“How is your father?” De Lacy leaned over the desk to clasp both hands on William’s shoulders, looking deeply into his face.
The question caught him off guard, because he didn’t know. Writing casual letters simply wasn’t a part of their relationship. “Well, when last I heard,” he said. “Which was some time ago.”
“Good. Good.” Roger fingered a decanter on the table, and began pouring two glasses. “Sit, drink some wine. How long will you stay? Will you need lodgings?”
“I … may.” He fought to hide his agitation. “This is somewhat urgent, Baron.”
“Unless you mean to make love to me,” the Baron offered, “then I doubt it. I have been alive significantly longer than you, William, and I have never known anything else to qualify as urgent after dinner.” He paused, then added, “Except urination. That’s a new one. Strange thing, the human body, it forgets how to do the simplest tasks as it ages.”
“Yes.” William blinked. “Baron.”
“Drink.”
William was admittedly ravished. He had barely stopped all day. After being certain he had outrun the young thief Alan in the Sherwood, he doubled back overland to search for Robin. The site of their encounter was deserted, and offered no signs of what had happened. Pure chance had brought him two mounted members of the Nottingham Guard, who were themselves returning home. Skeptical at first, they eventually took his cause as their own, even going so far as to ride to Clipstone first in hopes that Robin had found his way there. The loan of a third horse made their afternoon faster, though the sun was setting by the time they reached the sprawling city of Nottingham. Exhausted as he was, William was still ready to lead a search party for Robin immediately.
But if the Sheriff insisted on sharing wine first, he would have to abide. De Lacy took a long slow draw from his cup and patted his lips together, a miniature applause for a drink well done. William drank second, out of courtesy, but mid-pull, the Sheriff spoke. “So. You’re here to talk about stolen supplies.”
William choked to answer. “I am.”
“They’ve been missing for months. How confident are you with your understanding of the word urgent?”
He took the insult, it wasn’t worth fighting back. “I need your assistance. I was traveling with a friend, another member of the royal guard. We were separated, and he may be held captive by outlaws who waylaid us in the forest.”
“That’s unfortunate.” De Lacy’s concern seemed earnest, if detached. “I doubt they’ll hurt him. They’ll take his things and let him loose. But I’ll have Gisbourne arrange scouts to go out at first light to find him.”
William glanced out the window at the fading light, and realized with some disappointment there was little else he could hope for. Robin would be on his own for the night. “Thank you.”
“Of course. Now then, your war supplies. Say whatever it is you’ve come to say. Then you can tell Richard himself you tried your best before being sent away empty-handed.” De Lacy smiled and moved toward the door. “Do you mind if I step out while you talk? I hardly see the need for me to be here. Just talk at the painting if you wish, and tell Richard I listened.”
This, fortunately, was familiar territory. William could win at a game of sarcasm, and he had already practiced this conversation during the ride. “Baron,” he composed himself, shifting his mindset to the matter at hand, “King Richard doubts either your loyalty, or your ability. Could you tell me which one it is?”
De Lacy’s jaw tightened. “Both are beyond reprisal.”
“With respect, your king disagrees. If you are indeed loyal, then you are apparently incapable of securing your trade routes. Or if you are capable, you must be complicit in their disappearance. I don’t see a third option.”
“Oh, your simplicity is impressive.” De Lacy wet his lips. “Very well, I’m either impertinent or incompetent. Let him appoint someone else as Sheriff. I never wanted this post in the first place. You can have it, if you think obedience is its only requirement. However, in six months’ time Richard will send a replacement for you as well, because it’s not my intelligence that starves his army.”
“I’m not here to replace you—”
“The people are hurting.” Roger de Lacy had a ferocity to him now, which raised the hair on the back of William’s neck. “Richard raised the taxes, you know. He sold everything he could and some things he couldn’t, all to fund his precious Crusade. The Saladin tithe he called it, to a country of hard-working people who can’t even comprehend who a Saladin is. What is the result? Some of them pay, yes. They pay, starve, die, and then stop paying. Others don’t pay at all. So we don’t actually increase our coffers because it more or less balances itself out. To which Richard brilliantly replies, ‘Well … raise the taxes again!’”
William swallowed. “Baron, I respect the difficulties of your office, I do, and I did not come here to insult them. I have nothing to say as to taxes. But I crossed your county line this morning, and I already know more about Richard’s missing supplies than you do. I don’t know if you are aware of this, or if you even heard what I said earlier, but there is a gang of outlaws in the Sherwood Forest operating with, apparently, wanton freedom.”
De Lacy emptied his cup and his countenance changed, the anger gone as if never there. All his harsh features shifted into a grandfatherly smile, sharing some secret between them. “Have you looked at my face, William?”
William tried not to sigh. “What am I looking for?”
“Do you see all the scars, all the little broken chunks of wood embedded in my flesh?” He leaned in close that William could see him better, but there was nothing but wrinkles and veins. “No? That’s interesting. So William, do you know why my face remains unscarred and unembedded with little broken chunks of wood?”
“No.”
“It is because I do not regularly make a habit of ramming my own face into this table here,” he cleared away a small section of papers to show its thick, craggy surface, lowering his face so that they almost touched, “even when it otherwise sounds like an excellent idea. And do you know why I do not regularly ram my face into this table?”
“Do tell.”
“Because I’m not an idiot.” Now he stood, curiously taller than before. “I am well aware of the brigands in the Sherwood, I know precisely what they have taken from the king, and I know that I have a foot at the end of each of my legs. I hope you did not travel this far to tell me things of which I already have intimate knowledge.”
“I have not,” William bit back, refusing to be patronized. “I have come because I have friends in the war who don’t have a sword to fight with. And as I traveled home to fix this problem, the man who stole these very swords assaulted me in the forest! You’ll forgive me if I find the solution to this problem glaringly obvious!”
“Glaringly obvious,” de Lacy repeated the words, rolling them in his mouth as if he were tasting the wine. “My apologies, but I don’t see it. You want me to … what, go out and … go out and get them?”
William stared back. “In as many words, yes.”
“Let’s explore that, shall we? We have a displaced group of peasants living in the forest, who on occasion steal some warbound supplies for their own use. What is the appropriate response?”
It was almost shocking that William had to put this into words, so he used short ones, and carefully. “You stop them.”
“Ah,” de Lacy seemed to love the answer, “Captain Gisbourne thinks the same thing, that we ought to kill them all. And William, would that appease the king?”
“If you stop the thieving, you restore the supply chain, and the army is fed.”
“Yet it is not my duty to feed the army,” de Lacy countered, “it is my duty to enforce justice. Would this be justice, to kill these outcasts?” His fingers graced a book on a shelf—a Bible, by William’s guess. “‘You have heard that it was said, An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’ Lex talionis. Do you consider this to be a fair enough
principle?”
Another time, with less at stake, William would have relished the discussion. Instead he aimed for simplicity. “In many circumstances, yes.”
De Lacy tapped the edge of the book. “Then by what right would we take their lives? They haven’t killed anyone, and I have no intention of making them feel they should! By justice, what we should do is take back what they’ve stolen. But by all rational means, we stole it first with these ridiculous taxes! They did not start this. We did. Or rather, King Richard did! I’d say we’re lucky they haven’t killed anyone yet—they would certainly be in their right mind to do so.”
William wasn’t sure what to say. “You make apathy sound like a virtue.”
“Apathy?” One bushy eyebrow jolted upward. “You haven’t been listening.”
“It’s easy for you to stay out of it,” William continued, “because the ramifications of your inaction are currently half the world away.” But William had seen it with his own eyes, he’d counted the bodies. “What of the king’s army? Without supplies, our soldiers desert. Or die. Richard’s army is dwindling, the war failing.”
“I will not…” the Sheriff’s finger trembled, crooked and pointing at William, “… aggravate them. Leave these outcasts to their own, and they’ll soon realize there’s no great opposition. They’re poorly organized, they won’t last through the winter. This shall pass. If a few shipments get lost traveling through the Sherwood, so be it. If your war’s success is bound to that which gets lost in my forest, it had no hope to begin with.”
“Perhaps I ought to join these rebels,” William said glibly. “Sounds as though they’re paid better than I am.”
De Lacy ignored the comment. “You’ve come a long way, William, not because Richard needs supplies, but because he doesn’t like to lose. His hubris is not worth bloodshed at home. I will not allow it.”
William sighed, at a loss for words. De Lacy’s attitude implied that the matter was settled, but William could wait to sway the man’s politics. Robin was better at dealing with politicians, and he could fix this once he made it to Nottingham. “A matter for another time, then. I should get some rest, for tomorrow’s search.”
“Indeed.” De Lacy dismissed him with a wave. “Gisbourne will arrange the details. Your missing companion, what was his name?”
“Robin of Locksley.”
The room itself shifted, so obvious was the Sheriff’s unease at the name. William’s hair stood on end. It was as if he had uttered some arcane spell, which had the power to change men’s minds. “Do you know him?”
“No,” answered de Lacy, carefully. “But I’ve had dealings with his father. When we first raised the taxes, Lord Walter of Locksley was one of the first to bear complaint. He gathered quite a bit of support over time, and what followed was … less than desirable.”
It had not occurred to William that Robin’s surname might be a liability in this area. If his captors learned his identity, they might choose to exploit him. Whatever guilt William already carried for leaving his friend behind suddenly multiplied, and threatened to mutiny.
“I can lead your captain to the place I last saw him. We’ll need a formidable host for a search party.”
“I doubt I have so many to spare. But we’ll send what we can.” De Lacy was distracted, picking at papers on the table, and whispered the name Locksley again. Then he stood and leaned close to William, speaking softly as if someone else might be listening. “The weapons that are missing. If you’re able to reclaim them, do so. Ask for a man named John Little. He should be reasonable.”
“He’s the reasonable one?” William coughed. “He offered to smash my skull.”
“But do not hurt anyone,” de Lacy added quickly. “No arrests, no fights. A peaceful solution, understood?”
William nodded slowly, unsure what had changed the man’s mind.
The Sheriff opened the doorway, then looked back from the corners of his eyes. “Roger de Lacy, do you like that name?”
Baffled, William quietly agreed that it was a fine name. De Lacy held his gaze with a curious smile, judging him for something William couldn’t understand. After a short groan that could have easily been acceptance or disapproval, he was gone through the doorway, closing it behind him. Only one de Lacy remained—painted, framed, and scowling on the wall—offering William exactly as many answers as its human counterpart.
FOURTEEN
ROBIN OF LOCKSLEY
SHERWOOD FOREST
THE GOING WAS SLOW, overland with no identifiable path. His two captors stayed far enough ahead to avoid conversation, leading their newly stolen horses. Will Scarlet kept disappearing into the woods while John Little plodded along firmly, but both had to stop frequently to wait for Robin and his limp to catch up. They had given him a pack to shoulder in case he wasn’t already slow enough, while they carried little more than his weapons. After some time the two of them squabbled with each other, on and off for an hour, after which their route changed into something decidedly more circular. If they thought to disorient Robin with their confusing path, they had doubly wasted their time.
Eventually Robin’s body grew accustomed to its pains, and they gave him plenty of chances to rest. Along the way they checked dozens of snares but found only a single rabbit, and they even spent a bit of time fishing in the river. Robin offered to help just to keep them moving, which they refused and insisted—with unkind words—that he keep his mouth shut. John Little dozed off for an hour while Scarlet kept watch over Robin, sharpening his blades in an obvious but effective attempt to appear intimidating. They even lost some time chasing after one of the horses, which Robin found endlessly ironic but was forbidden to say aloud. The sun had nearly disappeared over the horizon by the time they finally came to their destination, at which point Little left them behind and they waited even longer.
Eventually, the man returned and led Robin into a clearing that sprawled wide and flat. Long grass swayed in a breeze that found its way from the other side, between which were twenty or thirty ramshackle tents. They were dirty and flapping about, each one built shoddier than the last, as though he’d come across some great contest of incompetence. Here and there were empty fire rings, skinny dogs chasing after each other, and a gathering of people faring only slightly worse than their tents. They clustered around a great oak tree, standing alone in the middle of the clearing, its massive low branches reaching out and down, either protecting or eating the people beneath. A crowd had already begun to gather.
“If you still see yourself as having the upper hand,” John said, “thought you’d want to meet the rest of your prisoners. Hope you don’t mind the imprisonment of women, children, and men of the cloth amongst.”
He spoke true enough. This was no gang of thieves, not the rogue band of mercenaries Robin expected. Old men, backs crooked and skin tanned bronze, women carrying bundles of canvas and straw, children who were too skinny, and men who were little better.
A young girl with inky dark hair, braided with twine and trinkets, came running and flung herself into Will’s arms. A sister, Robin guessed, until she gave him a kiss that said anything but. On second look, she was not as young as he’d thought, just small, and Robin forced himself to look elsewhere when he realized they were still kissing.
“Who’d you catch, darling?” she asked loudly, though her lips were still only inches from Will’s. “Someone important?”
“Apparently so.”
“All on your own?”
“Well Alan ran off, and John spent some time swimming, so yes, all on my own.”
“I had no doubt.”
She bit his lip and tugged it, cocking an eyebrow at Robin. Dark, almond eyes, paired against smooth white skin. Lucky boy.
“My apologies to all!” John called out, settling the crowd. “We knew this time would come. I’m afraid we are but surrendered!”
This was met with a variety of animated reactions, none of which seemed to take it seriously. Any fear that Rob
in had of being held captive or ransomed had vanished at the edge of the glen, but neither were the tables reversed. He wished William was here, he was always better at dealing with people.
“Quiet now, quiet,” John calmed the banter. “This here, well he’s a friend of the Sheriff.”
A bevy of boos and hisses followed as though they were the audience of a Passion play.
“And he’s asked for our captivation. So we’ve had a good time, but it seems this here is the end.” He turned to Robin, holding his hands out and together as if bound. “Your prisoner, John Little.”
“A pleasure to meet you, John,” he lied.
“Will Scarlet you’ve met,” he gestured. “That one attached to his side is Elena. You’ll be needing a double cell for the two of them. It’s awfully hard to keep them separate.”
Elena uncurled from Will’s chest and poised herself, a limp hand extended toward Robin. “Lady Gamwell will do fine.”
“Lady Gamwell.” Robin bowed deeply to her, holding her hand ever so gently and giving it a brushed kiss. He could tell she hadn’t expected him to play along, but the cold stare from Will was worth it.
“Please tell me you blindfolded him,” Elena said, absolutely unamused. Robin had wondered the same thing during their day’s travel, but saw no reason to question it.
“We … did not,” Will answered matter-of-factly. “But the terrain, he would have fallen over every couple of seconds. We would have had to carry him.”
“You could have punched him,” offered a redheaded man with a sharp face. “You could have punched him until he fell asleep.”
“That’s not how sleep works, Arthur,” Elena scolded.
“And we still would have had to carry him,” Will replied. “That literally fixes nothing.”
“But you had horses.” Elena put her hands on both of Will’s cheeks to aim his head at the horses they stole. “You could have blindfolded him and put him on a horse.”
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