Only now did Sir Roger dismount. A smile twisted his thin lips. Like an obedient pupil, Scarlet bowed again. With two fingers, Sir Roger lifted Will’s chin. He patted his cheek.
In the bushes, Much groaned. “But, I thought Will killed his steward. And that’s why . . .”
“Remember everything you see!” murmured John. He rubbed the scar in his beard. Poor Robin. Today, I’ll bring you proof.
Scarlet eagerly ran to the baron’s stallion, grabbed the halter, and led the animal behind him. Together with Sir Roger, he left the yard. They walked, leisurely, along the bank of the brook.
“Where does that path lead?” murmured John.
“To the jetty. And a bit farther down, there’s a lake. Not big, but deep. Father and I used to go there in the boat . . .”
“Not now, boy. Come!”
Soundlessly, they left their hiding place. They followed Sir Roger and the cousin at a safe distance. John wanted to get closer but couldn’t. There was too little cover from the trees.
Then the baron and his pupil left the wide path and followed a branching-off between reeds and bushes to the lake. Sir Roger stopped close to the rugged edge of the shore. Patting his horse’s neck, he listened intently as Scarlet spoke, explaining with his hands, laughing, letting his whole body play it out, snapping his fingers.
Gently, the outlaws moved. No stem broke, no leaf bent. John and Much silently crept closer through the reeds. Bits of sentences drifted over.
“. . . But not in the castle . . . In the church . . . All the money is under the stone behind the altar. Tell him that!”
Scarlet asked, “When?”
Closer still. They heard each word plainly and clearly:
“Starting tomorrow: every evening for a week. Tell your cousin that right after the last mass is the most convenient. And I promise you, my people will be there. With swords, axes, and lances.”
Sir Roger steered the horse around by the halter. “There’s one more thing.” With a finger, he beckoned Scarlet closer. Only hesitantly did Robin’s cousin obey.
“Fear nothing, my son! I do not blame you for the affaire fatale at Sherwood.” A little smile. “On the contrary, you have learned from me. Your plan could have been devised by me. That sheriff! Thom de Fitz was always nothing but a greedy, vain, brainless wretch. You presented him with victory on a platter, and he failed.”
Scarlet bowed artfully before his master. “À votre service. I do my best. Soon I will deliver you Robin Hood and his gang. And I hope you will not forget me.”
In hiding, Much groaned. Firmly John pressed his hand over the lad’s mouth.
Sir Roger pinched his pupil’s cheek and patted it. “I’ll see to your future,” he said, nasally. “Deliver the bastard to me, and as I promised, my new bailiff shall be Gamwell of Maxfield. And that will be only the beginning. For soon, Prince John will ascend the throne of England. Yes, my son, I still have great plans for you.” Suddenly troubled, the baron frowned. “There’s one more little problem.”
“Tell me,” Scarlet urged, “just say the word!”
“You’re a good boy.” Sir Roger barely opened his lips. “You know nothing must jeopardize my plans—especially no superfluous witnesses. That vexed affair with the miller troubles me still. All I need to settle it once and for all is his son. Take care of him.”
In hiding, Much squirmed under the grip of the giant. Only when John threatened him with his fist did the boy settled down quietly on the boggy ground.
Scarlet laughed, clapping once. “Done. While the trap for Robin Hood snaps shut in Doncaster church, I’ll be skinning that mouse with relish.” He helped Sir Roger into the saddle.
“You wait here. As yet, we are not to be seen together, if possible.” The baron’s pale green eyes looked sternly down at his apprentice. “Make me proud of you, Gamwell!” With that, the baron trotted through the reeds and shrubbery over to the wide path.
“I will never fail you!” exclaimed Scarlet to his master. “Never. Neither you nor my aunt.”
Sir Roger did not look back.
In hiding, John let go of the boy. It was hard for Much, so hard. And, oh, Robin. My poor friend!
On the shore, Scarlet bounced on his knees, stood again, flexed his shoulders.
Much could hold back no longer. Before John could grab him, the boy leaped up, burst through the reeds, raced screaming toward Will. Scarlet stood stunned, mouth agape. “Bastard!” The boy rammed headfirst into the traitor, throwing Scarlet back. Much kept moving, pushing both himself and Scarlet over the rocky edge of the bank. Both tumbled into the water.
John was on the spot at once. Two heads resurfaced not far from him. Both sputtered, gasped for air, went under again. Neither of them could swim. They surfaced, splashing wildly. Scarlet spotted the giant. “Help me!” He managed to grab the boy’s hair; he pushed Much underwater, keeping himself above the surface for a moment. “Help! John! Help me!” Gurgling, he sank.
John couldn’t swim either. He threw himself half over the edge of the bank, holding the staff at the ready. Much rose up, gasping, spitting water, screaming. John held out the end of the stick to him. “Grab hold of it, boy. Hold on!”
Much’s arms flailed desperately. At last, the boy reached for the wood. Scarlet sprang upward from the bottom. He threw himself over Much, gasping, trying to push him away, to reach for the staff himself. Smoothly, as quickly as he could, John guided the boy with his staff out of the traitor’s reach. “Hold on! Just hold on, lad!”
Slowly, he drew Much closer to the shore, pulled him half out of the water, and heaved the boy up to him.
In the lake, Scarlet still struggled. “John!” He splashed about wildly. Sank, surfaced. “Help me!”
John lifted Much to his knees and bent him over. As he spat water, gasped for air, convulsed, the giant held his head. He pressed both hands tightly over Much’s ears.
Only John saw Will’s death throes and heard the cries for help, saw his head break the surface one last time, heard the desperate gurgling. The water sloshed in waves, smoothed. The lake lay flat and calm.
John released the boy’s head. Gradually he caught his breath. Much looked up at him. “What . . . what . . . happened to . . . ?”
“Was too late,” John muttered. “Had to pull you out first.”
The boy turned warily. The still water frightened him. He slumped forward. “Thank you.” Just a whisper.
“You heard everything you needed to.” The giant stroked the boy’s head. “Now get some rest, son. It’s a long way back.” John fell silent. And then what? He thought of Robin.
Deep in the night, they finally reached the dilapidated barn near Worksop. The boy had needed frequent rests. Progress had been slow.
Robin and Threefinger were waiting by the fire. Robin saw John’s face and was silent. Only after the two had eaten did he ask, “How was the hunt?”
Much beat John to it. “Scarlet has . . . has betrayed us all. He . . . he’s . . .”
“That’s all right, boy. I’ll tell it.”
Robin Hood listened with a fixed gaze. John reported only as far as the Baron’s departure, then broke off.
Robin snapped. “Go on. Something is missing. Where’s my cousin?”
Much folded his hands over his chest. “It was me. I . . . I just had to. Because . . . I ran at . . . Will. Then . . . then we both fell into the water.” He looked to John. “He saved me first. And Scarlet . . .”
Robin abruptly jumped up and stormed away, then returned to the fire. “Threefinger! Much! Go sleep. At once! Did you hear me?”
Startled, the two retreated into the barn.
Robin Hood stepped into the embers. Sparks flew. “Why, John? You had clear orders. Proof! You were to bring me proof! Nothing more!”
The giant straightened his back and stood up in front of his friend, breathing heavily. “I got the boy out. Then it was too late.”
“Too late?” Robin clenched his fists. “Why, John? Why d
idn’t you try to save Scarlet first?”
John shook his head. “No, you don’t mean that? No, you don’t mean . . .” Wildly, he shook his friend by the shoulders.
“Don’t you dare!” Robin shouted at him, his hand going down to clutch the hilt of his dagger.
John released him, calmly taking a step back. “It’s all right,” he placated. “I didn’t choose which one first. Much was at the staff first. That’s why.”
The anger in Robin’s eyes died out as abruptly as it had flared. Tears stood in his bright eyes. “Even if he did betray us. He was my cousin, after all,” he whispered. “Do you understand?” Looking tired, he huddled back down by the fire. “Stay with me. Please.”
John nodded.
After a while, Robin raised his chin. “So. We’re not going to Doncaster.”
“Better not.”
“Not yet. But someday, sometime, when this devil isn’t lying in wait for us.”
Out of the corner of his eye, John watched his friend. “You know, back in York, when I was Sir Richard’s valet, the baron wanted to see my face. I promised him, you won’t see it until I break your neck.” John waited. The corners of Robin’s mouth twitched. He added, “And if I meet him, then I’ll keep my promise, I promise you that.”
There was a grim smile in response.
John exhaled. Done. By Dunstan, it’s really over now.
XVIII
YORKSHIRE. BARNSDALE WINTER CAMP.
John missed the laughter. Since returning to the main camp, Robin had driven the men hard. “He who works, forgets!”
He had a stockade built around the base at the top of the ridge: trenches with needle-pointed logs planted in them, camouflaged by loose tangles of branches and leaves. And the leader himself pitched in. From morning till night, he showed no fatigue.
At the end of September, Robin called his lieutenants to him. “You have worked well,” he told them. Except for two heavily guarded access roads, deadly pits now surrounded the hidden compound. “But it’s not enough.” In addition, a stockade fence was to be erected around the huts, stable, and paddock. No rest. “Tomorrow we’ll continue,” he ordered. “We have to be finished by winter.” More to himself, he added, “And no sheriff, no Sir Roger will surprise us here in our sleep.”
For another week, Little John watched his friend. Robin’s countenance remained sober, grave. Not even a mocking smile at the corners of his mouth. The giant threw up his hands. “Well, if you’ve got something to say, go ahead and say it.”
Robin’s eyes were cold. “What do you expect? Do you want me to clap my hands with glee?” He clenched his jaw. “Our losses at Sherwood were high. Only hard work will distract these men. Their courage and fighting spirit are gone. And that’s what worries me. And that is all.”
“Just as well.” John fell silent. He who works, forgets? He shook his head slowly. It’s true for our people. They already carry their memories easier than you.
In mid-October, the leaves of the big linden tree in the camp turned yellow again. It was once more time to trade their summer clothes for the warmer winter ones.
Tom Toad and John sighed with relief and looked at each other; they had been waiting for this moment for weeks. In Robin’s hut, the giant did the talking. “These garments need to be patched up. Better get Beth.” Anticipation lifted his voice. “And Marian can help. We’ll leave in the morning and be back by evening.”
“No.” Terse and sharp.
“What?” Little John did not understand. Tom Toad stroked his scalp, pulled on his braid, and said, dangerously low, “By Willick. For what reason . . . ?”
“Don’t you dare question—”
“That’s all right.” John pushed Toad aside and joined Robin at the table. Their eyes were level. “Why shouldn’t we fetch them?”
“Stop! My friend.” Robin put his hands together, fighting for self-control. “A few months ago, I had five trusted lieutenants. Now there are only three. I’m sorry. Until the palisades and gate are finished, I can’t do without any of you.” He gave Tom a frosty look. “Let the village girls mend our clothes this time. Beth won’t mind.”
He turned to John. “Marian is in good hands with Sir Richard. I think she can wait a little longer.” With that, he tried to dismiss his men.
Tom did not stir. John remained seated, motionless.
“All right.” Robin drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Our men have fought long, and they always had the goal clear in their minds: King Richard will soon return. By our Blessed Virgin, I promised you and you, I promised everyone. But now?” He fell silent, then continued: “So our fight will take much longer. And we must prepare for that.”
John murmured, “We’ll make it through this together. For certain.”
Outside, he wiped his brow. “Damn. If it hadn’t been for Scarlet—”
“Don’t worry about it. He just needs time.” Toad groaned exaggeratedly, slamming his fist into his hand. “But what about me? We last visited the castle in May. Oh, it’s going to be too long a wait.”
“Just as well.” John grinned mockingly. “This’ll give you more time. To compose your song.”
The work at the base was finished in time for Christmas. Robin seemed pleased. The stiffness had gone from his visage. He was talking, even laughing now and then. But those who knew him well sensed that his cheerfulness was only labored pretense, only a veil. “Take care of yourselves!” he called to the few who had family and were allowed to wander home. “Don’t get lost!” No one laughed at the joke.
“What about us?” Ready to depart, Toad and the giant stood before him.
The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. “All right, get out of here. But be back tomorrow! Friar Tuck won’t start Christmas Mass without you.” He grabbed Tom’s arm with a worried look. “Do you have your lute?”
“Not you, too,” Toad groaned. He put on a haughty face. “Thank you, friends. Thank you. I packed everything I need.”
Neither John nor Robin had another joke to make.
Toad grinned.
The fire was crackling in the castle hall. After the midday meal, hosts and guests waited for the girls’ performance.
At first, Marian had vehemently refused. “Don’t feel like it.” At a toss of her head, her carefully combed curls tumbled over her forehead.
Angered, the priest lowered his brows. “Why this unruly disobedience? Don’t you want to show everyone what you have learned?”
Marian persisted. “Don’t feel like it.”
Patricia, Sir Richard’s daughter, dared a brief admiring glance at her friend, then she bent her head low over her trencher. She tried hard not to snort.
Beth begged the baroness for indulgence. Her voice became stern: “Princess. Don’t forget our agreement!”
This helped. Marian pouted. But then she smiled at John. “Only because you’re visiting.”
Relieved, the tutor-priest rose from the table. “Come, my children! One more rehearsal.” He quickly left the hall with his pupils.
John shifted cautiously. As soon as he moved his weight on the chair, the seat and wooden legs creaked precariously. He had sat very stiffly during the dinner of stuffed bread and three crispy chickens. Sir Richard’s cooks understand, he mused. I’m happier when I’m full. If only everything here wasn’t so uncomfortable. He didn’t know yet if the dainty armrests would hold his arms. And the wine goblet? Was it smaller than the ones in the camp? Just as well. He drank more slowly, more deliberately.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Tom. The man sat, unconcerned, next to Beth. How his eyes shone as soon when he looked at his wife. Nothing bothered the man. And Beth? To see her now. She was like a fine lady. But she still gazed at her Tom the same way she did in Barnsdale.
The girls returned. Each carried a lute on a velvet shoulder strap. The priest placed two stools in front of the table. Gracefully, Patricia and Marian took their seats.
The lord of the castle’s daughter t
urned her brown eyes on her friend. A wink. Almost in unison, they plucked the strings.
John took in a deep breath. Oh, my little one. Sitting there like a highborn damsel.
Two bright, high voices sang: “Natus est Jesus, natus est Deus, natus est Salvator noster . . .”
John swelled with pride. His thoughts went to Marian’s mother. I promised you. You see? I’m taking care of the child.
The song ended and the audience clapped. John thumped his heavy hands together and had to restrain himself from drumming his fists on the table.
The girls curtsied. As the priest bowed to Sir Richard and his wife, Marian nudged her friend in the side. Both of them struck their lutes again. Full-throated, they sang out: “In the rose garden, there I spied a bold young knight waiting by and by. It was merry May, the air was warm and fair . . .”
Horrified, the priest took a step back. He tried to end the song with hand signals, in vain.
“There rose from the well a damsel, bare . . .”
Sir Richard soothingly placing his hand on his consort’s. But a smile remained on his lips even as the lyrics turned more and more raucous. Beth covered her eyes. Tom liked the song. He twirled his braid along with the tune. John didn’t even hear the words. Marian sang like a lady! The two outlaws alone applauded the singers this time. Before their tutor could recover from the embarrassment, Patricia and Marian were already running out of the hall giggling.
“I beg your forgiveness, sir.” The priest folded his hands in front of his black robe. “The burden of my office grows heavier every day. When it was only your daughter . . .”
“I pray you!” Sir Richard pointed to the door. “We each do our duty. And yours seems to me among the easiest.”
With bowed head, the teacher left the dinner party.
Tom Toad tried to give Beth a hint. Seemingly indifferent, Beth ignored his glances. At last, Sir Richard rose from the table.
The nursemaid turned to lady at the Lea. “Do you still need me, mistress?” A shake of the head. “Thank you.” Beth strode out.
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