Orphan of Destiny tyt-3

by Michael Spradlin

  “Do you think we’ve lost him?” Robard asked after we’d ridden for a while.

  I gave him my answer by digging my heels into the side of my horse and urging him on. If we had lost Sir Hugh, it wasn’t for long. Of that I was sure.

  11

  We rode through the remainder of the night, not daring to stop except to rest briefly and water the horses. Robard took the lead most of the way, and rode with his bow strung and held across the pommel of his saddle. All the excitement in Dover had weakened me considerably. My wound ached, and before long every step of my horse sent a jolt of pain through my side.

  When we were safely beyond the city, we turned back north, riding at an easy pace, giving the horses a rest, and following a well-marked but little-traveled trail through the forest. Near daybreak, we rounded a bend and found a crude wooden bridge crossing over a fairly wide stream. The area around us had grown marshy and wet, and the bridge was built in a perfect spot, spanning the deepest run of the water and leading to dry ground on the other side. It was made of rough plank and wide enough for a man on horseback to pass, but not much wider. Robard cantered up onto the bridge. We all nearly died from fright when a man suddenly appeared at the other end. He was tall, gigantic even, cloaked in a black tunic and simple leggings with a cowl obscuring his face. In one giant hand he held a wooden staff, and his other hand was held out.

  “HALT!” he commanded.

  Robard’s horse spooked, nearly rearing, and he fought to bring it under control. They both could have plunged into the murky water below. With no room to turn around, Robard slowly backed up, until he was off the bridge.

  “Who are you? Why do you order us to halt?” he shouted.

  “This is my bridge. If you wish to cross, you must pay a toll!” the mysterious man shouted back. His voice sounded familiar and pulled at a string of my memory, but it was vague. Unfortunately Robard was already losing his temper.

  “A toll? Pay to cross? Not bloody likely!” he shouted.

  “Then come forward at your own risk,” the man replied. “You’ll not pass unless you pay. Two crosslets each!”

  “Robard, let’s not bother with this. We can head farther north and find another place to ford the stream,” I pleaded.

  “Nonsense! I don’t believe him for an instant. Toll bridge, my arse! I’ll not be bullied by some would-be troll who dares me to cross a stream. This isn’t the Holy Land, it’s my home country, and I’ll not stand for it.” Robard leapt from the back of his horse and handed the reins to Maryam.

  “Robard, what are you doing?” she asked. “Tristan is right. This isn’t worth it. We can find another place to cross upstream.”

  “I won’t be but a minute,” he said. He removed his bow and wallet, hanging them on the saddle, and drew Sir Thomas’ battle sword, which I was still too weak to carry. He marched up to the bridge and walked slowly toward the center, shouting all the way.

  “All right, you miserable pile of polecat dung! Charge me to cross a bridge, will you? I think not!”

  The man at the other end walked toward Robard slowly and unafraid, his staff tapping lightly on the wooden planks. Maryam and I sucked in our breath-he was huge, the biggest man I’d ever seen and nearly a full head taller than Robard.

  “Oh no,” Maryam said.

  “Oh. . yes. .,” I said. And then I shouted, “Robard! Wait! Come back!” For as the man reached the center of the bridge, he removed his cowl and there stood John Little, the Dover blacksmith who had forged my sword and saved me from the ruffians set upon me by the King’s Guards.

  But Robard didn’t hear my cry. Instead he raised the sword above his head and with a mighty yell went charging forward.

  Cringing, I leapt from my horse, hobbling as best I could after Robard, desperate to save my friend from the thrashing coming his way. But it was too late. Robard rushed ahead, screaming at the top of his lungs. John Little stood silently, staff held loosely in both hands, and watched Robard’s charge with a slightly bemused expression on his face.

  When he was a few feet away from the giant man, Robard reared back and unleashed a mighty swing. The sword swept forward, and momentarily I feared he would connect and slay poor John.

  But with an agility that belied his great size, John Little easily ducked the swing, and his staff flicked out like a serpent’s tongue, hooking Robard in the back of the knees. Robard went down in a heap, and John put his foot on the blade, holding it fast. With his staff, he pressed down on Robard’s chest, pinning him to the bridge.

  “As I said. Two crosslets each,” John Little said quietly.

  “Wait! Stop!” I cried. But my shout was drowned out by the sound of Maryam’s devilishly loud war cry. She nearly knocked me off the bridge as she went hurtling past, her daggers gleaming.

  “Maryam, NO!” I yelled, and just managed to snatch her tunic as she ran by. She stopped short in my grasp and spun, eyes blazing, ready to fight me if necessary.

  “What. . Let me go!” she yelled, pulling me along as she wiggled her way toward the center of the bridge.

  “Everyone stop!” I shouted. Maryam’s eyes were full of confusion, and John stared at me with rapt concentration. Only Robard fought on, still squirming beneath the foot and staff of the giant.

  I quickly drew my short sword and held it out hilt first toward the blacksmith. “John Little? You are a friend of Sir Thomas Leux. You made this sword for me, last spring, in Dover.” I raised it higher so he could get a better view of it. “My name is Tristan, of St. Alban’s. . I am. . was Sir Thomas’ squire. Remember? I brought his stallion Dauntless for you to reshoe and those two ruffians attacked me?”

  “Yes. I remember you,” he said quietly. John stepped back and released Robard, who remained on his back for the moment.

  “Little John. You told me everyone calls you Little John,” I went on.

  Robard rolled to his feet. “You know this scoundrel?” he asked.

  Before I or anyone could answer, Robard suddenly went flying through the air and landed with a resounding smack in the stream.

  Little John had stepped forward, catlike, and with his staff as a lever lifted Robard off the ground, flipping him into the water. He had moved so quickly, I wondered if my eyes had deceived me. Robard came up sputtering and grabbed the bridge for support. He was cursing, and Maryam, who had grown calm as suddenly as she had been ready to fight, had to stifle a laugh.

  Little John shook his head. “No need for name calling,” he said quietly.

  “Fine, you’ve made your point. We’ll cross elsewhere,” Robard said. “Will you help me up or will that cost two crosslets as well?” He held his left hand out to the giant.

  “As long as you’ve learned your lesson,” John said, grasping Robard’s hand. He pulled and Robard braced his feet against the bridge timbers, letting John raise him out of the water. But when he was nearly halfway up, Robard’s other hand shot out, grabbing John behind his right knee. Robard pulled hard, and as the big man’s knee collapsed, his weight pulled him forward. Before any of us knew it, Robard had thrown the giant over his shoulder and into the water. It was John’s turn to come up sputtering.

  “Know this, Big John or Giant Man or Little Tiny Lad or whatever you call yourself. I am Robard Hode of Sherwood and no one to be trifled with. I’ll not pay your toll and I’ll not be thrown into a stream by the likes of you without getting my satisfaction, are we clear?”

  Little John roared, and with frightening speed he lifted himself onto the bridge and retrieved his fallen staff. I rushed across the bridge and, without thinking, put myself between the two dripping wet combatants.

  “Stop this now!” I commanded. “Robard, cease! Little John is a friend. This is a huge misunderstanding!” Trying to keep them apart was like standing between two prancing bulls, and I feared all three of us would tumble off the bridge. Eventually the steam went out of them and they stood quiet, if not quite placid.

  “Little John,” I said, shaking his hand, “
it is good to see you!”

  “And you, Tristan. Tell me, why are you not with Sir Thomas?” he asked.

  With as little detail as possible, I told him what had happened to us since he and I had last met in Dover. When I related what I feared of Sir Thomas’ fate, he bowed his head and went still a moment.

  “A good man, that one,” he said. “I pray God watches over his soul.”

  “John, why are you here? What happened to your smithy in Dover?” I asked him.

  “Hmph. My smithy? The Lionheart’s brother John took care of that. Come. I’ve a camp not far from here. There isn’t much but I’ll share it with you. Even you, Robard Hode of Sherwood,” he said, shooting him a less than friendly look.

  “I hardly think so-” Robard sputtered, but I put my hand on his chest and shushed him.

  “That would be wonderful. We’ve had. . a. . what you could call a very eventful day, and we could use the rest,” I said. Without another word, Little John retreated in the direction from which he’d come. We gathered up our gear and horses and followed as he disappeared into the thick woods, Robard fuming and muttering curses under his breath the whole way. Angel took the lead, content to sniff at the ground and follow Little John’s scent.

  In a short while, we arrived at his camp. The fire was stoked and his tunic and other wet clothing dried on a bush nearby. He had changed into a loose-fitting cloak the size of a ship’s sail. An iron kettle full of pottage warmed over the fire. It was quite inviting.

  He had placed several cut sections of logs near the fire and bade us sit.

  “I don’t have much, but let the pottage simmer for a while and I’ll be happy to share.” John sat on a log, his hands holding his knees. Angel sniffed lightly at John’s leg and then leapt up into his lap and enthusiastically licked his face.

  “Whoa! What have we here?” he exclaimed. He scratched Angel behind the ears and she flopped onto her back so John could rub her belly. Her head lolled over and I swear she locked her eyes directly on Robard, who paced back and forth behind Maryam and I while we sat on the logs near the fire.

  “Traitorous beast,” he muttered under his breath.

  “John, what happened in these last few months to make you leave Dover?” I asked.

  “When Richard departed for the Holy Land, he left his sniveling brat of a brother John in charge. The bas-” He stopped, giving Maryam a sideways look. “Let’s just say he’s never met a tax he wouldn’t raise. He declared a ‘state of emergency’ to support the war, and he’s levied taxes on nearly every merchant, farmer and tradesman in the entire kingdom. No one can pay what he demands. And you can’t charge more to shoe a horse to cover the tax because no one else has money to pay you either.” He kicked at a log in the fire and sparks rose. The sun was peeking over the eastern sky, but it was still dark and overcast, and the flaming flecks swirled up into the air like swarms of bees.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  He shrugged his giant shoulders. “I couldn’t keep my smithy open, and one day a group of King’s Guards showed up with the Shire Reeve. John was sending his own guards out to collect taxes. I guess the bailiffs and the reeves couldn’t collect it fast enough to feed his little pig face. Anyway, they told me what I owed and knew I couldn’t pay it. So they took my equipment and things got rough. I took on six of them, and gave ’em a licking, that’s for certain,” he said.

  “Maybe I’m beginning to like you after all,” Robard muttered.

  John laughed. “Wasn’t anything left for me there. They tried dragging me off for assault, but I broke loose, took a horse and ran. I’ve been hiding out here ever since. When I served with Sir Thomas in King Henry’s army, I learned to always make sure I had a backup plan. Always kept a cache of tools and a few crosslets hidden nearby, enough to make do for a while. I found that bridge there and have been charging a toll to whoever passes by. I expect some baron owns the land, and he’ll find me out soon enough and I’ll have to move on. It’s thievin’, what I’m doing, I guess, but what else can a man do?”

  We each nodded, not knowing what to tell him. The pottage bubbled on the fire and smelled delicious, and John passed out a wooden plate that we shared, eating until we had our fill. Robard sat down next to Maryam and filled the plate, letting her eat first before he took his meal. When he was finished, he scooped out a bit and blew on it to cool, placing it on the ground for Angel. She devoured it in three gulps, then curled up by the fire and went instantly to sleep.

  “What are your plans now, Tristan? Why did Sir Thomas order you away from his side?” Little John asked.

  “I have very important dispatches for the Master of the Order. Sir Thomas ordered me to deliver them to. . London. . but I. . ah. . learned. . the Master is in Scotland. So I must travel there to find him. I met Robard and Maryam along the way and we’ve been traveling together ever since.” I hadn’t lied, much, but I had withheld most of the truth. Desperately wanting to steer the conversation away from Sir Thomas and my duty, I asked, “What are you going to do, John?”

  He was quiet for a moment as he stared into the fire. “I’m not certain. I really haven’t thought about it. I keep hoping some of the nobles will rise up and knock some sense into Prince John, but we could easily starve before that happens.”

  “I have an idea. There is a place, not far from here, where you might be useful. Why don’t you travel with us? If I’m not completely lost, it’s only a day’s ride. If it doesn’t work out, you can always return here and reopen your toll bridge.”

  Robard sat up straight as I finished, and even Maryam’s eyes were wide. “Tristan! A word, please!” Robard said as he grabbed me by the arm, pulling me some distance from the fire. If Little John took notice of Robard’s actions, he pretended not to.

  “What in the world are you thinking?” Robard asked.

  “About what?” I said nonchalantly.

  “No games, Tristan, you understand very well what!” Robard whispered.

  “Robard, as you and Maryam so recently pointed out to me, we are in a fight for our lives. You have met Little John, have you not? Don’t you think having someone like him on our side would be an asset?”

  “He’s big, I’ll give you that. And. . deceptively fast. But how well do you know this man? He made your sword? You talked to him for a few minutes several months ago? It’s not much to base a friendship on. Besides, I don’t like him.”

  “Well, there’s no surprise there. Did I tell you he saved my hide once? And Sir Thomas himself swore to his character? Besides, I based our entire friendship on the fact that you came to my aid when those bandits attacked me in Outremer,” I countered.

  “This isn’t about me-of course I’m trustworthy. So what if he did save you from the King’s Guards? You see how he’s been living. He’s turned to thievery. Why-”

  “What story did you tell me when we first met?” I interrupted. “Of the man you knew back home who killed one of the King’s deer to feed his starving family? Wouldn’t we all turn to thieving if we were hungry enough?”

  “Ahh. I don’t like this. This is not a good idea. Besides, what place are you referring to, a day’s ride from here? Where do you want to take him? Surely you don’t mean all the way to Scotland?”

  “No,” I said. “Not Scotland. Tomorrow we’re riding straight to St. Alban’s. I need to go home.”

  12

  Little John agreed to ride on with us the next morning. He gathered up his meager belongings in a small cloth bag, which he slung over his shoulder. He left us alone briefly to retrieve his mount, hobbled deep in the woods. Watching him ride turned out to be quite humorous, since he was nearly as big as the horse. He sat low in the saddle, his feet nearly dragging on the ground.

  Robard and John worked toward an uneasy peace. They avoided each other for the most part, and whenever we stopped to water and rest the horses, they didn’t speak to or acknowledge each other in any way. Maryam and I were more than content to let things go as they were. Angel
, however, had fully accepted Little John as a member of our group, and I couldn’t deny it felt safer having him along with us.

  As we rode toward St. Alban’s, I finally had a moment to give more thought to the Queen Mother and her improbable declaration. Sir Hugh had seen us in Dover. He would send word to Eleanor of Aquitaine, and she would certainly send more soldiers to help in the search.

  We had encountered no patrols since racing from Dover. We’d skirted every town and village, and succeeded in avoiding any contact with Templars or King’s Guards. Assuming they had lost our trail, at least for a while, I allowed myself some small measure of hope. Here, on our home soil, and with the help of my friends, we might actually be able to escape Sir Hugh’s clutches.

  “You’ve been very quiet lately,” Maryam said to me as we rode along.

  “Hmm? Oh, sorry. Just thinking is all,” I said, distracted.

  “What about?” she asked.

  “The usual questions,” I said. “Is Sir Hugh following us? Where are the King’s Guards? How will we get to Scotland? And I’m wondering if-” I stopped, not wanting to mention Celia’s name out loud and be teased relentlessly for it. But I found that as we drew farther away from Sir Hugh and whenever I was not fighting for my life, Celia’s face invaded my memory.

  Maryam and I trotted easily at the head of our small column. Robard and Little John followed.

  “She does, you know,” Maryam said after I’d been silent a moment.

  “What? Who does?” I asked, confused.

  “Celia. She thinks of you, Tristan.”

  “I didn’t. . I. . Do you really think so?” I stammered. It was no use to deny that Celia had been what I was thinking about. Maryam just knew these things.

  “Of course,” she said.

  “How do you know?” I asked her.

  “By the time we left Montsegur, Celia was already in love with you. Of course you didn’t know it.”