Shield of Three Lions (59 page)

There, still loaded with gear, stood Firth and Twixt.

In a flash I turned Thistle back to the strand and galloped toward Ludgate.

DAMNATION. I WOULD HAVE TO SLEEP IN THE FIELDS outside London this night and risk outlaws, rogues and bandits. How had the Devil-Scot gotten here so fast? On his broomstick, I thought sourly.

I rose at Matins, while it was still dark, and began the upward climb on Icknield Street. By the time it was light, I’d left the rich
mansions behind and was in open country. Briefly I wondered where Gladys Stump was now, recalled her raucous “Caaa! Caaa! Caaa!” and Enoch’s ridiculous enthrallment. Would he had married the hussy.

I stopped that night in a village inn, and inquired to see if there was a northbound group I could join. Fortunes Wheel helped me, for I linked myself with a company of Benedictine monks heading for Durham, led by Father Thaddeus. He warned me that we must travel with all speed and take our beds as we found them: the whole country was embroiled in civil warfare—to linger might prove fatal. I assured him that I too sought speed.

Every step thereafter carried us into more hostile country. The fathers were alert to danger e’en though they pretended to ignore it and I felt especially conspicuous with my scarlet robes, a cardinal among crows, the one person who might be carrying gold. Therefore, I borrowed a black cape from the fathers.

Villages were now infrequent, as were houses. Occasionally we passed a mean thatched hut with a fetid pool before the door where wretched families watched our passage sullenly. Others were hostile, shook fists at us and called us “Bishop’s lackeys.” One morning we rode for many miles without seeing any sign of human habitation when all at once we came to a stop.

Father Thaddeus raised a hand to signal silence, though no one had spoken a word for hours.

Nonetheless we stopped obediently and virtually held our breaths. In the distance we could hear shouts and the clang of swords; I judged that an army of about thirty was coming our way.

“Into the woods!” the father whispered harshly.

We needed no second order, but rode into the thick brush, dismounted some distance to our right, well out of sight but still able to see one portion of the street. Now the sounds grew in volume: taunts, screams, the clash of weapons. Then my educated ears told me ’twas over, one side gave chase to the other. In no time a gaggle of harried men rushed by low to their horses, their outfits a mixed motley, many of them bleeding and ashen of face. Still we waited. Almost
on their heels came their victors, a group just as wounded and poor as the first except for their exultant shouts. Finally, cautiously, and after a long silence, we made our way back to the road to continue our journey.

Around the next bend we came upon the grisly sight of seventeen men hanging from the oaks which lined the street. Though their eyes and tongues bulged in death, the fathers rushed to cut them down, for their flesh was still warm. One lived a short time but the others were dead. We stopped to say a death Mass, tried to dig shallow graves in the frozen turf, had to settle finally for covering them with leaves and branches against ravening beasts.

“They’re more sinned against than sinning,” our holy father said. “Treason is abroad in the land.”

As if the day’s events were not enough to bloody our fantastick cells, we could find no inn by nightfall and were forced to sleep in the open under an
icy
drizzle which penetrated our very marrows. We couldn’t rest comfortably without a fire, yet were terrified of what its light might bring us. We huddled around a tiny circle of smoke and prayed through chattering teeth for God’s mercy, which for the holy fathers meant we should go to Heaven if slaughtered in our sleep, and for me meant that we should not be slaughtered at all.

Although we knew God was with us in this valley of death and repeated the psalm to prove it, we forced ourselves to a new pace and hardly stopped to eat or sleep. I gave Thistle handfuls of precious grain from my saddlebags when we paused for water, but it barely sufficed. However, I didn’t complain. Danger was palpable and I was as eager as Father Thaddeus was to avoid it.

Then late one bitter afternoon, we rounded a curve and plunged into disaster. Green-clad archers swarmed like locusts over a dell, their stolen treasures spread on the hoary grass, while several bound merchants watched in terror. A fat friar was among the bandits and saw us before we could pull back.

“A company of scurvy priests, Robin!” he shouted.

“Ho-la, get the scum!”

They charged upon us on foot and instantly o’ercame the priests
who carried no arms. However, I turned Thistle and prepared to dash back up the road alone.

A slender boy grabbed my bridle and I beat him about the face savagely. “Let go, in the name of the king!” I cried.

Instantly a large muscular man came to the lad’s aid and pulled me rudely by the leg so that I started to fall. I loosed my foot from the stirrup and turned the fall into a leap, then hit Thistle’s flank smartly to make him sprint away. By the time the man and boy turned, I had saber and sword. “Touch me and you’re dead!”

“I’ll take him!” the boy called, drawing his weapon.

The man grinned and shouted to his comrades. “Swordplay men!”

I took my stance, sword and saber in position. I was determined to win at the same time that I saw I was hopelessly outnumbered. ’Twould take wits to escape this predicament, but winning came first.

My opponent held his sword at a flat angle before him, his arms stiff. Astonished, I wondered if this was the first time he’d fought. If so, my real challenger was the muscular man behind him.

I took one step back, then
marched
swiftly from the side. I tapped his hand and drew blood!

He cried out in pain and danced back, then forward, waving his sword like a banner.

More and more astonished at his lack of training, I easily avoided his wild gestures by feinting, then struck him again on the shoulder.

Again he cried out, but thrust his chin forward stubbornly and rushed at me and past me as the men began to laugh.

“Methinks you’re outclassed!”

“Good work, stranger!”

Before he could recover, I thrust, but he whirled and avoided sure death.

“Want to quit?” his mentor asked him.

The stripling’s eyes flashed. “Never!”

I smiled derisively, beat my blade on the flat of my hand to confuse him, thrust again and tore his tunic. I no longer planned to injure the wight; ’twould not be chivalrous to take advantage of him, or
good strategy either. I admired his valor, and I feared his backers. I
marched, flèched
, and tossed his weapon into the air as easily as if it were a feather.

A mighty cheer went up.

I flourished this way and that, never taking my eye off the boy who was now embraced by the man. Something in their manner reminded me of Richard with me, and I shuddered.

“Are you hurt?” I heard the older man ask.

“Only my pride.” The boy grinned bravely, showing dimples much like mine, and thrust out a hand to me. “You’re the better man.”

There was a roar of laughter at these simple words and I winced. Surely they didn’t know I was female.

The friar now leered down on me, the most disreputable prelate I’d ever seen, what with his stained smock barely girding his bloated cod, an old piece of helmet topping his crown, bleary eyes and breath strong enough to make me drunkalewe on the spot.

“Where did ye steal that garb?” he belched.

I was about to say that the fathers had lent me a cape, when I saw that I’d dropped the cape and stood forth in full Plantagenet splendor. Remembering that some of these highwaymen worshiped the king, I decided to brazen it out.

“I’ve come directly from King Richard in the Holy Land where I served him as page,” I said haughtily.

A murmur of excitement swept their ranks and the friar was pushed aside by my opponent’s friend. He doffed a feathered cap and bowed low. He had dark curly hair to his shoulders, a crooked smile and cleft chin.

“Robin Hood, at your service. My men and I are keeping the king’s peace in this dangerous wood during his absence. Have you heard of us perchance?” His black eyes gleamed eagerly.

“Yes, I believe I have.” I affirmed to please him. He
could
be the “ruffian” in Queen Eleanor’s letter. “And so has King Richard.”

“What has he said of us?”

Before I could reply, an extremely tall man whispered in his ear and I tried to appraise my situation. I no longer feared for my life,
but delay would be equally hazardous. Robin Hood was a vigorous, intelligent-appearing man with a courteous manner, but at least a dozen rich-clad merchants watched me from their bindings and my fellow travelers cowered in a group under the eyes of three archers, so I dared not trust the varlet. This was an outlaw cutthroat band and must be handled warily.

Robin Hood turned back, his crooked smile in place, his dark eyes still eager. “What is your name, sir?”

“Lord Alex of Wanthwaite, in the household of King Richard.”

“You will be our guest tonight in Greenwood Hall, Lord Alex. You are the most excellent swordsman we’ve ever seen forsooth, and we want you to join us.”

Permanently?
My heart fell like a stone.

“I’m most flattered, sir, but I must decline. If you will release the priests, we shall be on our way, for we have orders from Richard to reach the north with all due haste. The Scots are expected to cross the border.”

A small frown fretted my host’s brow. “We have no use for priests, nor should you, a scurrilous lot of leechers. However, since you obviously come from the king, I’ll release them to show respect for His Majesty. As for you”—his voice dropped—“I’ll let you go in good time.”

“And the merchants?” I persisted, wanting to help the poor prisoners.
Deo volente
, I, too, would regain freedom, though soothly I was frightened, especially that Enoch would o’ertake me.

“As soon as we’ve left with their purloined goods, the priests can do with them as they please.”

He nodded to his men who were already collecting valuable pieces of carved silver off the ground and packing them onto their horses. Now my opponent whispered in Robin Hood’s ear and the robber turned an astonished face to me, listened again, and smiled licentiously. A knot of fear formed in my gullet. Did the varlet mean to abduct me for reasons beyond my swordplay? Had I once again fallen into the hands of a man who loved boys? He swaggered toward me, hat in hand, his manner both deferential and mocking. “I’ve
called for your horse, Lord Alex. Usually we blindfold our guests, but you will be an exception.”

I bowed properly and slid my eyes to the boy for clues, but he continued to smile with strange vacuous delight. In almost no time, everyone had mounted and we turned to enter the dense forest. I cast one piteous farewell glance at Father Thaddeus who made the sign of the cross.
Deus juva me
, I would be back in his company, safe and sound, tomorrow. Then I had to pay heed to the way, for huge ivy-covered trees spread roots like traps, angled their low limbs cunningly to strike our heads off our shoulders. Robins men rode silently as ghosts through this tangle, neither speaking nor cracking a twig. The leader turned back to accompany me. His teeth flashed in the gloom and he reached boldly to my saddle, whereafter each time I came back to the seat I sat directly on his palm. Now certain that my suspicions were correct, I almost broke my legs in an effort to ride in my stirrups and avoid my own saddle.

I was sweating from exertion by the time we finally came to a halt in a greensward. Instantly Robin Hood was on his feet and reaching upward to help me. I had no choice but to accept his arms, whereupon he slid me down the entire length of his torso and bruised my breasts. Too bad I no longer wore my false prick, I thought sourly, for he was deprived of that particular thrill.

The boy now approached. “Come, Lord Alex, I’ll take you to a chamber where you may refresh yourself before dinner.”

For the first time, I realized that we stood before massy structures of logs and woven branches which blended completely with the background. I followed my narrow-shouldered guide into an octagonal hall already lit with pine torches and set with trestle tables loaded with silver. At the far end of the area we climbed a narrow stair to a vast upper chamber dominated by a huge bed.

“This is Robin’s chamber,” the boy explained. “He’s taken the liberty of ordering water to be heated for a bath after your long ride.”

More and more uneasy, I stared at the fur-laden bed. “I would prefer to sleep close to my horse.” Aye, and to ride through that pathless wilderness if need be.

“Soothly?” The lad was startled. “Well, of course, whatever you say. But I thought that before dinner you might like to clean yourself and change your clothes. Would you perhaps like a woman’s tunic?”

’Twas my turn to be startled. “What? What are you talking about?”

The lad laughed gaily. “Forgive me, but I guessed immediately by the way you fought. You took particular care to protect your breasts.”