Nottingham

by Nathan Makaryk

  “I have news that cannot wait,” the earl said, clearly eyeing William. His hesitation lasted only a second before giving him his full consideration. “Wendenal, you say? The son of Lord Beneger de Wendenal, from Derbyshire?”

  “Indeed.” De Lacy tilted his head. “William is here on behalf of King Richard himself. He has come a long way to hear old men such as ourselves discuss problems that have no solution.”

  William fought down the urge to respond, and instead took the man’s hand. “The pleasure is mine.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Waleran chided. “I’m not nearly as old as he.”

  “You foolishly continue to determine your age,” de Lacy sipped from a wine glass, “by the number of years you’ve lived. By all other means you’re as old as I. And William here would be old enough to have fathered us both.”

  He had not expected such a compliment. “I wouldn’t say that, Baron.”

  “Oh no? Dispose of your humility, it’s a cousin of shame. I say any man who has bled on the war’s edge has knowledge that I never will.”

  “You would not say that if you’d been in a war,” William answered. “There aren’t any great lessons to be learned there. Those that survive rarely do so because of their skill.”

  “And you do not consider that knowledge valuable?” Roger raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat again. He peered into his empty glass and then over to a nearby girl who was currently failing to refill it.

  “How is Warwick?” de Lacy asked.

  “The pride of England, when I left her,” Waleran boasted. “But I came from York.”

  De Lacy’s eyes opened wide, then disappeared behind bushy eyebrows. “Interesting. We’d best rush through the pleasantries, then?”

  “Please.” Waleran nodded.

  “Your health?”

  “Consistent.”

  “Your children?”

  “Unremarkable.”

  “And wife?”

  “Still living. And here, actually.”

  “How unfortunate. I’m surprised she’s not here now, then.”

  Waleran shuddered at the thought. “I do what I can to contain her. Women and politics are like two very opposite concepts that would make for a witty analogy if only I had the time to craft one.”

  De Lacy smiled. “I’m going to steal that. But it’s cruel.”

  “Not at all. If I were prone to cruelty, I would wad her dress up in my hand and shovel it down her mouth until she suffocated.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Of course not. The union of our two families is very slightly more valuable than the fleeting joy of throttling her to death.”

  De Lacy pointed a finger. “There. You’ve just described the precarious balance that keeps the entirety of England alive. Are you taking notes, William?” Before he could answer, the Sheriff turned back to his visitor. “Alright then, that was delightful. You’d best explain whatever brought you here.”

  “As I say, I bring troubling news from York. John Marshal has been deposed.”

  De Lacy frowned, but did not seem to take it as a surprise. William, meanwhile, had no clear idea how to react. He was still struggling with the local politics.

  “The High Sheriff of Yorkshire,” de Lacy explained. “An insatiably just man, one of the few sheriffs whom I would argue was fit for his post, myself excluded. Hardly unexpected, after that business with the Jews last year.”

  “What incident?” William asked.

  “You don’t know? All the time you spent with King Richard and you never talked of such things?” De Lacy puckered his lips and grumbled heavily. “Surely you’re familiar with the rumor that your friend, our king, ordered the seizure of all Jewish property and land to fund his war?”

  William was absolutely familiar with last year’s heinous rumor. “Which was an utter lie.”

  “Yes, I know. As did John Marshal in York. But not the people. It’s the people, William, that matter. Laws and lords both can be trampled by a mob. John Marshal opened the gates of his castle to protect as many Jews as he could. He gathered them in a wooden keep, two-hundred some. But the mob was scaling his walls. No escape. Yours is the military mind, William. What do you suppose the Jews did?”

  His answer was not immediate. “Barricaded the keep?”

  “Ah.” De Lacy seemed to think about it. “Well they chose to kill themselves.”

  “They set their own keep on fire,” Waleran explained. “Though I imagine some fell on a sword first. I certainly would have.”

  De Lacy smiled at Waleran. “You lack the body weight. The blade would have simply propped you up.”

  “I had not heard about that,” William said, trying not to picture it in his mind. “I don’t know if Richard knew, either.”

  “Of course he did,” de Lacy snapped. “He seized the property of the deceased.”

  William pushed the thought away. Richard had been ravenous in raising his war capital, and a cold-blooded act like this was unfortunately not surprising. Not from a man who would slit a messenger’s throat in the name of being mysterious.

  “It was a wretched tragedy,” Waleran finished the story, “and anyone with an opinion on either side blamed John Marshal. Realistically, the seat for the High Sheriff of York opened up that day.”

  “Agreed. But why now? Why did it take a year?”

  “Ah,” the earl tapped the table, “that’s just it. It is not the fallout of yesteryear’s fire that brings me here today.”

  “Hm?” de Lacy murmured. “Go on.”

  “There were many who wanted to see him fall, as you say, but what do you suppose was the reason for his removal? The official proclamation mentioned negligence of service. Specifically, for lack of revenue sent to King Richard.”

  “Lack of revenue?” De Lacy’s echo was heavy. For once he had no response. His jaw clamped shut tightly and his eyes searched for answers he seemed unwilling to say aloud.

  William said it. “You think you’re next.”

  Roger grunted in agreement. “Wouldn’t you? If the word travels—as it will—that even the great John Marshal must be accountable to collect every shilling of taxes…” But he didn’t finish the thought. Instead he gestured to William. “If word has reached the king that Nottinghamshire has been found wanting, everyone else knows it as well. Who is John Marshal’s successor?”

  “That’s the worst part,” the earl answered. “Osbert de Longchamp.”

  De Lacy closed his eyes in disgust. “Brother to the Chancellor, William Longchamp. Unquestionable loyalty. No political experience.” He rapped his knuckles on his wine glass. “And a complete madman.”

  “I don’t understand,” William said, because he didn’t.

  “My political allies will vanish if they think I am to be replaced by someone as insane as Longchamp. Nobody wants to be associated with the man whose head is next on the block, not with a man like that in charge.”

  William’s gut twisted. A different sheriff might be more willing to entertain peace talks with the outlaws, or he could be a thousand times worse. It was not until this moment William even realized how lucky he was that a man like Roger de Lacy was currently in charge at all. He might have found a vengeful and cold sheriff, or a coward, or corruption. Roger de Lacy, stubborn though he was, was at least interested in other people’s opinions before he rejected them.

  Losing him would make William’s job tenfold more difficult.

  “Baron, I am here to represent the king,” he said gently. “If you want to secure your worth as sheriff, then help me secure the supply lines. Why not wrap things up with those outlaws, that we might focus on one problem at a time?”

  De Lacy withered him with a stare, but his lips were a smile. “Found a vulnerability, did you?” He shook his head. “Forget about your peace talks. I gave you a seat here so that you might learn a little, not so you could parrot the same worthless idea whenever you find the smallest advantage.”

  William clamped hi
s mouth shut. He would get nowhere if he gave offense. Another day.

  “It’s not Richard’s taxes England should blame for its troubles,” the Earl of Warwick was saying, “but Richard’s absence. We’ve been left with Chancellor Longchamp, who has all of Richard’s authority and none of his decency. Longchamp came from nothing, he purchased his office with three thousand pounds of war funds. Status and pedigree are meaningless before the great god of coin.”

  A low grumble came from de Lacy, whose face was stricken with worry. A guilty lump rose in William’s throat. His first reaction had been to think of himself and his mission, while de Lacy’s entire life had just been potentially upheaved. Even still, his mind could only spare so much thought for the baron, as it still raced down empty possibilities for his own options.

  Suddenly Robin’s half of their mission did not seem so bad. He only had to tame a handful of discontents, while William had to bring stability to an entire county that was in danger of losing its last sane leader.

  Whatever discussion would have followed was interrupted by a swell of hurried footsteps from the corridor, earning all of their attention. The noise belonged to Hamon Glover, caroming down the hallway, red-faced and eyes bulging.

  “Excuse me, Sheriff, but I bring important news.”

  “That would be the theme of the day, apparently,” de Lacy moaned. “What is it?”

  “Captain Gisbourne is back, your lordship.”

  “He’s back?” de Lacy attacked the word. “I did not know he was missing.”

  “He’s been searching for one of his men, Jon Bassett,” Hamon answered, “who was left behind after the altercation at Locksley Castle. His regiment returned two days ago, but he apparently continued the search alone. Did you not know?”

  De Lacy’s face spoke to his shock. “You’ll have to forgive my lack of omniscience. I only know things that people tell me.”

  “Did he find him?” William asked, eager to punish the man.

  “No.” Hamon pivoted, as if he were about to be chastised for whatever ill news he had brought. “Gisbourne searches in the city now, it seems. And he has just issued some very alarming orders.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ELENA GAMWELL

  THE GREAT OAK

  ELENA WAS PERFECTLY TORN. On one hand, she wanted to refuse to participate in Locksley’s patronizing attempt at an education. On the other hand, she didn’t want the rest of the group to see how much he’d crawled under her skin. There was a victory in being above it all, no matter how much she wasn’t.

  The entire camp was gathered around a collection of tree stumps, where she and Will sat alone. Robin of Locksley had climbed down from his mighty golden tower to share his knowledge with the ignorant poorfolk, and that expertise amounted to nothing but a couple of stumps.

  “You should bounce!” came a chirp from the audience, and Elena flashed a smile at young Much.

  “Oh look,” she managed a forced giggle for him, “what a lovely carriage ride!”

  She bobbed up and down on her stump, happy to amuse him, and extended her foot forward to nudge Will’s back.

  “I’m not bouncing,” he muttered without turning.

  At some distance away, Locksley led Alan in a wide circle, exaggerating his movements to show how stealthy they were supposed to be. It was pure façade here in the bare field under the Great Oak, but that was the point.

  “You’re not doing it right!” Much yelled again, this time at Will.

  “Oh my,” Will droned out a monotone response. “An excellent day for a ride. I certainly hope we don’t get mauled by a bear or stopped by anyone who means to take all our gold, oh no.”

  Will pulled back on some imaginary reins to halt their imaginary horses in response to a non-imaginary Friar Tuck who stood before them, waving his arms in the air.

  “Halt! Oh please, halt! Oh thank you for stopping, kind sirs or madams. The Lord has sent you to me in my moment of need, and for this I am thankful!”

  Will dropped his head. “This is so stupid.”

  Of course it was stupid. They were practicing thievery using stumps and make-believe. Elena and Will had grown up with these skills, honing them in the streets of Nottingham for survival, not by playing at pretend. The group was eating more food than they could steal, and their supplies were running low, but this was the wrong answer. Most of the men and women in this camp only had talent that lay in the land, and empty exercises such as this weren’t like to teach them anything. Arthur and David, for instance, had already vastly improved their skillsets by following Will along in the real world, not an imaginary one.

  “I appreciate your assistance,” Tuck continued. He had stopped the fake carriage in the middle of the fake road, looking as pitiful and unimposing as possible. “You are very kind, my obviously wealthy friends with no apparent military affiliation.”

  Alan approached Elena from the side, jumping in place as if appearing from behind a tree. The lack of actual trees made it laughable.

  “I can clearly see you,” she said with a smirk, which he seemed to take as a compliment.

  Locksley joined them, too, from equally fictitious cover. A non-existent arrow was nocked in his bow and half-drawn, aimed at Will. Alan countered his movements and hopped up on the driver’s stump, his sword at Will’s chest. But this caused Locksley to call for a hold, scolding Alan for getting too close. “Remember when you two came after me in the woods? You came too close, which was when we got the upper hand on you. Remember how easily I disarmed Will?”

  “I do remember that,” Alan cackled.

  “Shut it.”

  Elena nudged Will with her foot again. “I don’t think I heard about that, actually.”

  “That’s because it never happened, that’s why we didn’t tell you.” Will grabbed Alan, who looked eager to tell the story. “Oh look, Robin has more to say! Let’s all listen to Robin.”

  “The point is,” Locksley continued, “never give them the chance to attack. If you’re taking something from them, have them place it on the ground and step away from it. Don’t let them hand it to you.”

  “You’ve got a bow on him,” Alan protested. “He can’t do anything to me. You’d shoot him first.”

  Locksley puffed his cheeks and shrugged. “Here, let me.”

  He tagged Will on the shoulder, and the two of them exchanged places. “Nice carriage,” he commented as he sat.

  Will sneered. “Thanks, I built it just for you.”

  Alan stayed where he was, placing the tip of his sword against Locksley’s chest exactly as he had done with Will. Locksley looked at it calmly, then slowly raised his right hand close to Alan’s face, between it and the blade. Alan looked at it dumbly for a second, and then a small movement of his left hand let Locksley flick the sword tip up and away from Alan, stealing it and reversing its point against Alan’s neck. If Elena had blinked she would have missed it. It was so smooth Alan didn’t even register it had happened before it was over. Despite herself, she was impressed.

  “Dead.” Locksley mock jabbed the blade into Alan’s throat. “Too close.”

  “Yes, but you know what sort of men drive carriages for the wealthy?” Will asked. “The kind that don’t move like lightning. The kind that are fat and slow and scared of men with swords.”

  He went on, but Locksley leaned back toward Elena’s stump. “Did you hear that? He said I moved like lightning!”

  Elena shoved him away.

  “The point is, don’t take a chance. Step back, Alan.” He did, and Robin resumed his original position outside their pretend carriage. “Now, Will, why don’t you try to disarm him from that distance?”

  Will sighed but took the challenge. He brought up his right hand, flopping it about to mock Locksley. “Ooh, look at the hand! You’re so distracted by the hand! Whatever are you going to do by the—” Then he lunged to snatch the sword from Alan, just as Locksley had. But the gap between them was too much, all he grabbed was air.

&nb
sp; “So sorry my friend snuck up on you there,” Locksley was back in character, bow up, “he didn’t realize how twitchy you were. I’m the same way, really, so I’d prefer you have no more sudden movements unless I accidentally let fly this arrow. I’d appreciate it.”

  “If I kill you,” Alan snarled, “it won’t be accidental.”

  “Woah!” Locksley laughed. “Settle down, Alan! Keep it friendly! Nobody wants to be robbed, but if you make the experience as pleasant as possible, they’re less likely to complain about it to the Sheriff. Remember,” he winked, “we’re gentlemen.”

  Locksley swung himself inside the carriage, landing with something he thought was grace on the stump next to Elena, oozing fake charm. “Good evening, ladies.”

  Elena promptly pounded the flat of her fist into his chest three times. “Stab stab stab. Dead.”

  The crowd whistled and hollered for her, as they should.

  “And risk getting blood all over your lovely dress?” Locksley smiled. “I think not.”

  “Hey, she can kill you if she wants!” Will twisted to watch what was happening, but Alan grabbed his shoulder and spun him back.

  “You can’t see any of this,” he whispered. “You’re outside the carriage.”

  Locksley ignored him and took Elena’s hand in his own, touching it with his lips. “Good evening, Lady Gamwell.” She let him woo her, partially to play her part, and partially to give Will a little bit of jealousy she could use later. She wiggled in mock happiness, and brushed her twined braid back over her shoulder.

  “Ooh, a ruffian!” she cooed. “Whatever shall I do?”

  “It pains me to frighten you so. Lips such as yours should not be made to tremble. Please accept my humblest apologies.”

  “Oh, if only I were stronger and braver, but as it is I am helpless!” She kicked back and swooned.

  “Are those diamonds?” Locksley gasped, “I hardly noticed, compared to your beautiful face. Does it really need such jewelry to compete with? I think not!” Locksley reached behind Elena’s neck to undo diamonds that weren’t there. She saw Will twitch slightly at his closeness.