Trouble in the Forest Book One: A Cold Summer Night

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “A difficult situation,” called Marian, still ironically amused by their predicament. “Do you suppose the shrine is anything more than a little niche with a statue in it?”

  DeSteny didn’t answer. He was beginning to worry about the attention they were drawing to themselves by all this yelling back and forth. The most dangerous inhabitants of the forest did not usually move about in the day, but with the sky so dark, it was possible they might now be abroad, and the noise his party was making would bring the night-hunters running. He motioned for silence, and pointed along the road, indicating a downward turn in its angle.

  Ackerley began to sing, coughing and sputtering with every breath. “Western wind, when wilt thou blow, That the slow rain down may rain? Christ, that my love were in my arms, And I in my bed again!” The plaintive words became ugly and frightening as Ackerley’s voice harshened and his breath became so short that he often required two or three to get through a single word of the song; there was no satisfaction, no yearning in the plaintive tune, only a kind of rough determination that turned the lament into a demand. For a while only that ragged singing and the sound of their horses’ hooves marked their progress, and finally Ackerley could do nothing but cough.

  At last they reached the shrine to Saint Christopher, and deSteny signaled for the turn to the abbey. He called back, “Hearne. We are about to leave the road.”

  “Very good,” came the answer from farther back than deSteny had expected. Apparently Hearne and Marian had fallen a greater distance behind.

  “We’ll come back to the shrine,” deSteny said. “As quickly as we may. Wait for us at the shrine or near to it.”

  “By mid-day?” Hearne called, repeating his question when deSteny could not hear him clearly.

  It was a troubling notion that they were still in the second half of the morning, but deSteny realized it was so. “I hope so. Not much later, in any case. You and Lady Marian keep sheltered while we’re gone.”

  “Very good,” Hearne repeated.

  DeSteny waved, although he could not see Hearne, and then swung his dun off the road and onto the lane that led toward the Abbey of the Holy Sacraments.

  * * *

  “Looks sturdy enough,” said Meaghar as they emerged from the cover of the trees.

  Coming up to the stone-walled abbey, deSteny called out for Abbot Harold and his monks. “We have a sick man in need of succor.”

  A monk appeared in the warder-door and looked at the bedraggled men. “And who might you be?”

  “I am Hugh deSteny, Sheriff of Nottingham, and I am bound north on the order of Sir Gui deGisbourne,” was his stiff answer. “One of my men has taken a fever and cannot travel any further without doing himself greater injury. We were told that you would take him in and nurse him, so we have brought him here.”

  “Um,” said the monk, and ducked back inside the wall, and a moment later the abbot himself entered the warder-door and greeted the travelers.

  “You have brought one of your men to us for care in his illness?” His voice was high and hoarse from years of shouting.

  “Someone must care for him,” said deSteny pointedly. “I hope you will be good enough to take him in.”

  “We will do what we can for him,” said Abbot Harold. “Can you get him off his horse, or do you require our help?”

  Feeling relief for the first time, deSteny answered, “We can manage, good Abbot.” He signaled his men to dismount. “Canute, help Meaghar bring Ackerley down, will you?”

  “I will,” said Canute, stepping up to hold Ackerley’s reins while Meaghar prepared to grab Ackerley as he fell off his saddle. The scrape of metal on metal and a number of half-uttered oaths marked their progress, made more difficult by the rain that soaked their garments and made their mail slippery. Finally Meaghar levered his shoulder under Ackerley’s arm and helped him to stand.

  “My monks will take him now, and we will do all that we know for his body and we will pray for his soul,” said the abbot, swinging the warder-door all the way open, allowing three friars to come out to take charge of Ackerley. “Choose one of your men to remain with him, Sheriff, so that he may have the escort of a comrade as far as the grave, should it come to that,” he added as the monks took Ackerley, supporting him among them, and assisting him to walk. “He will need someone to accompany him if he recovers, and someone to bring his things back to his family if he does not.”

  “Canute?” deSteny suggested.

  “I will stay,” said Meaghar before Canute could obey. “Go along, Sheriff. Sir Gui is waiting, and the rain is getting worse.” He took the reins of his horse and Ackerley’s and started toward the abbey gates.

  DeSteny stopped him. “When you come north, with Ackerley or alone, travel with others. You should not make your way alone on the road, and if Ackerley lives, he will be weak and of little use in a fight. You must not depend upon him to hold his own against outlaws, or worse than outlaws. Wait for a train of merchants or a company of scholars and stay with them.”

  “You are a prudent man, Sheriff,” the abbot approved. “You show concern for your men.”

  “As you must for yours,” deSteny said, and waited for Meaghar’s casual salute before swinging his dun around. “Thank you, Abbot Harold,” he called over his shoulder as his men fell in behind him.

  “It is God Whom you should thank,” said the abbot as the small company of soldiers departed. He saw the gates open to admit Meaghar and the two horses. “Welcome, soldier, to the Abbey of the Holy Sacraments.”

  Meaghar accepted the blessing of the monks with proper humility, and then asked directions to the stable. “I will make my bed there, and care for the horses and tack.”

  “That is fitting. I will give you daily report on this man’s ailments. You can be of service to us,” said the abbot, and gave his attention to Ackerley.

  In a very short time deSteny couldn’t see the abbey walls behind him, for the trees and rain screened them from view. Knowing he had done all that he could for Ackerley, he turned his thoughts to making up the time they had lost, all the while admitting to himself that in such weather it would not be possible. As he neared the shrine, he called out “Hearne!” and waited for a reply.

  At first there was nothing, and then there came a cry from a great distance. “Here!”

  “Where?” DeSteny raised his voice.

  The answer took longer and was fainter when it came. “Here!”

  “Where? Ahead on the road? Behind?” He was shouting as loudly as possible now, and his throat ached with the effort.

  “Here!” The shout seemed farther off than before. It echoed among the trees, confusing the direction it came from.

  DeSteny felt the first twinges of alarm. “Canute, you and Byrle go back along the road for a league. Call out regularly. Sprague, you and Delwin ride ahead on the road at least a league, and you call out, as well. If you should happen upon any travelers, ask if they have seen a young woman on horseback—not that I think she is still on the road, but the effort must be made. I will remain here and conduct a search of the woods immediately around us.” He dismounted and secured his dun’s reins to the edge of the shrine, and signaled to the others to move out.

  “Was that voice Hearne’s?” Byrle asked nervously.

  “It must have been,” said Canute, and kicked his horse to a trot, forcing Byrle to follow him.

  “But what can have happened?” Byrle insisted.

  The question lingered in deSteny’s mind—he could not be certain he had heard Hearne in that far-away cry. He stepped off the road and into the underbrush, frightening a red fox that bolted from his hiding place and hurried across the road, its ears a-prick. It seemed an ominous harbinger to DeSteny as he circled the shrine, widening his track with each pass. All he found was Marian’s hood lying, muddied and wet, in a small puddle near an out-cropping of rocks. He took t
his and made his way back to his horse, already certain that Hearne and Marian deBeauchamp were not going to be found.

  How Penrod Lugenis was Rewarded for his Prize

  THE SMALL party of Hood’s men got Marian deBeauchamp off her horse as soon as they were sure they were beyond deSteny’s search. Hearne they left in a copse of hawthorn, his arms tied and his dazed eyes wet with rain.

  “I’d prefer to ride,” she said coolly, determined to show no fear to this company of rough-clad men.

  “Not much longer, you wouldn’t,” said Piers. “You don’t know what the deep forest is like. Horses are too big, blundering about worse than bears.” He looked to his three comrades for signs of agreement.

  Penrod Lugenis laughed. “He’s right. We go on foot because the undergrowth is thick. Upon occasion, we take to the trees and use them as our pathways.”

  Marian studied him. “You speak well, and you’re clearly an educated man. How do you come to be in such company as this?”

  “It is not of my choosing, my Lady,” said Penrod Lugenis. “But once I became one of their number, what option did I have, but to live as they do? Your soldier will discover the same.”

  “Is that what I am to expect?” she asked with a catch in her throat.

  “No, it is not,” said Penrod Lugenis. “I do not know what Hood will decide about you, but his is the only decision.” He drew in her horse and held the reins. “If you will dismount?”

  “So you can kill my horse?” she challenged.

  “No. It has little value to us, or we should find game in plenty to sustain us in the forest, and only the creatures would know we are here.”

  “Then what will become of him?” she asked, reluctantly climbing out of the saddle.

  “If he is fortunate, a traveler will find him, if he is not, a crofter or a monk will.” Penrod Lugenis shrugged. “In any case, it is still summer, and he need not fear wolves, or other hungry hunters.”

  Marian lifted her head. “He is a good horse.”

  “Then may he find a worthy master,” said Penrod Lugenis as he removed the reins from the bridle and signaled to Piers to take the saddle off. “He will do well enough.”

  Piers dumped the saddle next to the trail without any regard for its structure. “Done,” he announced.

  “Very good,” said Penrod Lugenis, and slapped the gelding on the rump, then swung his arm to send him trotting away. “He may have a hungry night, but he will not wander long.” He studied Marian deBeauchamp for a short while. “Best to worry about yourself, not the horse.”

  She strove to look indifferent to her fate. “I assume you will hold me for ransom.”

  “Ransom!” Penrod Lugenis laughed, and, after a moment, the three of Hood’s men with him laughed as well. “Why should you be held for ransom?”

  “Well, my uncle would pay to have me restored,” she said, not convinced of this herself, “and my affianced husband would give a lot for me, as well.”

  “What good is money to us?” Piers asked, sudden menace in his manner.

  “You must have something you want,” she said, trying to maintain a detached attitude. “I am sure you could ask for it.”

  “What we want we take,” said Orlan Royce, and licked his lips.

  “If any harm should come to me, no ransom will be paid,” Marian said quickly.

  “You will not believe that we seek no ransom,” said Penrod Lugenis. “And what we want is not what you fear, although you should.”

  Piers clapped his hands once. “Can we not sample her? Just a taste?”

  “If you want to answer to Hood, taste away,” said Penrod Lugenis. “You tell me what you expect he will do when he learns of your theft.”

  The fourth member of the small group of vampires, Clemence, shook his head. “We should all be drained and stuffed with hawthorn and buried face-down at a cross-road.”

  The other three nodded solemnly, and Piers said, “But I am still thirsting.”

  “You had your share of her guard,” said Penrod Lugenis, and turned, starting away from the others.

  “I would have thought you would tie me,” said Marian.

  “Why? Where would you go? We are now more than a league from the nearest road, and you do not know which way to travel.” Penrod Lugenis gave her a long, considering stare. “I don’t think you’re a foolish woman, to willfully be lost in the forest, which you will be if you do not stay with us.”

  “But surely there is a monastery near by, and crofts,” she said, her courage faltering.

  “Of course there are,” said Penrod Lugenis. “And if you know precisely where they are, you might be able to find them, but as you don’t, you could wander for days, and not find anything more than trees and bushes.”

  Marian folded her arms, wishing now that they had let her keep her cloak. “If I thought I could find—”

  “But you can’t,” Piers finished for her. “Come along. We want to reach the camp before nightfall.”

  They moved off through the forest on trails so narrow and poorly marked that they might have been nothing more than scratches in the ground. They avoided streams, and when they could not, they crossed on stone bridges, for anything less substantial seemed to cause the four vampires acute distress. Marian did her best to keep this in mind as she continued on with them, through the thickening shadows and the fading light of afternoon.

  It was sunset by the time they reached the glade where Hood’s men kept their camp. A fire had been lit in the main pit, more for illumination than heat, and it served as a place for the vampires to gather as they prepared for their nighttime forays into the woods. Little John, who had been standing guard, gave the alert that Penrod Lugenis was coming back and that he and his men were not alone.

  “They have a woman in boy’s clothes with them,” he announced, his deep, gruff voice carrying easily through the dusk.

  The Red Friar had just emerged from his hovel, and he looked about curiously. “A woman? Are you sure?”

  “I can smell, can’t I?” Little John asked. “You sniff the air and tell me what kind of blood you—”

  “And the clothes?” the Red Friar interrupted. “How can you be sure of the clothes?”

  “Amelin called in from his post, a short while ago. I report what he said,” Little John said bluntly. “Or do you question his senses, too?”

  “No, I do not,” said the Red Friar. “But it is surprising that Penrod Lugenis would bring a woman to this camp, that’s all.”

  “It is strange,” Little John conceded.

  “What is strange?” Will Scarlet asked as he came up to the two.

  “That Penrod Lugenis would capture a woman and bring her here,” said the Red Friar.

  “It depends upon the woman,” said Scarlet, and chuckled.

  “I suppose,” said the Red Friar, and bent to shove another log into the fire-pit. “The nights are getting cold early this year.”

  “That they are,” said Scarlet. “It makes our hunting easier. Everyone wants to find a warm place for the night. All we have to do is seek them out.” He glanced up as Penrod Lugenis and his three companions stepped into the light from the fire. “You’re creating a stir, fellow.”

  “Why am I doing that?” Penrod Lugenis asked.

  “They say you’ve brought a woman with you,” said Little John.

  From all around the camp, men appeared as if they were shadows taking on bodies, or beasts transformed into men.

  “That I have. Marian deBeauchamp, the promised bride of Gui deGisbourne, daughter of Stephen deBeauchamp.” He stood aside and motioned to her. “Come forward, my Lady.”

  Marian was tired and cold, and her fear was so pronounced that it was very nearly another companion with the vampires. She held herself well, as she had been taught, but her inclination was to weep, an inward admission for
which she silently castigated herself. “Who is leader here?” she asked in a tone calculated to intimidate all but the highest-ranking peers in England.

  From the deep shadows on the other side of the camp, a voice said, “I am.”

  All eyes in the camp turned toward the speaker as Hood himself stepped out of the twilight to stand in the glare of the fire.

  “I have come from the Great North Road,” Penrod Lugenis said. “This is what I found there.”

  “Just this woman? Was she alone?” Hood asked derisively.

  “No, she was with soldiers, but most of them carried a comrade off to the monks to find him some relief from a fever,” said Penrod Lugenis.

  “She was left with one man to guard her,” said Piers, gloating.

  “We made short work of him,” said Orlan Royce. “And we left him with hawthorn all around him.”

  “A reasonable action,” said Scarlet. “All things considered.”

  Hood held up his hand. “You have brought me this woman for what reason?”

  “She is of high rank, and she has powerful kin,” said Penrod Lugenis.

  “All the more reason to be rid of her,” Scarlet said with a wave of his hand as if to usher Marian out of their lives.

  “Possibly,” said the Red Friar. “But she may have advantages, as well.”

  “That was my thought,” said Penrod Lugenis.

  “It is a bold decision,” said Hood, “to bring her here to me. Did you intend her for me?” His stare fixed Penrod Lugenis as surely as an arrow could.

  “Of course,” said Penrod Lugenis, a note of uncertainty creeping into his confident tone.

  “I see,” said Hood, his glare moving to Marian. “I see.”

  “She can command many things, a woman of her rank,” said Penrod Lugenis.