Robin Hood (15 page)

“Marion, who's here?” Walter called.

“A traveler, Walter,” she called back. She met the stranger's gaze. “This news will be very hard on him,” she said quickly, keeping her voice low. “Do you understand?”

“Well, bring him in!” the old man said.

“Yes, yes …” she answered. She turned back to Longstride. “Tell him Robert is in Jerusalem and sends his love and will return soon.”

“I am here to return the sword,” the man said. “I do not need to say anything else.”

Damn him and his soldiers' creed! “No! Let Walter see out his days thinking his son loves him and yearns to see him again.”

Before the stranger could respond, Walter appeared in the doorway, leaning on his staff, a smile on his wizened face. Somehow, despite his blindness, he turned directly toward her, a gentle rebuke in his expression.

“Marion, our traveler will be thirsty. Travelers are always thirsty.” He turned unerringly to face the soldier. “Is that not so? … Your name, sir?”

“Longstride. Robin Longstride.”

Walter's smile faltered at the sound of the name, and
he seemed to grip his staff more tightly. “Do you mock me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Marion looked back and forth between the two men. She didn't understand what was happening, but she was now even more wary of the stranger than she had been a moment before.

She could see, though, that Longstride had no more idea of what Walter meant than she did. The soldier appeared to be taken aback at the old man's reaction.

“Sir?” he said.

Walter looked more frightened than she had ever seen him. “Are you here to exact revenge?”

Longstride frowned, but then appeared to remember his purpose in coming. “Your son asked me to return this sword to you.”

The old man blinked, realization crashing over him. He slowly held out a shaking hand. The soldier placed the sword in Walter's hand, but before he could release it, Walter placed his hands over Longstride's, holding them there for a moment. The soldier gazed down at their hands, and then looked up into the man's face, recognition in his pale eyes.

In the next moment, Walter moved his hands, running them over the pommel and hilt of the weapon.

“How does Robert defend himself if he has no sword?” the old man said. “The prodigal son will not return after all?”

Longstride said nothing.

“No tears or forgiveness from his father,” Walter went on quietly. “No amends to be made.”

Marion felt a tear run down her cheek, her chest tight once more.

“Did you see him die?” Walter asked the man.

“I was with him as he passed,” Longstride said. “His last words were for the love and bond between a father and son.”

“Forgive my rudeness. My grief has been waiting for this day.” Walter put down the sword. “Come, so that I may see you.”

Walter reached out for the man's face. At first, Longstride flinched, clearly uncomfortable with being “seen” this way. But after that initial reluctance, he held himself still and allowed Walter's fingers to travel lightly over his strong features. For his part, Walter seemed almost to recognize something in the feel of the man's face. His fingers lingered longer over Longstride's eyes and brow and nose, than they had with others Marion had seen him “look” at.

“Robin Longstride,” Walter said, his voice low again. “A common enough, but noble Saxon name. So, you will dine with us.” He stepped back and wrinkled his nose, winking at Marion as he did. “But first you must bathe, sir. You stink.”

L
OXLEY'S WIDOW LED
Robin to a bathing chamber near the back of the house. It was a small room, the walls paneled with dark wood. A candle burned near a copper tub newly filled with steaming water. As Robin followed Marion into the room, another maid was placing towels near the tub. That done, she slipped out the door, leaving Robin and Marion alone. Marion dipped a hand in the tub, testing the water.

“I have laid out some of my husband's clothes. I hope you don't find that too disconcerting.”

Robin thought it best not to tell her that her
husband's clothes and armor had won him passage across the channel and an audience with the new king and Eleanor of Aquitaine.

When he didn't answer, Marion started to leave.

“My lady,” Robin said, stopping her. “I cannot remove this chain mail by myself. I will need help.”

“Jane!” Marion called. “Madge!”

She waited several moments, but no answer came. Appearing to steel herself, Marion helped Robin pull off his tabard. Then she began to unlace his coat of mail. Robin became very conscious of just how near she was to him, of the light touch of her fingers through the mail. He also recalled what the old man had said.
You stink.
He felt his face shading to red and he kept himself from looking back at her. He bent over while she helped him pull the mail over his head and then straightened once it was off.

Her gaze strayed to his chest and arms, lingering on his many scars.

“Thank you,” Robin said.

Her eyes met his briefly, and then she left the chamber.

As much as Robin welcomed the feel of hot water on his filthy and travel-weary body, he did not tarry in the bath. He got himself clean, dried off, and donned Sir Robert's clothes. Leaving the chamber, he made his way back to the main hall of the Loxley home. A fire blazed brightly in a large stone hearth, and candles burned in two large, circular chandeliers and in candelabras standing throughout the room. Straw covered the floor. Several dogs lay near the hearth, gnawing on bones.

Sir Walter was already seated at the head of a long wooden table near the hearth. Marion, dressed now
in a light blue dress, laced at the front, was placing a large bowl of stew on the table as Robin walked in. She looked up at him, before quickly turning her attention back to the food.

In addition to the stew, the table was laden with cheese, wine, and bread. It was basic fare—noble families in England ate this way every night. But Robin couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a meal, and after Walter spoke a short prayer of thanks, they all began to eat. Robin was ravenous and for a long time he simply ate. At one point, Marion got up and left the hall, saying something about getting more cheese.

Walter, meanwhile, had stopped eating and was holding Loxley's sword, once again running his hands over the hilt and the scabbard.

“You have taken a long road to bring this to me,” he said. “I cannot decide whether that makes you trustworthy …”

“… Or manipulative?” Marion finished for him, reappearing in the doorway bearing a plate.

“Marion!” Walter said, turning toward her as she returned to the table with a rustle of cloth and set the plate near Robin. “I am merely trying to gauge the quality of the man we have as our guest. Is he handsome?”

Marion opened her mouth, closed it again, her cheeks turning bright red. Clearly this was the last thing she had expected the old man to ask.

“In the way that yeoman sometimes are,” she said. “When they're sober.”

Sir Walter turned back to Robin. “Entertain us with the tale of your life. We don't get many visitors anymore, except tax collectors and beggars.”

“I don't know where I am from,” Robin told the man. “Only where I've been.”

The old man wouldn't be put off. “I am starving for news of the outside world.”

Remembering his encounter with the knight on the White Tower dock, Robin said, “William Marshal sends you a message.”

Walter laughed in a way that made Robin think that he wasn't at all surprised by this, that he might even already know what Marshal had told Robin to say. “Marshal, eh? What does the old wolf have to say for himself?”

“He said to look for him on Spring's first black night.”

“He calls a meeting?” Walter nodded slowly. “It has been too long. I look forward to that.” He paused, absently running his hands over the sword again. “Marion, what color are his eyes?”

Marion didn't bother looking up from her plate. “I don't know yet.”

“I have a proposal for you, young man,” Walter went on, as if he hadn't heard. “You brought me this sword, which has great meaning. Give me your time.” He held up the weapon. “It is yours.”

Robin considered this. It was a fine weapon, but in the end, that wasn't why he agreed. He still felt the pull of this place, and he didn't know why. He would honor Walter's request, but he would remain for his own purposes.

“I could stay a day or more,” he said. “There is a question I'd like to ask.”

Walter smiled, apparently not surprised by this, either. “What is your question?”

“The words on the hilt of the sword. What do they relate to?”

The old man's smile deepened and turned sly, as if they were gaming and Walter had just made a wager he knew he would win. “I think I have much I can tell you,” he said. “About history. About your history.”

Robin narrowed his eyes. “That is very generous of you, sir.”

Walter shrugged. “Perhaps. You have not heard the other half of the contract yet. I want you to stay in Nottingham.” He looked toward Marion, perhaps sensing that she was listening closely to all they said. “And for the time being become my returned son and therefore Marion's spouse.” He grinned.

She scowled at the man. “To what end, Walter? You have had too much to drink.” She reached forward and took the wineglass from the old man's hand.

Robin thought she might say more, but Sir Walter raised his hand, silencing her.

“Now, in reality, woman, we both know that without a husband you will lose this land when I die. Do you dispute that?”

Marion's mouth twisted sourly. “No,” she conceded.

“If I say this is my son, he will be seen as that, and, so, as your husband.” He turned back to Robin, and once more Robin was amazed at how this blind old man always seemed to know exactly where everyone was. “It is a fair contract,” the old man said. “It is not as if I expected you to have children.” Once more he grinned, clearly enjoying himself greatly.

This time Robin felt himself blushing; he didn't look for Marion's response. He thought he could imagine it.

Walter continued to eye him expectantly. “The sword for your time, Longstride. Are you in agreement?”

The three of them sat in silence for several moments.

Finally, Robin said, “Yes,” in a low voice.

Walter smiled.

“Marion,” he said. “Go and tell the staff that my son has arrived and our home is whole again. Let them ring the church bells in celebration.” He sat back, looking immensely pleased with himself, and held out a hand. “More wine, please.”

Marion looked decidedly less happy, but she gave the wineglass back to him. She glanced briefly at Robin, stood, and left the hall.