“Much?”
Silence fell.
“Much!”
He strained his ears and heard a grunting sound as of someone struggling with a heavy burden. Then a scream of agony ripped through the room.
“Much!” Robin shouted, lurching toward the sound. Something yanked the back of his shirt, and his feet slid from under him. He landed on his back and rolled, regaining his feet in a moment. He spun in a circle, trying to determine where the attack would come from next.
Nothing.
No, not nothing. There was something.
Breathing.
Something in the darkness was breathing. No, it was more than that, it was as though the darkness itself was breathing.
“Much!”
There was no answer and his stomach lurched. He couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not like this. He moved forward again and then stopped after two steps as he realized he was now completely turned around and lost in the dark. He had no idea which direction he was facing. He didn’t know where Much was, let alone the door through which they hoped to escape.
They were trapped.
* * *
Philemon stared in horror at Sir Lawrence, who was standing a couple of feet away, dozens of the enemy soldiers at his back. It had been his voice calling out.
“Lawrence! What are you doing?”
“The only thing I can do,” Lawrence said. “Survive.”
“I don’t understand,” Philemon said.
“They broke him,” Old Soldier said from behind.
“But, you escaped, you went for help...”
“That never happened. I was captured but separated, and King Wulfhere… showed me the error of my ways.”
“How can you say that, man?” Philemon roared.
“Did Richard tell you what we’re up against?” Lawrence said sharply. “What we’re really being asked to fight?”
“He’s our king. All he needed to tell me was that we needed to fight.”
“Well, some of us would have liked to have known the truth before we pledged ourselves to a crusade that’s doomed to failure. Fighting against men, that’s one thing. Fighting demons? I didn’t sign up for that.”
“You signed up to fight the forces of the Devil himself.”
“That was before I knew the Devil was real!” Lawrence’s teeth ground around his words.
“If he is real, then so is—”
“Shut up,” the knight demanded. “That isn’t true. If God exists, then He is a coward or a bastard. The Devil has been there in every bad deed, every death I’ve dealt. Every time I have followed a noble’s order he has arrived.”
“Blasphemy!”
“Only to the loser of the conflict. You cannot win.”
“Without treachery like yours we could.”
“Ha!” Lawrence responded. “You have no idea the treachery—but not true treachery. I have not betrayed my true dark lord.”
“You’re Wulfhere’s man now.”
“Aye.”
“He will use you and spit you out, son.”
“Not after my service. I went to Sherwood as I was ordered, and found these fools. And I brought their best back to be taken hostage, as well.”
“Coward!” Philemon hissed as he leaped forward. He thrust with his sword, but one of the soldiers standing by Lawrence blocked his blade, sending it flying from his hand. Lawrence began to laugh.
* * *
Standing next to the fence, Old Soldier watched closely. He believed that he and Lord Longstride still had a chance of making it out of this alive. He also believed that the opportunity would present itself once and only once, and that they had to be ready to take it when it did.
Lawrence was busy bragging. The man appeared different to him. The pallor of his skin that had seemed an omen of death instead reminded him of what he’d been told happened to the nobles who signed blood oaths to John the usurper.
But I saw his wound, he thought. I dressed it. If dark magic was afoot, however, then he could have been deceived.
He glanced again at the pen full of men. They appeared to be dead. Surely if they had just been asleep the noise of the battle would have roused them. He squinted his eyes. The man closest to him was breathing, the slight rise and fall of his chest a giveaway.
Then, very slowly, he saw the man’s hand move, one finger at a time. Then the hand slid under the fence rail and tapped him three times on his right boot.
He blinked in surprise. When he had served in the king’s guard as a young man, the triple tap had been the way they would wake each other when it was time for guard duty, or something important was happening. More importantly, it was also a way of waking a sleeping comrade without letting his superiors know the man had fallen asleep. As he had once explained to a young recruit the three taps literally said “Are You Awake?”
Old Soldier carefully tapped his toe three times on the ground to indicate that he understood. The man slowly moved his hand and this time he pointed.
Carefully, slowly, Old Soldier turned his head slightly until he could just make out what the man was indicating. There, about a foot behind him, was the gate to the pen. Hope surged through him. He slowly swiveled his head back, trying to pay attention to what Lord Longstride was saying.
He needed to warn the lord before he acted, so the man would be prepared. He could think of no way to do it without drawing attention. The only shot he had was a long one. There was no reason the lord should understand the significance of the triple tap, but perhaps just making contact would be enough.
Old Soldier’s blade was out and held low. As it was the point was just to the left of Lord Longstride’s shin. Very carefully he moved it and tapped his lord three times on the leg.
The noble kept talking, but he moved his head slightly and cocked it as though listening. He knew something was about to happen. That was as good as they could manage at this point. Old Soldier slowly moved his hand behind him until he felt the gate. It was closed with a chain. His fingers touched the metal and then kept going, searching out a weak spot.
Finally he found it. The fence looked to have been newly reinforced, but the gate was old and the wood was rotting in one section. That’s what his questing fingers told him.
With his left hand he gripped his sword tighter. His was a broadsword, good for the kind of battles where your enemies surrounded you tight. You could swing the sword and take out a number of them if you had the strength and the balance.
He was tired. The battle had taken its toll on him, but he had enough strength in him for one great feat that would change the tide of everything. He just had to make sure it went off as planned.
“Your king is as good as dead,” Lawrence taunted.
“Our king!” Lord Longstride roared, jumping forward to punch Lawrence right in the mouth.
As he did Old Soldier took a step backward, pivoted, swung the broadsword up and over his head, and then brought it down on the rotted part of the gate. The wood shattered beneath the force of his blow and splinters went flying. He jumped back as the men inside rose with a roar and rushed the opening. They shoved their way out. The first ones dove at the men behind Lawrence, wresting weapons away from them as the second wave scrambled to pick up swords that already littered the battlefield.
Lord Longstride grabbed Lawrence and ran him through. The coward bled black poison onto the blade.
“Drop the sword!” Old Soldier bellowed.
Lord Longstride heard and did, just managing to sidestep as Lawrence crashed to the ground. Old Soldier grabbed a sword off a body and tossed it to his lord. All around them the battle raged. Cocky, well-rested, and well-fed soldiers against a ragged army of half-starved men. It was going to be brutal and bloody, but he was counting on the outcome.
* * *
Robin stood, panting and exhausted. He had been searching and he couldn’t find Much. He kept expecting to trip over the man’s body at any second, but he hadn’t. He kept calling, but the young man wasn�
��t answering.
A sudden groaning caught his ear and he stopped.
“Much, is that you?”
“Yes, Lord Robin.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Yes.”
That word drove a new bolt of fear through Robin’s heart. Much never admitted when he was injured. For him to say that, the injury had to be grave indeed.
“Can you walk?”
“I’m not sure,” Much replied. “I’ll try.”
“That’s okay, just keep talking and I’ll come to you,” Robin said, starting to walk in the direction of his voice.
“It’s okay.” Much coughed. “Go, save King Richard.”
“I’m not leaving here without you, so do as I say,” Robin said, putting authority into his voice.
“Yes, my lord.” The voice was weaker.
“Tell me a story, Much.”
“A story? What kind of story?”
“A good one, with a happy ending, those are always the best,” Robin said, heart in his throat. He paused, waiting for Much to speak again.
“I don’t know many of those,” Much said.
“Surely you must know one at least,” Robin pressed.
“There’s the story of you and Queen Marian.”
“Yes, let me hear you tell that one,” Robin said.
“But you already know it,” Much said. The young man wasn’t thinking straight. He didn’t understand why Robin needed him to keep talking.
“But I want to hear it, hear how it’s told. It makes me feel better,” Robin said. “Please, Much, just tell me the story,” he begged.
Much coughed again. “How should I start?”
“Once upon a time. All the best ones start that way, don’t you think?” Robin asked, fighting back tears. He could hear the way Much was coughing. It sounded wet, as if he might be coughing up blood.
“Yes, I guess so,” Much said. “Once upon a time there was this beautiful princess, and her name was...” He drifted off. Robin was getting close to him, but he still needed the sound to help.
“What was her name, Much?”
“What? Oh, her name was the Lady Marian.” His voice was weaker still. He was fading.
“And what did she look like, Much?” Robin pressed.
“She was the most beautiful woman who ever lived. She had a smile that could make you feel warm like the sun was shining on you.”
Robin cursed under his breath as he tried to find the young man. He was close. He could still hear whispering all around him in the room, but he forced himself only to hear Much’s voice.
“And did she smile at you, Much?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, she smiled at many people. Mostly, though, she smiled at this one man.”
“That man must have been very, very lucky,” Robin said, slowing down. He should be almost on top of the boy.
“Oh yes, very lucky,” Much slurred.
Robin bent down and felt rough cloth beneath his fingers. He sat down on the floor and found Much’s face. He touched the boy’s cheek with his hand. It was cold and wet with something thick and sticky.
“The luckiest man in the world,” Robin said, struggling to get the words out.
“I... can’t... remember... the rest,” Much said.
“Then I’ll tell you. This man was lucky not just because the fair Marian smiled upon him but also because he had friends who were the most loyal and the most true.”
“Everyone... needs friends,” Much whispered.
“Yes, and one of the dearest friends the man had was the son of a miller, who was strong and tall and had the noblest heart of any man he’d ever met.” He found and held Much’s hands. The boy was slipping away from him, he could feel it. Any moment now and he would be gone.
“And he was very sorry that he ever got his friend into trouble,” Robin said, unable to stop the tears.
“It’s okay,” Much whispered.
Listening as the breathing grew ragged and thin, Robin knew that it wasn’t.
SACRIFICES
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Robin felt it the moment Much passed. It was as if part of himself was ripped away.
Sitting there in the darkness, he wept for a moment before forcing himself to his feet with a shout of rage and grief that could not be contained. Of all those he had lost, somehow this hurt the most. He didn’t know why, but it was as though the sum total of all who had died weighed upon him in that moment.
The cost had been too great.
No more.
With gritted teeth, he turned and moved forward, feeling for the sensation when he got too close to a wall. Once he did, he turned to his right and started working down the room…
* * *
Marian sat up abruptly, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She had been just about to drift to sleep when she could have sworn she heard Robin cry out in anguish.
Chastity stooped and entered the tent, her forehead crinkled with worry.
“Are you all right, my lady?”
“Chastity, we’re not in the castle, we’re out in the wilderness and I don’t care who overhears. Call me Marian, like you did when we were little.”
Chastity bobbed her head. “It’s hard getting used to.”
“I know.”
“What is it? You shouted.”
“Did I?” Marian asked, rubbing her head. “I was having... I don’t know, I wasn’t quite asleep so it wasn’t a nightmare.”
Chastity sat down. “Was it a vision?” she asked, her eyes widening.
“I’m not sure I’d call it that either. It felt more like something that was happening now, but not here.”
“Was it something to do with Robin?”
Marian nodded, suddenly unable to speak.
“I’m sure he’s fine.”
Marian didn’t say anything. She felt in her heart that Robin lived. She also felt that something was deeply wrong. Whatever was happening to him, it was certainly not fine. She couldn’t burden Chastity with that knowledge, though. Her friend had already been through too much to carry Marian’s worries and burdens as well.
“How is Alan?” she asked and then winced inwardly. So much for not adding to her burden. Then again, it wasn’t as if she could hide the bard’s condition. Chastity hesitated a moment and then dropped her eyes.
“He lives... for now.”
“For now?” Marian asked, fear knifing through her.
“The wound was terrible. Unlike anything any of us has ever seen.” Chastity took a deep breath. “It’s said he was bitten by a demon.”
“He was,” Marian said. “What more can be done for him?”
“Friar Tuck is praying, and there are several praying with him, including Esther.”
“I should join them,” Marian said, moving to stand up.
Chastity frowned. “You’d probably do him... all of them... a lot more good if you rested instead. Not that your prayers aren’t powerful, it’s just... there are many who can pray, but only one who can lead. We can’t afford for you to become ill from exhaustion.”
Marian understood what Chastity was trying to say. When her friends were suffering, though, she had to do something. She put a hand on her friend’s shoulder.
“Thank you… for everything,” she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Chastity nodded and tears welled in her eyes. Impulsively Marian reached out to embrace her. The young woman buried her head in Marian’s shoulder and began to sob. So she sat there and held her friend while she cried, and as she did Marian prayed for Alan and for Chastity and for all of them.
* * *
Friar Tuck was in agony as he prayed, at times breaking down in broken sobs. Several were praying with him, including the girl, Esther. Sometimes they prayed quietly, sometimes he tried to pray out loud. When he did and could not continue she would pick up with her gentle voice and quiet strength.
He had done all he could in the physical realm. Now he was doing all he could in the spirit
ual. He was praying with a fervor he hadn’t known since the pox had swept the land. He felt light-headed, then feverish despite the cold of the air around him. He begged with God. Tried to bargain and even made childish threats. Throughout it all he could not stop weeping.
It had been bad enough that Alan lost his tongue. Now he might well lose his life. Tuck hadn’t been able to amputate the leg. He should have. He knew that. He just didn’t have it in him to do it, and there was no one else with the skill or the courage to do it for him. If Alan died, it was his fault. So he prayed and would continue to pray until Alan was on the mend.
Or with the dead.
* * *
Philemon was tired, but the battle still raged around them. He kept glancing over at Old Soldier. Every time his arm grew so weary it wanted to drop the sword he was wielding, he would tell himself the same thing.
I won’t stop fighting until he does.
And he knew, deep in his gut, that Old Soldier would never stop fighting. So, together they would battle until it was done.
His thoughts strayed again to Robin, and he offered up tiny prayers that his son was alive and that he would see him again soon. To be parted now would be more than he could bear. When his thoughts weren’t on his son, they were with his king.
He had to keep telling himself that King Richard couldn’t be one of the beheaded bodies they had discovered earlier. The king was too valuable a prisoner to have been so summarily dispatched. Philemon hoped that inside the castle Robin had found Richard and that the two were together, fighting their way out of there, and would join them soon. Every time he thought of that he redoubled his efforts, wanting to make sure that when they arrived the fighting here was done and they could make for England as fast as horses and ships could take them.
Another enemy soldier died on his blade and he shook the body to the ground. Beside him another English soldier fell and he felt the loss, the grief, as if the man were one of his own. He turned and killed the soldier who had ended his countryman.
“God save the King!” Old Soldier roared.
English voices rose in response.
“God save the King!”
The chorus served to spur them on, despite their fatigue.
Sovereign's War Page 20