Mark of the Black Arrow (40 page)

He tried not to look down at the ruined flowers as he stepped up to the door.

“Hello?” he called softly.

There was no response.

He walked inside, expecting to find the family devastated.

Instead he found them dead.

He gasped and froze in place. Their pox-marked bodies were stacked one on top of the other in the middle of the room, their unseeing eyes no longer able to witness the atrocities committed against them and their home.

Alan backed slowly out of the house. The prince’s tax collectors had committed their greatest atrocity to date. They had stolen from the dead.

M
arian didn’t know which angered her more—the fact that in the midst of the people’s suffering, the prince chose to host a ball, or the fact that nobles from all over England, those who hadn’t been taken by the pox, had actually come to attend it. The very act seemed like the ultimate in cruel jests.

She knew why they did it, though. After the hangings most had fallen in line, terrified of crossing John in the slightest. They did as they were told. So they came to the ball, and she could see more than one concerned parent cast their eyes toward the upstairs where they believed their children were still being held captive.

The truth was Marian had no idea where the children were kept. Chastity had learned that they had been moved in the night, though no one seemed to know where.

Marian herself was given no choice but to attend. The prince had commanded it, and these days she needed to be very careful about choosing her battles. Yet she was participating in one small act of rebellion. Instead of being downstairs in time to play hostess and greet all the guests, as she always had for King Richard, she tarried in her room until she was sure most people had already arrived.

The usurper’s insult provided an unexpected opportunity, as well. With so many people milling about, Will would be able to smuggle Robin to safety. The Lord of Longstride had spent the last day in his cousin’s room. While he was stable enough to travel, he was still a long way from healed. Will had made arrangements for him to be taken from the castle, but he had not shared the details.

When she finally descended to the great hall, she did so with a smile frozen on her face. She wore a burgundy gown shot through with gold threads, and small gold rosettes tied up extra bits of fabric all around. She wore her hair meticulously coiled atop her head, going out of her way to look her best, hoping that it would portray strength and confidence. With a small twinge of regret she wished Robin had been well enough to attend. She was sure he would have said something very flattering.

There were more in attendance than she would have guessed, although a few faces seemed to be notably absent as she strolled through the room. She passed a small cluster of women and nodded to them. None of them returned her greeting, instead dropping their eyes or looking suddenly away as though they hadn’t seen her. It was odd, but Marian kept walking. She saw a few more women glance her way then hurriedly turn to start whispering among themselves. She glanced down at her dress, just to make certain nothing was amiss, but everything seemed to be in place.

Finally she approached another cluster of women and stopped next to them.

“Good evening, ladies.” She tried to sound pleasant.

A couple ducked their heads. The woman in the group who usually held the most sway addressed her in return.

“Good evening to you,
Maid
Marian,” the woman said. And there it was. They were mocking her. Word had spread that Will Scarlet had been found in her bedroom. Once loosed, nothing could be done to recapture it.

She should brush it off, think of something witty to say, or ignore it completely. One girl leaned in and whispered something to another, and they both began to giggle. Marian felt anger tracing its way through her body, and she spun on her heel, eyes searching for Will.

Spotting him, she crossed the room to where he chatted with a lord. Marian walked up and before she could stop herself she slapped him across the face.

The lord hastily excused himself.

Marian pulled back her hand to slap him again, but Will caught her arm with a lazy smile.

“My dear friend, one strike is proof that you have been offended,” he said glibly. “Two strikes is evidence of shame.” His grip was surprisingly strong, and she swallowed a whimper of pain. Seeing it in her eyes, he eased the pressure, then released her.

She lowered her hand, but anger still smoldered within her. It wasn’t Will’s fault, she knew that, but he was the only one to whom she could express it. More than that, it would be expected. Given the circumstances under which they had been forced to create the charade, they had to carry it to its logical conclusion.

“I never wished to be romantically linked with you either,” Will added with a sigh, his eyes flashing.

“I should imagine it would increase your prospects.”

“Quite the opposite. No one wants to see herself in competition with you.”

“They mock me.”

“Only because they fear you,” he said. “Mockery is the only weapon they have.”

Marian forced in a deep breath as she reminded herself that, in the end, it didn’t matter what the others thought.

“On a happier note, our friend is safely on his way,” Will said, his voice low enough that it couldn’t be heard by anyone else. To someone standing nearby, it would appear as a lovers’ spat.

“That makes this easier.” Marian relaxed a little. “Tell me something.”

“Anything you want.”

“The things you said about me to the Sheriff. Were any of them true?”

Will sighed. “Most of them. It’s why my words were believed.”

She nodded, considering the answer.

“I’ll tell you something you didn’t ask,” he said, “if you want to hear it.”

“How would I know?”

“As lovely as you are, and you have been beautiful since childhood, you have always belonged to another.”

“I’ve belonged to no one.”

“Are you lying to me, or to yourself?”

“You are a scoundrel, Will Scarlet.”

“It has been said before.”

Will put his hand to his forehead, rubbing it and scowling.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“It’s just… hot in here. I think I’m getting a headache.”

Despite the number of people who were present, the room most certainly was not hot. If anything, she had noticed it seemed a bit chilly. Then again, without the tapestries on the walls, it always felt that way to her.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I think I need some fresh air.”

“Do you need me to get you something?” she asked. He didn’t look right. Perspiration glistened on his forehead.

“No, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he said. He started to walk away, but after six steps his knees buckled. Marian started forward, but Will caught himself before he fell. She moved in front of him and put a hand on his arm, concern outweighing any thought of how it would look that she was touching him.

He was sweating more profusely now, and his eyes had gone glassy.

“Marian, I don’t think I’m doing too well.” The words slurred together. Then she noticed a red spot on his neck that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Even as she watched, it seemed to grow. Moments later a second one appeared.

She involuntarily crossed herself in fear.

“I think you’ve been cursed with the pox,” she whispered.

*  *  *

Robin found himself struggling to stay awake and stay on his horse. He remembered very little since fleeing from Prince John’s chamber. Most of it was random images that seemed to come to him unbidden. He could see Marian’s face one moment, then Will’s. Over and over in his head, though, he heard Marian begging him not to die.

For her sake he would not.

Will was responsible for getting him out of the castle and onto the back of a horse. At least, he was pretty sure it had been Will’s doing. They were headed now for the monastery, and from the brief snatches of conversation he heard between the two monks who were escorting him, he guessed that the conditions there had to be awful. More people were being struck with the pox.

They were moving at a snail’s pace, and at any other time it would have made him unlivable, but this evening he was grateful to have the gentler stride. His wounds were barely holding themselves together, and he didn’t want to do anything to risk opening them up.

If only he’d been able to kill the prince.

They had not understood the true nature of their enemy, yet Robin would not make the mistake of underestimating him a second time. He just hoped the cardinal would know of something,
anything
that could kill a dark sorcerer.

He kept fading in and out of consciousness, which made it hard to judge the passing of time. At last, though, they arrived at their destination. Robin considered it a minor miracle that he was actually able to walk inside under his own power. He had to find the cardinal, and tell him what he’d learned.

The man was in his study, his face pinched with worry. Robin moved inside, struggling not to fall down, and the cardinal looked up at him.

“What in hell did you think you were doing?” he asked bluntly.

“I tried to kill the prince, and put an end to this nightmare,” he replied.

“I’m not sure which is worse, the fact that you did something so foolhardy without consulting me, or the fact that you failed and have therefore put him on even higher alert.” A vein in the man’s temple was pulsing, and his face was twisted in rage.

A dull ache throbbed through his body, making him edgy.

“What I did was right. I’m only sorry I failed,” Robin said. “But in failing, I’ve learned far more about our enemy than we had guessed. He has dark forces at his command, shadows—demons. They attacked me, and I barely escaped. Even though I wounded John, it was nothing to him.”

The cardinal cursed under his breath and Robin pretended not to hear him.

“Things have taken a turn for the terrible,” the holy man muttered. “The first part of what you have said does not entirely surprise me. The fact that you wounded him and nothing happened, that is cause for a great deal of worry.”

“How can we stop a man we can’t kill?” Robin asked.

Robin turned his head slightly, having noticed something out of the corner of his eye. There, lying on a pad on the floor, unconscious and covered in red marks, was Friar Tuck.

“Cardinal, I need to speak with you!” a familiar voice said, pulling his attention away from the monk. Moments later Marian appeared in the doorway, and she started at seeing Robin. Her cheeks were red, as if made that way by the wind.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” she said, stepping toward him.

“As am I.” To his surprise, however, she turned her attention back to the cardinal.

“I have just come from the castle,” she said. “Something’s happened, and it couldn’t wait, so I rode here as fast as I could.” She paused, then added, “Will has been stricken with the pox.”

The news was like a slap in the face, and the world swam before him. Robin grasped the edge of a table.

“So has Friar Tuck,” the cardinal said, indicating the large man’s form. Marian cursed.

The cardinal shook his head. “This is very bad.”

“How long will he live?” Marian asked, her voice hardly a whisper.

“A day, maybe a little more than that, and then they will be lost to those of us left here on earth.”

“
T
here has to be a cure,” Robin said.

“There’s not,” a new voice said. Alan-a-Dale came in, closing the door behind him. “Some things are best discussed in private, even now,” he said. “Especially with the bishop prowling around.”

“Quite right,” the cardinal agreed.

“What’s happening?” Friar Tuck asked, struggling to sit up. “Why am I lying on the floor—it’s filthy down here.”

“You’ve been stricken with the pox, old friend,” the cardinal said sadly. “Please, conserve your strength.”

“Bring the bishop here,” Tuck replied. “I’ll try to give it to him.”

“Alas, I’m not certain that would work,” Alan said. “I cannot detect how it is spreading, or how it is choosing its victims. The only thing we
can
confirm is that for every three people, one is sick or has died. What’s more, Locksley and his men are pillaging the homes of the dead.”

Robin cursed. “I should have killed him years ago.”

“It’s too late to worry about the past—all we can do is try and salvage the present. So there will be a future,” the cardinal said. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Robin. “Tell the others what’s happened to you.”

Robin quickly related the details of his attack on John, and how he had nearly been killed by the prince and his dark creatures. Alan turned pale when he described the invisible demons.

“Your wounds were terrible,” Marian said. “Chastity and I did what we could to clean and bandage them. As it was, we were afraid you wouldn’t live out the night.”

“It would seem Robin has a wealth of natural resilience,” the cardinal mused.

“I still hurt,” Robin said.

“His guardian angel was watching over him,” Alan said, casting a significant look at Marian.

“So now we are faced with the fact that the prince cannot be killed. At least, not by conventional means,” the cardinal said. “Our task has become that much more impossible.”

Robin couldn’t stand any longer. His weak legs were about to betray him. Rather than collapse on the floor next to the friar, he found a chair.

He had always been one to heal fast. Given the nature of his wounds, however, and from whence they had come, he wondered if they would heal at all. The cardinal would know, but he didn’t want to ask about it in Marian’s presence. She had enough worry on her mind and a heavy enough burden on her shoulders without adding his troubles, as well.

As the others discussed the latest developments, Robin found that he was becoming light-headed. He struggled to bring his focus back to bear on the conversation, even though all he really wanted to do was find a quiet place to lick his wounds and go to sleep.