. You may yet be restored to health and strength. You may return to Nottingham to be part of our triumph, which surely we will have.”
“It is good of you to think so,” said deSteny, allowing Sir Humphrey to lever his shoulder under his arm to help him leave the chamber. He made no indication of the agony this caused, maintaining the semblance of composure as he adjusted his stance so that he could move. “I think we can manage now,” he said as he felt clammy sweat slick his body. Very slowly they made their way to the rear stairs and down to the main floor, then shuffled across the floor toward the corridors to the lower levels.
“How are you—?” Sir Humphrey ventured, hearing how unevenly the Sheriff was breat
hing.
“I can go on in a little while. If you will permit me a moment to recruit myself?” They paused at the top of the lower stairs while deSteny summoned up his small reserves of energy, then continued down toward the arming room on the lower level of the bailey and into the arming room where a cot covered in three rough woolen blankets waited. An oil lamp provided a little wavering light, but if this inconvenienced deSteny, he said nothing of it, letting Sir Humphrey lower him onto the cot and draw the blankets over him.
“Mother Barnaba will be here shortly,” Sir Humphrey said, devoutly hoping it was so.
“She’ll be welcome,” said deSteny faintly.
Sir Humphrey went to stand in the door. “Do you know where she has gone?”
“She’s gone to Father Nevill at the chapel,” deSteny answered, and added by way of explanation, “He has something for her.”
What Prince John Did
IN THE FADING light of day, Prince John went to perform a ritual bath, washing himself in all the ways the ancient text described, and then dried himself on a sheet of virgin linen. That done, he anointed his body with holy oil, and then donned a robe of red silk, tied back his damp hair with a silken ribbon, then went to deSteny’s study, where Simon waited for him.
“What is this you are doing tonight?” Simon asked, trying to equate these preparations with rites in the books he had provided.
Prince John very nearly smiled. “I found something in Brother Tancred’s little book. I read it long into the night last night, and almost all the day. It is in the last part of the text.” He picked up the volume and opened it to a marked page near the end. “Here. Read this. ‘Elemental and Diverse Spirits of Nature.’ ” He handed the book to Simon before kneeling to begin reciting the Eighty-Eighth Psalm in sonorous Latin cadences.
Obediently Simon studied the page, his face set in concentration. “ ‘Among the beings created by God in the Beginning are the Elementals, spirits of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water, who are neither damned nor blessed, but only manifestations of the presence of God and His Power in the World. These spirits may be called upon to do good or ill, or may act upon their own impetus to demonstrate their presence. Such Elementals are found everywhere, in Christian lands and others, and are indifferent to Grace. They have been part of the natural world since Eden and they continue to be present in the world today, where they are given to displays of might. Some of these Elementals are more active than others, and thus are readily identified. Some are more subtle and are perceived only by those whose senses are tuned to their presence. They answer to sorcerers, popes, demons, and angels, and they bear no sin for any act they may commit, for they are untainted by Adam’s Fall. Those who encounter Elementals are sometimes deceived by them, and imagine that God or His Angels, or one of the Princes of Hell has visited, but such is not the case, for no blessing or curse accrues from the Elementals but what Man brings on himself.’ ” He nodded. “The works I have provided you have said much the same thing.”
Prince John did not interrupt his Psalm, but nodded to show he heard and concurred.
Simon read on. “ ‘Another spirit of nature from the time of Man’s innocency we may call the genius loci, the embodied spirit of the place. In most parts of the world, there are four of these for each quarter of the year: a genius loci for the quickening quarter-year, whose image is the Wolf; the genius loci for the fecund quarter-year, whose image is the Bear; the genius loci for the bountiful quarter-year, whose image is the Hart; and the dying quarter-year, whose image is the Boar. In all places and climes, these spirits are present, and may be invoked. It may be that before Man’s Salvation these spirits seemed as gods to the heathen who lived by their place and the seasons. All these spirits of place are part of God’s Plan, for they uphold what God has decreed. Diabolical interruption of their mission is always a great burden for these spirits, as it robs them of the force God provided them, and lessens their purpose, which is one of the few ways they can be bereft of the function God has given them.’ ” There followed specific instructions for summoning such a nature spirit, and Simon saw that this was what Prince John was determined to do. “Are you sure this is wise?”
“I must suppose that the genius loci of Sherwood in the dying quarter-year is not much pleased with what Hood and his men have done,” Prince John said as he concluded the Psalm.
“The spirit of the place,” Simon mused. “It is not what I would have expected, but it is worth a try.”
“Does it bother you?” Prince John asked. “Is the idea so strange?”
“Not strange as much as unfamiliar. I haven’t encountered much on such matters in the books my family has collected. But such manifestations are part of our teaching, and so I am not adverse to attempting to bring such power forth.” He held out Brother Tancred’s book to Prince John. “What must you do now?”
Prince John pointed to a number of small branches in the corner of the room. “I must make a place for the genius loci to come,” he said, and went to bring three of the branches—of oak, of beech, and of yew—to the center of the study; they were nearly bare of leaves, but for the yew bough, which was still green. With great care he placed the branches so that they enclosed a small triangular place in the middle of the floor. Then he brought the other four, somewhat longer branches—oak again, larch, hawthorn, and ash—and surrounded the triangle with a square, oak to the east, ash to the west, larch to the south and hawthorn to the north. “This represents the forest and the seasons. We must stand on the west side, for the dying quarter-year is of the west, and it is the present genius loci that we must address, for only he is abroad in the forest now.” He motioned to Simon to stand at a point slightly behind him, near one of the hanging oil lamps. “There is an invocation on the next page. We should recite it together. Read it along with me.” The lamp light made the silk of his robe glow, so that he stood like a flame at the head of the carefully laid branches. “When you reach the name of the place of the genius loci, say Sherwood Forest.”
Simon turned the page and looked at the text. “Do you know the words?”
“I memorized them earlier today,” said Prince John, and lifted up his hands, palms turned up toward the branches on the floor, and began. “O You, who reign from the Autumnal Equinox to the Winter Solstice, and whose time in this place is now, come forth to hear my supplication. O You, who are the spirit of Sherwood Forest in the west, bring your wisdom and your strength, and give voice to your existence.” He fell silent, and glanced over his shoulder at Simon.
“Is something supposed to happen?” Simon asked, reading ahead in the book.
Prince John pulled three hairs from his short beard and tossed them into the branches, then resumed his stance. “There is more to say: O You, I invoke you. I ask you to appear, in this, your place. I seek you, I summon you, I invite you to enter your place, for the sake of your place and your spirit.”
This time when the two men fell silent, the branches whispered together, as if a wind strummed them. The fire on the hearth blazed up, then diminished to a ruddy glow.
Emboldened, Prince John lifted his hands above his head, palms toward the branches, and exclaimed, “O You, Great Boar of Sherwood Forest in the dying quarter-year, answer my cry and be present.”
There inside the triangle-within-square stood a burly man in barbarian skins, his broad chest half-covered in the pelts of many foxes. His arms were thick with muscles, and his legs were stout as tree-trunks, banded with broad leather straps from his old-fashioned shoes on large, squarish feet, and were it not for the green-brown shade of his skin, he might have seemed to be like many woodmen. But his head made any such possibility inconceivable, for it was the massive, tusked head of a wild boar. “You summoned me, O Man,” he said in a hoarse, deep voice that no human could ever produce.
Simon almost dropped Brother Tancred’s book. He yelped, but he swallowed any other excla
mation he might have been tempted to make.
“O You, I thank you for coming in answer to my convening.” Prince John was unfazed by the astonishing being standing amid the branches.
“Why did you summon me, O Man?” intoned the Boar.
“For the sake of Sherwood Forest,” said Prince John. “For the sake of your place.”
“What of Sherwood?” the Boar inquired in a low rumble.
“Sherwood has become home to a great evil, one that threatens to harm it,” said Prince John, clearly having prepared himself for this encounter. “O You, who are the spirit of Sherwood in this season and the west, you must desire to protect the forest.”
“All four of us are aware that there is trouble in the forest,” said the Boar. “And it has been worsening steadily.”
“That it has,” said Prince John, and returned to what he had rehearsed. “The character of Sherwood is changing, and if it becomes a permanent haven to Hood and his band, then it will no longer support you, nor you it.”
The Boar nodded his ponderous head. “All four of us know this.”
“O You, who reign here now, I beseech you to help the men who have undertaken to rid Sherwood of Hood and his followers, beings whose evil contaminates the forest and defiles all that lives within it,” said Prince John. His hands were beginning to quiver, but whether from the effort of holding them in the required position or from the excitement of the moment, not even he could determine. “We have sought out the Old Ones, and they may assist us, if they are minded to summon the strength for such conflict. But if you will join with us, and them, then Hood’s band will not be able to stand against us. They must fail, and Sherwood once again be what it was.”
“You have sent soldiers into the forest before, and to no avail. It was not the first time such an attempt was made,” the Boar said. “The Hart told me on the day he released Sherwood to me. Since that time, you have fought but things are only growing worse, in spite of your efforts.”
Trouble in the Forest Book Two Page 26
