Falconer's Prey

by April Hill

  “The Master says ye’re to give this one a good hiding,” Morton announced gleefully, shoving Alice forward into Mrs. Farnum’s thick, flour–covered arms. “An excellent good ’n, so’s she’ll learn a bit o’ manners. I give ’er a taste of it comin’ here, but ye’re the lucky one gits to do it proper.”

  The woman removed her apron and dusted the flour from her hands and arms. “As tho’ I’ve nuthin’ to do today but smack haughty young bums,” she grumbled. “This ’n will be a pleasure to take down a peg or two, though, I’ll give ye that. I’ll just have her over the table, there, if you would, Jack.”

  As Morton swept her under his arm and carried the screaming child the short distance to where the housekeeper stood, Mrs. Farnum cleared the wide wooden table top, shoving her pie–makings aside to make room for Alice’s squirming upper half. While Morton held the child face–down across the end of the table, the hefty cook rolled up her sleeves and reached across Alice’s squirming body to select an enormous, long handled wooden butter paddle.

  “That’s a mighty weapon ye’ve got there, Maud,” Morton exclaimed, grinning. “For such a small lass – and such a small ass.” He cackled at his own joke.

  “After six o’ my own, I know what’s needed, Jack, and this ’n’s been in need of a proper thumpin’ since she got here. I’ll do the job right, you mark my word on it. Now, young Mistress, we’ll just pull up that pretty tunic o’ your’n and get to it. You go on, now, Jack. It ain’t fittin’ for ye to be watchin’ a fine young lady get whipped – even if she’s due it. I’ll send her out when I’ve done, and I’ll warrant she’ll be a bit more mannerly.”

  Alice shrieked with rage and kicked with all her might as she felt her garments yanked up to her waist, but with Mrs. Farnum’s large palm firmly on the small of her back, she could do little more than squirm and squeal.

  “It’ll serve no purpose, ye wigglin’ like that,” Mrs. Farnum said, delivering a warning smack as she tucked Alice’s skirts out of her way. “Ye’ll make me miss the mark and strike something ye’ll like even less. Keep still, and we’ll get this done quick. Ye’re about to have yer bum roasted good, little lady, and there’s naught’ for it but to take it, and learn a thing or two. When it’s called for to spank a youngun, I believe in makin’ it a good ’un. Ye’ll never get a better ’un elsewhere, I promise ye. Ye’ll not be sittin’ for a day or so, and ye’ll sleep this night on yer stomach, I warrant, but it won’t kill ye. Holler as much as ye like. No one’ll pay mind to it. They’ve heard it before, and if ye stay around, it’s for certain they’ll hear it again. Now, get a good hold of the table edge.”

  The first blows that landed felt to Alice as close to the fires of hell as she ever hoped to come. Hellfire and brimstone could not have been worse, she confided to her amazed brother afterward. The wide paddle had barely cracked on the back of her shift before she was howling, as much from defeat and humiliation as pain. In Uncle Henry and the stout Mrs. Farnum, Alice had met her match.

  * * * * *

  Alice was in the midst of recalling other, more pleasant moments of her childhood at Burden Manor when Will Fletcher slipped back through the aperture in the wall, and whispered to her.

  “All is well, Mistress. Your uncle is waiting impatiently for you, so come along, and I’ll take you to him.”

  Inside, Alice flew into her beloved uncle’s arms with delight and for several minutes, wept with a mixture of pleasure and relief to see him again, safe and well. It had been years since they’d spoken, other than by surreptitious letter.

  “My God, what a beauty you’ve become!” Burden cried, swinging his sister’s only living child about in his arms. “The perfect likeness of your dear mother, I swear it! You’ve the same mass of amber curls and her green eyes! Do you sing, as she did?”

  Alice groaned. “No, Uncle, nor have I her sweet disposition or goodly patience. You need only ask Master Fletcher here, or perhaps the Abbess.”

  “The Sheriff obviously suspects that I had the major part in your escape from St. Mary’s,” Burden explained over an excellent supper. “But there was no actual proof, so when none could be found to speak against me, he could do nothing else but release me. I only wish that my own law motions to the Courts had been able to free you, sparing you this ordeal. You have sorely angered the Sheriff’s dear friend the Bishop, Alice, and in doing so, annoyed the Crown as well. I fear that until Richard returns, our appeals to the Court will fall on deaf ears. The only good news is that your step–mother has threatened to withdraw her support for the Abbey, after they were careless enough to misplace you, and appear unable to return you to the fold.”

  Alice laughed. “The good Abbess must be livid with rage! The last time I escaped, she vowed to dear Isobel that such a thing could never happen again. I was to be confined to the uppermost floor and watched every moment of the day.”

  Fletcher took a sip of wine and shook his head. “May I ask why your step–mother still wishes to keep you there, after so many years? Surely she must know by now that you will never be a nun. Even the Bishop cannot force a young woman of legal age into remaining in a convent against her will.”

  “But I am mad, you see,” Alice explained cheerfully.

  Fletcher raised an eyebrow. “Mad?”

  “Slow–witted, I believe is the precise term used and subject to fits of madness. It is even said that I foam at the mouth and speak in tongues. When it became clear that I would never take my vows, it was discovered, conveniently, that I had somehow become a dangerous lunatic,” she said sweetly. “They came to this conclusion after I was accused of attempting to poison the Abbess.”

  “Did you?” Fletcher inquired, already quite certain of the answer to his question.

  Alice smiled impishly. “She became violently ill after consuming a portion of mutton I had prepared, that much was true. She retched for days on end. It was a dreadful thing to watch. I explained to them that I was as poor a cook as I was a nun, but my explanation seemed insufficient. Then, of course, there was the small matter of the pears.”

  “The pears?”

  “The poor woman became terribly ill yet again after eating some pears I had picked for her, and near died of the bloody flux.”

  “And no one else eating pears was stricken?” her uncle asked.

  “Only the Lord Bishop himself, which was a bit odd, I suppose,” Alice said innocently, “since we had all stuffed ourselves with pears that day. Unusually delicious pears they were, as I remember.”

  Burden was not amused. “All very well, but your recklessness has put you in greater peril than you may imagine, child. Even now, the Bishop is spreading false tales of the brazen theft of a chest of jewels and….”

  Fletcher suddenly choked on a bit of bread and when he went into a brief fit of coughing, Alice leaned across the table to refill his wine goblet.

  “Which is why I must get to London, Uncle,” she said quickly, “and out of the reach of the Sheriff and the Bishop.”

  “You are naive to believe that even that distance will make you safe,” her uncle warned.

  “But I have loyal friends there, who have offered me shelter and security,” Alice persisted.

  “I know nothing of these so–called friends, Alice,” Burden said doubtfully. “Who they are and where on earth could you have met them?”

  “You must trust me, uncle, I beg you. In London, I will be safe. I know now that it would be unwise for you to make such a journey, with the Sheriff’s eye always upon you, as it is. I ask only a small loan for the journey, and your trust that I will repay you when I am able.”

  “Nonsense!” Burden exclaimed, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You’re welcome to everything I have, as you have always been. But you are my only family, child! How can you believe for even one moment that I would allow you to undertake such a venture without my protection?”

  Fletcher shook his head. “I don’t wish to disagree with a man at his own table, my friend, but in this instan
ce, your niece is right. You are watched, and aside from your own well–being, Robin would be sorely peeved to see a good supporter of his cause like yourself thrown back into jail, or worse. If the lady insists on making this journey, I am at your disposal, as her escort. Robin would have nothing else, were he present at this discussion. It will be but a poor return for your past kindness.”

  “I cannot allow that, Will,” Burden protested. “The danger for you is no less than for me, and Alice is clearly my responsibility.”

  “The lady and I have come this far together in safety,” Will said. “Unlike Robin’s, my own handsome face is not on every tree and post in Lincolnshire, with a handsome bounty attached to it. I have already expressed to your determined niece my disapproval of her plans, but as you may be aware, she does not always heed good advice. Still, she and I have reached what might be called an… understanding. If the journey is required for her ultimate safety, then I am quite possibly the best choice as an escort. Do you not agree, Mistress Johnstone?”

  “Have I a choice?” Alice grumbled.

  “You do not,” Burden said firmly. “And if Will, here, is prepared to risk his life and freedom in your service, I would ask you to be more appreciative of his offer! Perhaps you do not know the significance of the scars he bears on his neck, and the limp he gained from the torturers below Nottingham Castle?”

  Alice looked again at the curious parallel scars on either side of Fletcher’s neck that she had noticed the first time she met him that were usually concealed beneath his collar.

  “The man was once tortured and then nearly hanged by the would–be usurper, Prince John,” Burden explained angrily. “Did Will not tell you of that?”

  Alice flushed. “No,” she said softly. “I knew nothing of….”

  “It was several years ago,” Fletcher said quickly, “and of no consequence now. Many others were not as lucky as I, and died on the gibbet that day.”

  “What had you done?” Alice asked.

  “Done?” Henry Burden cried. “They had done nothing but express their loyalty to King Richard!”

  Fletcher chuckled. “Well, as Mistress Alice once so ably put it, ‘there was the small matter of the missing coffers.’”

  “Coffers?” she repeated.

  “A number of John’s tax collectors briefly disappeared,” Burden explained, “fourteen in all, along with a like number of recently filled tax coffers. Most of the tax collectors returned home safely, albeit covered in pitch and chicken feathers, but the fat tax coffers, alas, were never seen again. Had Robin not appeared that morning with his merry band to disrupt the festivities, and cut me down, I would have died a much younger man, I’m afraid.” He smiled. “I’ve been with him, ever since.”

  Burden sighed. “It will be a great day for all of us when Richard returns home to the throne. Would it be blasphemous of me to say ‘damn the blasted Crusades’?”

  Fletcher grinned. “If so, there’s a good many blasphemers about, my friend, more than one at this table alone.” He lifted his goblet. “A toast to the Lionheart, and to his quick return to our shores!”

  Burden and Alice lifted their glasses.

  “I have a bit of pleasant news, Will,” Burden remarked, “though I wish Robin could be here, as well. The Lady Marian arrives here in two days for a short visit. I’ve planned a small dinner in her honor.”

  “Marian, here?” Will exclaimed. “It’s been eight months since I saw her last! Robin was with her but a month past, though… in the south.”

  “Yes,” Burden agreed. “She had just returned from France. Some sort of errand, she explained to me.”

  “She saw Richard?”

  “No. Nor was she able to see him the last time, when he was off somewhere in Cyprus, slaughtering Cypriots, presumably. It’s said that his confinement isn’t harsh, though. She was hoping to obtain a writ from him, putting an end to Guy of Gisbourne’s continual hounding.”

  Burden explained. “The Lady Marian’s family, like many here in Lincolnshire, has been brought low by Prince John’s loathsome policies. As heir to her father’s land, Marian is wealthy in her own right, which has made her the unwilling object of affection of the Sheriff’s rotten cousin, Sir Guy of Gisbourne. Thus far, she’s managed to evade a coerced betrothal to him, using nothing but her wits and cunning. Marian and Richard are distant cousins, and she’s a favorite of Queen Eleanor, so neither the Sheriff, nor even John can, or will, arrest her, unless they wish to risk Richard’s wrath.”

  “But, on what authority could he force an unwanted marriage on a noblewoman?” Alice asked.

  “It’s not merely the marriage to Gisbourne that annoys them,” Burden said. “Marian and Robin of Locksley were childhood friends, and it’s rumored they’ve become a good deal more than that over the years.” He smiled. “She’s a woman with her own mind, my dear, and like others at this table, she’s been known to keep dangerous friends. The two of you will no doubt have much in common.”

  Burden yawned, and slapped the tabletop.

  “To bed with you now, Alice! It is late, and tomorrow we must talk and plan, and you must help me prepare for our guests! Will, you have messages from Robin for me, do you not?”

  “I do, sir. There are things afoot now that spring is here, with which we will need assistance.”

  “Good! It has been a long, hard winter, and a man grows bored. Time again to collect a few ‘taxes,’ is it not?”

  Fletcher lifted his glass. “It is, indeed!”

  Chapter the Seventh

  At Burden Manor, On The Third of April, in The Year of Our Lord 1193. May God Preserve Good King Richard!

  Alice slept very little that night, thinking about what was ahead. Soon, when the visit with Uncle Henry was concluded, Will Fletcher would see her to London. Between that time and now, though, there was much to be done and sensitive matters to be arranged – none of which would be easily accomplished. But when the difficulties were over, she would have in her life the happiness that had eluded for all these years since her mother died and Father remarried.

  In the darkness, Alice smiled. Barely forty miles north of London, in the place they had prearranged, Geoffrey was waiting for her. Geoffrey, who had appeared almost magically in her life, with his soft voice, strong arms, and dark, flashing eyes – in answer to her prayers, and to fulfill her dreams of love deep and everlasting.

  Money was the problem, now, of course. Money was always the problem, or so it seemed. Somehow, she must convince Uncle Henry to give her a large amount of money. He was anything but a stingy man, as she well knew, but he would want to know things – things that she couldn’t yet divulge, Geoffrey had explained when he first swore her to secrecy. Once they were safely in France, he had assured her, settled at his vast estate, all would be well. His baronial lands were inherited and extensive, passed down through generations of baronial knights of the Reynaud family. She would never again be poor, or at the mercy of the Bishop of Hereford and the avaricious step–mother who now held exclusive control over her father’s property.

  Secrecy was the key, as Geoffrey had emphasized many times. Sadly, there were secrets that must be withheld from Uncle Henry, and now, even more importantly, secrets that must be withheld from the watchful, always wary eye of Will Fletcher.

  In the privacy of her bedroom, Alice searched through her bags and dumped the contents of the small pouch onto the draped and canopied bed where she had slept so often as a child. The jewels that tumbled from the bag onto the velvet counterpane had never failed to dazzle her untrained eye with their brilliance. It had been no easy matter to steal them, and she was still impressed with her own larceny in making off with them under the fat Bishop’s stupid nose.

  It was a fortune in jewels, most of the items from the small metal box the Bishop had hidden – with gross irreverence, she thought – under a loose stone beneath the high altar. To Alice’s way of thinking, using a holy sanctuary for such a vile purpose added yet another intolerable si
n to the Bishop’s very long list of sins. A list she would take pleasure in bringing to the attention of even the Pope in Rome, comfortably certain that he would concur in her judgment.

  It was this list of clerical misdeeds that allowed Alice to regard her theft of the Bishop’s jewelry as morally justified. The information had been inadvertently passed on to her by one of the Bishop’s embittered cast–off mistresses. Infuriated by having been replaced in the Bishop’s affections by a younger woman, the rejected mistress had set everything she knew of the Bishop’s crimes on paper and hidden the document beneath a small painting of Saint Someone or Other, where it was discovered by Alice as she dusted the room. Being regarded quite widely as a hopeless lunatic had been a great boon to Alice’s snooping, since no one paid undue attention to her comings and goings on those rare days when she was allowed out of her room to help the overburdened housekeeper.

  Even Geoffrey knew nothing of the theft of the Bishop’s jewelry. She was a bit nervous that as such a devout believer, he might well think less of her for such an act of pure greed. But if Alice had learned anything in her stay at St. Mary’s, it was to take the practical outlook on things, as opposed to the pious.

  The Bishop’s ring of office, of course, was immensely valuable, with a ruby the size of her thumb, and many smaller diamonds around it. There was a sort of heavy wrought–gold necklace encrusted with large pearls and small sapphires and one great, square emerald – another gift, like the ring, from Prince John himself. Several other pieces were smaller, but no less replete with gleaming gems. There were a great many coins in the pouch, of course – most taken directly from the Bishop’s strongbox, but a few had been added at Robin Hood’s camp. These she felt badly about, but there was no time to sort and return them now, and her need was great.

  The jewelry, of course, was of little worth to her as it was. Only someone who knew about such things could get a proper price from them. She was hoping that Geoffrey could find someone in London to handle the jewelry – once she had properly explained her crime to him, and gained his understanding and forgiveness for her unfortunate moral lapse. What she needed at this moment was the gold sovereigns – exchangeable for lodging and meals and new clothing, for the passage to France, and for all the many things she and Geoffrey would need on their long journey.