by N B Dixon
A fever was ravaging the poorer districts of Nottingham—the second that year—and Father Tuck had agreed to supply the outlaws with medicine for the most serious cases.
A bird call from the direction of Will’s hiding place snapped him to attention. He felt the usual anticipation. One lord was promising enough, but three travelling together would mean meat for the outlaws and several nearby families for days to come.
Upsetting nobles was the only thing that made Robin feel alive. It took his mind off the impassable gulf that existed between him and Will. Robin knew it was his fault; he regretted telling Will anything. He could not bear to meet Will’s eyes, to see the pity there. If Will hadn’t come upon him just after he’d had his latest nightmare, it would never have happened.
Will was spending more and more time with David. Robin had his suspicions about the man, but he resolutely pushed them from his mind—and the hot wave of jealousy that accompanied them. God, he was behaving like a lovesick puppy. It was pathetic, and he would get the better of it.
He could see the riders now: three horsemen—accompanied by their servants—all of them nobles to judge from their clothing. Every one of them had a sword slung at his side.
“These look like our lords.”
John nodded grudgingly.
Robin let his arrow fly. It sank into the ground, and all three men reined in sharply, hands descending to sword hilts. Robin nocked a second arrow.
“A moment of your time if you please, My Lords,” he called.
All three men scanned the surrounding bushes, searching for him.
“Show yourself, outlaw,” one man called.
“In a moment. Throw down your swords.”
“We mean you no harm,” the same voice answered. “Let us go on our way in peace.”
“All travellers must pay a toll to pass along this route. Your weapons, My Lords, and your purses.”
The man started to protest, but Robin’s second arrow flew, burying itself in the tree directly over the speaker’s head and showering him with leaves and twigs.
“Do as he says, Lewis,” one of the other men said. “He can kill us in an instant.”
All three men dismounted and, drawing their swords, tossed them to one side.
“A wise decision, My Lords.” Robin emerged from cover. John and Will did the same, taking up flanking positions. Wat and Edward were the last to appear. One lord made a move as if to retrieve his fallen sword, but Robin levelled his own blade at the man’s chest.
“Stay where you are and raise your hands above your heads.”
The lords did so.
“You are Robin Hood,” one of the lords said. He made it a statement.
Robin ignored him. His attention was caught by the man standing closest to him. There was something familiar about his face.
Robin moved a step closer, sword still raised. The man stiffened, but otherwise held his ground.
“I know you.”
The man peered at him, squinting against the sun’s brightness.
“I don’t think so.”
Close to, Robin was convinced he had seen the man somewhere before. The memory nagged at him. He could feel the impatience of the others. Why were they not getting on with the robbery?
Robin shook himself mentally. “I require your purses, gentlemen. Give them to me willingly and I will take half of what you have. Refuse, and I will take everything.”
All three lords removed the purses from their belts without protest and dropped them into John’s large, outstretched hand.
“Now, may we depart?” one of the other lords asked.
Robin inclined his head. A particularly fierce gust of wind tugged at his hood. It fell back, revealing his face fully, and the man nearest to him started.
“Robin of Locksley? Is that you?”
Robin stiffened. Will half drew his sword.
The lord’s face broke into a smile, and he extended his hand. “It’s Lewis d’Ambray.”
Robin gaped. Lewis d’Ambray’s father had been Lord of Mansfield. He had been a friend of Robin’s father and had often visited Locksley Manor. Occasionally, he had brought his son with him. Robin hadn’t known him well, but he’d been friendly enough.
Lewis d’Ambray was still holding out his hand. “I heard you had been outlawed and that snake, Gisborne, had taken your land. I was sorry to hear it. Allow me to introduce my friends, Sir Henry Runeville, Lord of Barnsdale, and Roland DeVere, Lord of Wakefield.”
Robin recognised both names. Their fathers had also been regular visitors to Locksley.
“You’re bound for London, I understand,” Robin said.
“How do you know that?” Lewis demanded.
“I have my sources. Since I had the bad manners to detain you, why don’t you eat dinner with us?”
Henry and Roland looked doubtful, but Lewis accepted at once, and the other two lords followed reluctantly.
“Does this mean we can have our swords and purses back?” Roland wanted to know.
“Your purses, I fear not. There are people who need this money. Your swords will be returned to you when you leave us. I’m afraid you and your servants will have to be blindfolded.”
Roland opened his mouth to protest, but Lewis cut him off. “Your precautions are understandable.”
***
David, Daphne and Sir Richard were waiting for them. Sir Richard greeted each of their guests with genuine warmth and Daphne supplied them with ale.
“I never went on Crusade.” There was regret in Lewis’s voice. “I would have liked to, but my father had other ideas. He paid the shield tax to keep me in England. He wanted me to run the manor. As I was the eldest and he was frail, I had no choice.”
Robin knew of the shield tax. King Richard needed money to fund his wars abroad even more than he needed men. He would accept the former in exchange for the latter. Lewis’s father was not the only one who had paid the tax in an effort to keep his sons safe.
“I wasn’t there, either,” Roland said, accepting a cup of ale from Daphne. “Henry saw a bit of the action.”
Henry nodded. “I was at Acre, but I was badly wounded and sent home to recover. I was lucky to survive the voyage.”
“You were lucky to survive at all,” Will said.
“I know it. It was a truly terrible battle. I hear King Richard ordered the execution of three thousand of Acre’s citizens after the battle was won.”
“He did,” Robin confirmed shortly.
“What was the point of the Crusade?” Wat asked. “I mean, it doesn’t seem to have achieved anything.”
Henry laughed. “You’re quite right. Jerusalem is still in Saladin’s hands.”
“It might not have been if King Richard’s allies hadn’t turned on him,” Roland argued.
“You mean if he hadn’t alienated all of them.” Henry reached to cut another slice of meat from the carcass roasting over the fire. “To some extent, our king has brought his current predicament on himself. He made some bad enemies in the Holy Land, and as our friend here points out—” he grinned at Wat “—for no gain.”
“I thought the king did come to an agreement with Saladin that Christians could visit the Holy Sepulchre of Jerusalem unmolested,” Robin said.
Henry snorted. “A small concession when you consider the lives that we lost to pay for it.”
“I take it you’re the prince’s men,” John said in no friendly voice.
Henry looked startled. “Certainly not. I may not agree with everything the Lionheart has done, but he is still our king by divine right. John is the youngest of old Henry’s sons and the least fit to rule. There was a brother between Richard and John, Geoffrey, who sired a son before his death. Arthur of Brittany has as much right to the throne as John, if not more.”
“Richard may yet have a son,” Roland said, with the air of a man who had voiced this argument many times in the past.
“That isn’t likely,” Henry made a dismissive gesture. “You kn
ow the rumours about our king as well as all of us.”
“He married Berengaria, didn’t he?” Roland insisted stubbornly.
“To keep his mother and the gossips quiet,” Lewis said. “And because he needed her father’s support. We have to face facts. Richard is unlikely to produce an heir of his own.”
“What of the ransom?” Robin asked.
“The Queen Mother is attempting to raise funds, but such an amount is impossible to pay. I doubt we shall ever see Richard again.”
“Which leaves us to John’s tender care,” Will muttered.
“Not so,” Lewis said. “John has made many enemies among the English nobility with his high-handed ways. Not all of them will sit back and allow him to steal his brother’s throne.” He turned to Robin. “Will you not join us, Locksley? We’re travelling to London to meet with other like-minded nobles.”
“Join you in what?”
“In sending this prince skulking back to Gloucester where he belongs.”
Robin shook his head. “I’m an outlaw. I have no influence.”
“You’re of noble blood,” Lewis pointed out. “Your land was unjustly taken from you. I’m sure the king’s justices would hear your case.”
“I have obligations here. There are people counting on us. Their needs are more important.”
An angry flush stained Lewis’s cheeks. “More important? Don’t you want our king returned?”
“I have no love for Richard, but I have no wish for John to rule.”
“Then join us.”
“A rebellion would not work. Without a figurehead, it would fall apart. Arthur is still a boy and Richard is imprisoned.”
“You are Robin Hood,” Lewis said, “the people’s hero. Men would rally to you.”
“I’m not the king,” Robin said sharply. “I help people who cannot help themselves. I have no wish to be caught up in royal politics.”
“Then you will sit back and do nothing while John steals England and bleeds her dry?” Lewis was on his feet now.
“Show me an army with King Richard at its head, and I’ll support it. For all his faults, Richard is a better choice than John.”
“But Richard is imprisoned and with no immediate prospect of release,” Henry pointed out.
“Not as long as you barons keep feeding Prince John’s lust for money.”
All three lords bristled.
“You collect taxes from your people. They believe it is going to pay the king’s ransom. You should do just that. Be the only lords in England who are actually sending the money where it is supposed to go. Your villagers would willingly give you all they can spare. Speak to the barons. Whittle away Prince John’s support. He will never rule England effectively without the cooperation of the nobility.”
The three lords exchanged glances. “There’s sense in what you say,” Roland said. “But what will you do?”
“I’m a thief. I will do what I do best. You could make my job easier by ensuring your villagers do not go hungry over the winter.”
All three men shifted uncomfortably.
“If the king should ever return to England…” Henry began.
“Then John will certainly try to stop him from assuming the throne,” Robin finished. “If that time comes, you will find me in Sherwood.”
The three lords left shortly afterwards. Edward and Sir Richard volunteered to escort them to the spot where they had left their horses, after first blindfolding each of them.
“Will you fight John if King Richard returns?” Wat asked Robin.
“I have said so.”
“Do you think the king will reward us if we fight for him? Perhaps he’ll grant us a pardon.”
“Or lop our heads off, depending on his mood,” Will muttered.
Robin shook his head. “He’s generous to those he likes. He will reward men who show him loyalty.”
“I’ll fight for the king,” John announced.
Daphne shot him a worried look, but made no comment.
“This is all speculation,” Robin said. “The king may never return to England.”
***
Marian slid from her horse with the help of a stable boy. Lady Katrina was there to greet her, false smile firmly in place.
“There you are. My brother wishes to see you in his solar.”
“Can it not wait? As you can see, I’m rather dishevelled after my ride.”
“You should not delay too long. I believe he has an important matter to discuss with you.”
Dread sealed Marian’s throat. There was only one reason Guy would want to speak with her. She’d thought, after Robin’s escape, that marriage was no longer on the cards. Guy had been out of favour. There had even been some rumours that he would be dismissed from his office. But he was still here. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.
Gisborne was seated in a wing-backed chair by the fire, a wine cup in his hand. He rose with a smile as she entered.
“Lady Marian. You look beautiful as always. Can I offer you some wine?”
“No thank you. I’m tired. Please make this quick, whatever it is.”
His mouth tightened with annoyance, but his voice remained pleasant. “Very well. I have some good news. A date has been fixed for our wedding.”
Marian stared at him, first in astonishment, then in mounting anger. “I was not aware that I had agreed to marry you.”
“Your official period of mourning is over. There’s no sense in delaying.”
“What gives you the right to decide when my grief for my father should end?”
“Marian, this is ridiculous. I have been patient enough. Huntingdon cannot be left ungoverned much longer. You must see that.”
“I am capable of managing the running of my father’s estate without your help. I was chatelaine of Huntingdon long before you decided to get your greedy hands on it.”
“Marian!” his voice whipped out. Gone was the courteous suitor. His eyes held a steely glint and his mouth was a grim line. “You know the law. Huntingdon must have an earl. Prince John will not take your preferences into consideration.”
“I thought you were no longer in favour with the prince after the fiasco with the outlaw Robin Hood. Or maybe Prince John fears giving me into the hands of someone who won’t support him. He knows he can count on your loyalty.”
“Enough!” His hand slapped the table. Marian jumped in spite of herself. “The king isn’t coming back, Marian. He will languish in his German prison until he dies.”
“That’s treason.”
He got up and rounded the table. Marian retreated until her spine struck the wall and she could go no further. He moved in close. As she raised her hands to push him away, he gripped both her wrists in one hand and pressed the other flat against her chest, trapping her between his body and the wall. His hand slid lower to fondle a breast. She could feel his hardness pressing against her and shuddered with revulsion.
“Marian.” His voice was almost a moan. “Don’t fight me. We could be happy together if you’d only let us.”
He leaned in. Marian tried to twist her head aside, but his mouth crushed hers. She could feel his tongue trying to force its way between her locked teeth. She kicked out and the pointed toe of her shoe connected with his shin. He released her mouth with a curse. The grip on her wrists tightened savagely, making her gasp with pain.
“You would be wise not to provoke me. I’m a decent man, but I have my limits. Remember that.”
“I’ll never marry you,” Marian spat.
Abruptly, he released her. “The wedding is a week from Sunday. The Bishop of Hereford has agreed to perform the ceremony. He is a close friend of Prince John, who will also be in attendance. You will come of your own accord, or I shall have you brought. One way or another, you will be there.”
***
Back in her chamber, Marian collapsed, shaking on her bed. Ursula hurried to her side.
“My Lady, what is it? Are you ill?”
Angry te
ars stung Marian’s eyes, but she forced them back. There was a time and a place to cry, and this was not it.
“He’s going to marry me, Ursula. It’s all arranged between him and Prince John.”
“But will it not be a good match, My Lady? The sheriff is a powerful man. He would protect you.”
Marian sat up, her expression fierce. “Oh, he would protect me until I gave him a son. Then he would have no more need for me. I’ll never marry that scheming horson.”
“But what can we do?”
Marian pushed fingers through her hair. “Are you in contact with your brother?”
Ursula hesitated. “I meet him at the tavern sometimes.”
“I assume he’s with the outlaws in Sherwood?”
The colour drained from Ursula’s face. “My Lady, I—”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell the sheriff. I need you to find him. I need him to take a message to Robin Hood.”
Chapter 16
Ursula paused outside the Blue Boar tavern. The muffled sound of lute music floated out to her. She hoped David was in there waiting as he had promised.
They met seldom, and never in the same place. It was risky for both of them. Ursula was almost certain she had not been followed, but if either of them were caught, it would mean a death sentence. However, Lady Marian’s instructions had to be obeyed.
Ursula glanced up and down the street several times before finally pushing open the door. Her nostrils were assailed by the smell of roasting meat. Her stomach gurgled. She slipped inside, scanning the tables for a sign of her brother. The first person she spotted was the musician. He was perched on a stool close to a large keg, from which a serving woman was busy filling mugs. The tune he played was lively, and several people were clapping in time.
Ursula stayed by the door, unsure whether to sit down or not. She had no money to purchase food or ale, and she could see no sign of David.
“Are you all right, love? You look a bit lost.”
Ursula started, but relaxed as she realised it was only the landlady.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Well, why don’t you take a seat while you’re waiting? We’ve some mutton stew cooking if you’d like a bowl.”
