The Stolen Crown

by Eva Howard

  “Only good king we’ve had was Richard the Lionheart,” agreed Tuck. “But he was too busy at the Crusades to do much for England.”

  “But what about the new king?” pressed Tom. He’d set aside his bowl and was eyeing Tuck seriously. “What does he look like?”

  Tuck shrugged. “Haven’t seen the boy myself, I’m afraid. I heard the news from Edwin Cripps in the Stag and Stoat last night, after he got too far into his cups. . . . Well, that’s another story.” He took another gulp of ale. “Young Edwin is scribe to the bishop of Worcester—and the bishop is the one who’ll be anointing the new king, Henry.”

  “Anointing?” Ralf asked, his brow wrinkling.

  Tom brought his fingers to his own forehead. “Like this,” he said. “He’ll touch the king’s head with holy oil before he’s crowned.”

  Donald eyed Tom doubtfully. “How do you know that?” he asked between chews.

  “Unlike you, Donald, the boy has brains,” Tuck said with a throaty laugh.

  But Tom’s words had struck Ellie, too. “How can they have a coronation without the crown jewels?”

  “Edwin says they’ll be making do with Queen Isabella’s gold circlet,” said Tuck. “It’s the crown she wears. Well, they’re not exactly making do—Edwin says it’s made of three bands of gold wound together. More than fit for a king.”

  More than fit to pay for a farm!

  Ellie raised her eyebrows at Tuck. He put down his tankard and grinned. “Word is that the gold circlet leaves Nottingham tomorrow,” he said. “For those who are wondering.”

  The following morning Ellie and what remained of the League were up before dawn. To intercept Queen Isabella’s crown, they’d need to ride hard for the Wessex road, which ran between Nottingham and Gloucester. Ellie and Margery would share one horse, and Ralf would take the other. As Ellie checked her horse’s saddle, Tom emerged from the hospital tent.

  “I’m coming too,” he said.

  “Not with that broken arm, you aren’t.” She put her foot in a stirrup to test it.

  “I said I’m coming.” There was a hard command in his voice. He sounded like he had in the woods the day the sisters of Kirklees brought his uncle to them.

  “It’s too dangerous, Tom. You can’t fight with your arm—you can barely ride with it.”

  He stared up at her, his gaze set and certain. “I’ll come with you now or follow after you. Either way you can’t stop me.”

  She got down from the horse, determined to make sense of Tom’s secrets once and for all. “Who are you, Tom?”

  “I’ve told you. My father is Lord—”

  Ellie threw up a hand. “Don’t tell me you’re Lord Woodville’s son, I know you’re not. Tell me who you really are, and why you’re so desperate to come with us.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Does this have something to do with your uncle?”

  “It would be disrespectful for you to push this any further.” There was ice in his voice.

  “You know you can trust me, don’t you?”

  Tom nodded. “Of course I do. But can’t you trust me? Who I am doesn’t matter now, and it won’t hurt what you’re trying to do.”

  Ellie considered for a moment. “If I let you come with us, will you promise to tell me after we’re done? You’re welcome to stay with the League of Archers—you can stay forever, if you like. But I don’t think you want to. I think you want to go home. And if you tell me where your home is, I can help you get there.”

  A shadow seemed to pass over Tom’s face. “I do want to go home,” he said softly. “So very much. I’ll tell you the truth after today. I promise.”

  Satisfied, Ellie helped the League continue their preparations. Margery nodded when Ellie told her Tom would be joining them, but Ralf looked at her askance.

  “Seriously?” he said. “He could be just another Stephen.”

  Ellie glanced over to where Tom was fussing over one of the horses. “You really think so?”

  Ralf sighed. “No. Not really. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  “He’s loyal to us,” she said. “We’re all he has at the moment. He won’t do anything to harm us, I know it.”

  They set off. As she watched Tom sitting behind Ralf, his back straight and his heels gripping the horse’s flanks, it was obvious he’d grown up riding horses. But in whose house? Soon she would find out at last. The sun rose as they rode but didn’t do much to strike through the chill, and their breath hung in misty clouds. From the edge of Sherwood they had a few hours’ ride to the Wessex road.

  They were far south when Ellie led them off the road. They continued their ride through fields and woods, not wanting to draw the attention of their quarry. At last they saw it: a dark wooden carriage, pulled by black horses kicking up dust from the road and surrounded by four mounted guards.

  “That has to be it,” said Ellie. “Let’s get in front.” They picked up speed until they’d left the coach behind. Not ten minutes later they reached a bend in the road.

  “This is perfect!” Ellie said, marveling at their good luck. The coach would have to make a blind turn left where the path curved—and the League would be waiting just beyond it, to take the group by surprise.

  They all dismounted, and Ellie and Tom led the horses away into the forest, where the trees grew less thickly and she could tie them up. “Stay with them,” she told him. “We can’t be worrying about you and that arm while we take on those guards.” For a moment he looked like he was about to argue, but to her relief he just nodded.

  She left Tom and settled in beside Ralf and Margery in the thick bushes by the bend, their bows at the ready. The sweat of travel was drying cold on her neck. In the distance came the rattle and thump of the coach drawing closer, while next to her she heard the rustle of Ralf and Margery settling down for the wait.

  “Hey!”

  Ellie stiffened. The frantic whisper was coming from the other side of the road.

  “This is our raid! Get back to your tree house!”

  Margery gasped and Ralf groaned in dismay. Ellie squinted at the bushes until she could see them: Stephen, Jacob, and Alice. Suddenly she felt cold all over.

  “What are you doing here?” she snapped back angrily.

  “You think you’re the only one who knows about the circlet?” said Stephen. “Please. Everybody’s talking about it. Now get out of here!”

  “We’re staying right where we are!” Ellie replied. “Go back to being Lord Clerebold’s watchdogs. You’re getting all the money you need from him, remember?”

  “Alice, how could you?” Ralf broke in. “How could you work for a lord?”

  “Leave her alone,” Jacob hissed.

  Alice turned on him. “Shut up, Jacob. You don’t need to fight my battles.”

  “Stop it!” Ellie told them, as loudly as she dared. “Do you want the guards to hear you?”

  “The circlet is ours,” said Stephen. “Stop wasting our time and go!”

  An arrow whizzed over Ellie’s head, so close she could feel the draft it made blowing her hair. Alice’s mouth snapped shut and Jacob looked pained.

  Stephen nocked a second arrow to replace the one he’d just shot. “Remember, I only miss when I want to. That was your first warning and you won’t get a second. Leave now.”

  Ralf was on his feet. He ran across the road, straight into the path of Stephen’s arrow. The older boy’s eyes widened, and for a horrible half second Ellie thought he might shoot—but he dropped his arm and scrambled up through the bushes. He and Ralf stood face-to-face in the road, barely a bow’s length apart.

  “You spoiled coward!” Ralf shoved Stephen in the chest, so hard he stumbled.

  Stephen recovered and slammed Ralf in the shoulder. “You stupid little kid,” he sneered. “Even your own sister doesn’t want to be in your gang.”

  “Don’t you dare speak for me,” Alice growled from the trees. “Nobody fights for me, and nobody talks for me either.”

/>   The clatter of the approaching horses was loud now. The coach would be thundering around the bend at any moment, and Ellie knew that if she didn’t do something, the chances any of them had of stealing the gold circlet would be gone forever. She sprinted into the road and grabbed Ralf by his jerkin. “Get back to the trees,” she urged. “Before they see us!”

  Ralf shrugged her off, still glaring at Stephen. Jacob ran out and grabbed Stephen’s arm, but he shook Jacob off. And then it was too late: The coach came rattling into view.

  The soldier in front, heavy with mail and wearing a crimson jerkin, yelled, “They’re here!” and pulled his horse’s head sharply to the right. As the animals and the carriage surged across the road, the League and the Merry Men scattered. The horses dragged to a stamping halt, and the four guards shouted out curses. Ellie shouldered her bow.

  “The circlet,” she cried to Ralf. “We can still get it!” She dodged between two of the mounted guards, Ralf on her heels.

  “It’s ours!” Stephen yelled.

  Ellie ran for the carriage, trusting Ralf and Margery to deal with Stephen. Behind her came a coarse laugh. “They were right,” said one of the soldiers. “This lot are just children.”

  With a wave of misgiving, Ellie realized that their presence hadn’t surprised the soldiers at all. She pushed the thought aside, reaching for the carriage’s dark wooden door. Behind her came the tooth-tingling sound of unsheathing swords.

  “Attack!” the first soldier cried.

  A guard leaped for her with shocking speed. He grabbed Ellie’s shoulders, pulling her roughly away from the carriage. She fell hard to the ground. Another soldier slashed his sword at Ralf, the air whistling, but he just sidestepped away.

  Ellie sprang to her feet, nocking an arrow, then sent it flying into the shoulder of the soldier who loomed over Ralf. Margery stood on one side of the road, Alice on the other, each trying to give Ralf cover with their arrows. Jacob’s sword clashed against that of another soldier. Stephen was at the carriage door, trying to smash the lock with the hilt of his sword. With him out of the way, it almost felt like the League was fighting together again. The feeling gave Ellie hope.

  A soldier was barreling toward her. She drew back, seeking the cover of the trees so she could arm her bow once more, then sent an arrow spinning into his leg. He yelped in pain.

  Another figure joined the fray—and Ellie went cold. Tom had run out from the trees, awkwardly lofting the sword she’d made him carry, even though he could barely wield it with his one good arm.

  “Tom, no!” Ellie screamed. “Get back to the horses!”

  But it was too late: A soldier was bearing down on him. He was too fast and too close for Ellie to shoot without risking Tom’s life. She kept her arrow locked on them, waiting for an opening—but, to her surprise, the soldier didn’t strike a blow at Tom. He swept Tom up with one arm and pulled him, screaming, onto his horse.

  “No!” Margery cried. “Let him go!”

  The soldier cantered in a tight circle. Tom was thrashing in his grasp, but the man’s arm was clamped firmly around him. The horse turned tail and galloped back up the road toward Nottingham, taking Tom with it.

  Ellie watched them go, too shocked to move. The other soldiers began to fall back, and she realized with deadly certainty that their mission was now accomplished: They weren’t escorting the circlet, but had lured the League here with the promise of it so they could snatch Tom. She wanted to howl with frustration—but that wouldn’t help get Tom back.

  “I’m going after him!” she yelled to Ralf.

  She ran back into the gloom of the trees and untied one of the horses, her fingers clumsy with panic. She swung onto its back and guided it to the road. Two of the three remaining soldiers were injured and off their horses, and Stephen and Ralf were already back at each other’s throats as Jacob and Alice fought with the third soldier. Ellie urged her horse into a gallop, leaving them all behind as she set off in hot pursuit of Tom and his kidnapper.

  16

  ELLIE HADN’T GROWN UP WITH horses and, unlike Tom—or Stephen, she had to admit—wasn’t a natural rider. She clung to the horse with her hands and knees, wondering every moment whether it might try to throw her off. She leaned forward over its neck, partly to hang grimly on, partly in the hope it would run faster.

  The soldier and his mount were ahead. She could see that his horse was a tall, well-fed gray animal, and she caught a glimpse of Tom, still held firm in the man’s grasp. But with every pace they were receding farther into the distance. By the time she turned onto the Kirklees road, they were almost out of sight entirely.

  We’re heading toward the Castle de Lays, she realized.

  She wasn’t even surprised. The baron had had something to do with the missing crown jewels, and a lot to do with the death of King John. It seemed inevitable that he should be behind Tom’s kidnapping, too. After all, Tom had been with the League only because they’d saved him from the baron’s clutches once before.

  She dug her heels into her horse, willing it to go faster. She thought about the way the soldier had grabbed Tom without a second thought, the way he’d yelled, without surprise, “They’re here!” Oh, the baron had set them up, she was certain of it.

  That man who told Friar Tuck about the circlet—Edwin—was he in the baron’s pay too, spreading rumors to trap us? Now, with the clear view of hindsight, it certainly seemed far too convenient that Tuck should wander into the Stag and Stoat and leave with information guaranteed to send the League rushing to the Wessex road.

  It’s exactly what we did when we thought the crown jewels were coming through Kirklees, she thought bitterly. And the baron took the gamble that Tom would be with us.

  The gamble had paid off. They’d walked right into the baron’s trap, like an intruder caught in one of the nets around the Greenwood Tree. She’d practically delivered the boy to his kidnapper. Her eyes burned with humiliation and regret.

  The soldier, his horse, and Tom were just a speck on the road ahead. Ellie drew up the reins, easing her horse to slow down to a walk. The animal’s breath came hot and fast, its back slippery with sweat. To carry on was pointless. She had no chance of catching them before they reached the baron’s castle. And I can hardly get Tom out of there by myself, she thought. She dismounted and led her exhausted horse to a nearby stream. As it drank its fill, she heard the clatter of hooves and a coach. She drew back into the bushes and watched the three soldiers she’d last seen fighting the League come trotting past her. She held her bow ready, and even though one of them spotted her—his helmeted head whipping around, eyes meeting hers—they didn’t slow.

  They’ve already got what they came for, she thought. But what exactly was that? Who was Tom, and why was the baron so keen to make him his prisoner? Whatever the answer, he was clearly of far more importance than a gaggle of outlaws.

  She rode slowly back to her friends, mindful of the exertions her horse had already made. They were still in the road. Jacob and Stephen were nose to nose with Ralf and Margery, all of them shouting. Alice was crouched by the verge, watching them moodily and toying with her knife.

  “By the saints,” Ellie muttered as she trotted up. She was sick of this arguing, sick of it to her core. She drew up to them and jumped down.

  “Can you stop fighting for just five minutes!” she said. “Tom’s gone, and it’s our fault. It was a trap—the circlet was never coming here. Those men were working for your father”—she jabbed a finger at Stephen—“and lured us here so they could snatch him. Maybe if we’d been working together, instead of scrapping with each other, we could have stopped them.”

  Stephen gave a snort. “I’m sorry my father’s got Tom, but do you think this changes anything?” He shook his head. “There’s only room in Sherwood for one outlaw band, and it’s not going to be led by a soft heart who’s afraid to kill. Who doesn’t even have the stomach to steal.”

  “Why do you think we came here?” Ellie found hersel
f snarling. “To steal the circlet!” As Stephen scoffed in reply, Ellie cursed herself. Yes, she was sick of arguing, was ashamed that it had put Tom in such danger, yet here she was, at it again after just a few seconds. It seemed she couldn’t even be near Stephen without boiling over like an unattended cooking pot.

  “How did you know about the circlet, anyway?” Ralf demanded of Stephen. “Friar Tuck told us, and I don’t see him talking to you.”

  Jacob looked sheepish.

  “We were spying on you at the Greenwood Tree,” Stephen said. “We were right there, listening to you make your plans. Some lookouts you’ve got—none of you even saw us.”

  “Oh, wonderful!” said Ralf. “So you’re spies now? This gets worse and worse.”

  “What will you do next?” asked Ellie. “Steal from little children? Murder those who try to stop you? Where will it end, Stephen?”

  He drew his sword. The rasp of metal cut through the arguing and made them all fall silent.

  “Why not end it now, Ellie?” he said. His eyes flashed. “Finish it once and for all. The League of Archers versus the Merry Men.”

  Ellie’s jaw dropped. She looked from Stephen’s blade to his face, which was as hard as stone. Was he really suggesting that they fight?

  Ralf and Alice were staring at each other mutely, the air crackling between them. Then Alice gave the tiniest shake of her head and shoved her knife back into her boot. Ellie knew that for Alice this gesture spoke volumes. She was refusing to fight against her brother.

  Jacob let his bow fall to the ground. “I’m out too,” he said quietly. “I can’t fight my friends, Stephen. I just can’t.”

  For a moment Stephen looked hurt. “Fine. Not one of you peasants knows how to wield a sword anyway. I’ll take on the League of Archers by myself.”

  Ellie unhooked her bow from her shoulder. She reached back to her quiver and chose an arrow, carefully nocking it in place.

  “If it’s a fight you want, you’ll get it,” she said. “But not with the League of Archers—with me. And when I win, you’ll leave us alone. All of us.”