“I was not there, Robin.”
“We need ale,” Robin shouted.
“The king asked them for ale?”
Robin laughed so hard, his body shook. He finally calmed and scrubbed his hands through his long brown hair, shoving the hood away from his face. “The king said, ‘Am I him? What do you think?’ And the knight, de Grendon is his name, and another named Henry Russell, they said, ‘Yes.’ King Richard let them go back to Murdac to confirm that it truly is the King of England laying siege here at their door.”
Robin shoved the empty pitcher at Henry. “More ale.”
Henry set the pitcher aside. “You have celebrated this good news with more than enough drink. We’ll see you to bed. Sleep, and we shall talk in the morning. When they raise the flag and walk out of the Castle, I’ll buy you the best wine in Nottingham.”
“Marian will not be happy. I cannot go back to Greyton.”
Is that what this was about? Marian, his lands at Louviers, the war with the French? Henry placed his hand on Robin’s shoulder. “You must follow the king, but when his lands across the Narrow Sea are safe from Philip Capet, you will return home. To Marian. To your son.”
“I have nothing here.”
“Ask the king. Offer him coin and take Westorby.”
Robin howled with laughter. “Me? A sheepherder? I’d go mad.”
“But you will be with Marian. If you love her…” Henry stared at cracks in the trestle. Stephan. If I love him… He’d been ready to leave everything behind that night his father died. Nothing need keep him tied to Greyton.
Robin pushed Henry away. “You go. I’ll find my way to bed in the castle tonight.” He almost sounded sober.
At the next table, a portly knight laughed. “Good luck with that, Robin. The constable will be sure to show you a room—in the dungeon.” The men around them guffawed.
“You’re in no shape to go anywhere.” Henry tugged at Robin. “Come back to my room.”
Tuck’s huge hand clamped down on his arm. “Sir Henry is right. Time for you to sleep this off.” He pulled Robin to his feet.
“You’re a good man, Tuck,” Robin said, his voice slurred again.
Firelight danced in Robin’s eyes. Something, and more than Marian, Henry thought, had gotten under his skin to make him drink so much. It wasn’t like him.
Outside, Tuck and Henry helped Robin up the street. Robin squirmed, shaking their hold on him. “This way,” he said, suddenly very steady on his feet.
Henry stared after him. He’d completely misread the man. A good thing, he supposed. All those witnesses at The Trip would attest he’d been carted away to sleep off the drink. What tracks was Robin covering?
A pungent odor of rotten meat stung Henry’s nose as Robin led them past a darkened row of shops at the Brewhouse Yard. The smell quickly dissipated when they entered a grove of thick ash and birch. Nearby, water lapped at reeds in the River Leen.
A few moments later the three men emerged into a small clearing. A rush torch flickered ahead, just enough light for Henry to take in his surroundings. The sandstone cliff rose towards walls of the castle far above them. He realized the light was coming from a cave carved into the cliff.
Allan strode from the cave past a wagon half-filled with goods, including barrels that looked suspiciously like ones he’d seen pass through Greyton. “My lord Henry.”
Henry clasped Allan’s arms and then wrapped him in a brotherly hug. “The king’s spy. I didn’t realize you would be pilfering provisions from the castle.”
A man emerged from the cave and halted abruptly, nearly dropping the sack slung over his shoulder. Though the night was cold, he wore nothing but a tunic that revealed finely-sculpted muscles.
“It’s all right, Much. These are my friends,” Robin said, carefully avoiding Henry’s name.
Much’s eyes lingered on Henry, and then he tipped his head and turned to Allan. “One or two more runs and we shall be ready to move out. I’ll check on the others and hurry them along.”
Brows raised as if to judge their reactions, Robin gave Tuck and Henry a half-smile.
Tuck wandered over to the wagon and ran his hand across the sacks of grain. “Quite the operation here. This explains how we have eaten so well without plundering every household in Nottingham.”
“Our friends have been moving supplies from the undercroft and through the tunnel,” Robin said. “Some of the provisions have been used by the earls’ men these last few weeks.”
Something odd in Robin’s words struck Henry. “Some?”
“My men have turned over enough goods to keep Huntingdon satisfied. We’ve hidden the rest in caves in Sherwood.”
“The stores remaining in the castle are extensive,” Allan added. “The king will not miss them.”
Henry swallowed hard. “The king…did not give you this order.”
“The king does not know.” Robin’s blue eyes bored into Henry.
“This is treason,” Henry whispered.
“To give back to the people what was wrongfully taken?” Tuck asked Henry. “You cannot possibly believe Count John paid a fair price for these goods.”
Henry threw up his hands. “What does that matter? By right, the food, the weapons, will belong to King Richard. You are stealing from the king.”
Robin exhaled sharply. “We have known a long while that many of the king’s constables have diverted tax money into their own pockets. Into John’s silk pouch. When the garrison surrenders the king will sell these goods to raise money for his next campaign. We wanted to help the people.”
Henry walked up to the cave. He stared past Allan’s shoulder, where torchlight lit the entry. But beyond that the stairs bled into a black abyss. Were his friends fools…or heroes?
Henry clenched his fist. This was the right thing to do. Every word Robin spoke was true.
A thin, long-faced man emerged from the cave. He held one end of a stretcher laden with bags of grain and salted meat. When he saw the strangers, he looked for reassurance from Robin, from Allan. Behind him, his companion cursed softly, but with a nod from Robin, they packed the goods on the wagon.
“We can only move so much without being noticed,” Allan said. “It’s all in the stacking and arrangement.”
“Like Allan’s tricks,” Robin said and turned to his squire. “And that is why you must stay here.”
“What?” Allan sounded hurt. “I thought I’d be at your side. Your squire. There’s talk of surrender. De Wendeval and others plan to kneel at King Richard’s feet on the morrow. What good will I do in the castle when this ends?”
“Do you think Murdac will surrender with the others?” When Allan shrugged, Robin said, “The king needs you in the castle. He needs a man he can trust to watch the coffers.”
Henry shifted nervously. And steal from them. He looked at each man and extended his clenched fist. Treason. For a good cause. “Shall we all hang together?”
Tuck laid his outstretched palm atop Henry’s hand. Allan and Robin did the same.
Robin smiled at his companions. “We will relieve the rich of food and a few coins.”
Allan gave a sly grin. “Rob them you mean.”
“Rob is such a harsh word,” Robin said.
“Thou shalt not steal,” Tuck added.
Henry chewed his lip, sure they saw his doubt. He drew a deep breath. “Breaking God’s laws and the king’s.” He placed his other hand over Robin’s. “At least we shall go to Hell knowing we give to the poor.”
“Rob from the rich. Give to the poor,” Robin said. “I like the sound of that.”
The four men laughed and made a promise to laugh all the way to the gallows.
*
The hospital was dark, quieter than a church but for a symphony of snores. Henry pulled a stool up to Stephan’s bed and brushed his forehead with a kiss. Stephan stirred, reaching to run a finger along Henry’s jaw.
“Shh,” Henry said, pressing that finger to his lips. “We�
�ve a busy day ahead.” He laid his head on Stephan’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you about it on the morrow.” Or mayhap not. Not all of us need hang.
Stephan combed his fingers through Henry’s damp hair. “What were you doing out there? Did I sleep through a storm?”
Henry nuzzled his nose against Stephan’s neck and buried his head deeper against his chest. He was exhausted after one climb through the tunnel. “You could say it was quite the storm. One of legends I think. People will talk of it for years to come.”
“Do you tease me?”
Henry smiled. “Only because I love you,” he said softly.
Stephan rubbed his shoulder. And Henry dozed off to a peaceful slumber.
A hangman’s rope… Robin… Treason.
“Sir Henry?” The healer’s voice sounded distant. “King Richard wishes to see you.”
“Wha—?” Henry moaned as he straightened, thinking of Robin with a noose round his neck. “The king?”
Stephan sat up. “What have you done?” He made a sour face and carefully turned to place his feet on the floor.
This was neither the time nor place to speak of Robin and his little band of merry men pilfering goods from the castle undercroft. Henry mustered a glare and stared Stephan down. “Where do you think you are going?”
“I am coming with you. The king may not have asked for me, but I stand with my friends. You will not keep me in this sick bed one moment longer.”
The healer grunted. “I do not think—”
Stephan stared fireballs at the man. “I am leaving. My clothes?”
Getting his hose on was a bit of a chore, but Stephan managed and limped up the road at Henry’s side. Robin had been summoned and stood outside the headquarters. Henry felt a surge of fear, studying his friend as he drew closer. “You too?” he asked. “The king…did he discover…?”
Robin shook his head stiffly, but Henry could see a hint of uncertainty on his face. Henry tried to relax. The fact they’d not been dragged before Richard in chains could be a good sign.
When the headquarters door swung open a short while later, knights from Chester’s mesnie filed out in good spirits. The chamberlain who appeared on the threshold acknowledged Robin, and then led the three knights to the solar. Henry brought up the rear, smiling when he saw Queen Eleanor. Her dark blue gown swished as she turned and the jewels sewn into the kirtle shimmered from the fire in the hearth.
“Look at us. Together.” Eleanor offered her hand to Robin, who knelt at her feet. He pressed his lips to the extraordinarily large ruby on her slender finger.
“Madam.” Henry followed as Robin stepped aside. He thought of the times he’d been in her royal presence the last year. She’d let down her guard when she’d been at Greyton for the wedding, but there was no sign of the woman worn down by Richard’s trials or John’s shenanigans today. Her green eyes were sharp like a wolf’s claws. She would pounce on anyone who defied her.
“How fares the wedded couple?” Eleanor asked. “My Little John. I’m not certain I shall ever get used to calling him le Grand.” She sighed with a smile. “Married.”
“He and the Lady Elle await the arrival of their first child. I was told that if they are blessed with a girl, she will be called Eleanor.”
The queen swept her hands up and clapped. “A truly wonderful name.”
“I could not agree more, madam.”
Eleanor’s eyes flicked to Stephan. “And Stephan.”
Stephan bent as best he could, lowered his head. “Apologies for not greeting you on bended knee, madam. It is good to be in your company again.”
Eleanor looked him over from head to foot. “What have you done to yourself?”
“It is nothing, though I’ve the king and Sir Henry to thank for dragging me to safety.”
“Nothing?” Henry blurted out. Eleanor’s attempt to conceal a grin wasn’t successful and Henry was certain his face must be redder than the king’s standard.
“I was abed for less than two days, madam.”
Eleanor held her arm out and Stephan walked with her towards the great hall.
“I do hope Richard invited you to stay to hear the questioning of the fourteen.”
The knights had not heard about the fourteen. Men from the garrison, including the constable de Wendeval, had surrendered at daybreak. Henry imagined their pleas for mercy would be no more exciting than arguments he’d have heard at his manor court over cows trampling vegetable gardens. But if it meant the cessation of hostilities, he would sit through anything. Thank God some of the castle garrison had come to their senses.
A young squire opened the heavy oak door into the great hall. Tapestries decorating the walls rippled from a rush of wind. “The Queen,” the boy shouted. Knights in the room rose. Eleanor tipped her head at Richard sitting on the dais and waved the crowd to carry on.
“Knowing my son,” Eleanor continued, “he will listen but won’t decide their fates today, making these proceedings that much more tedious. These traitors have tried his patience, but he may be merciful. He is a practical man and can raise money through fines or ransoms.”
“Why waste good heads when the coffers need silver?” Robin asked.
Silver that Robin and his band of men might use to help the poor. Yes, Henry thought, we all may hang.
Eleanor nodded emphatically. “How else shall we ensure that Philip Capet is expelled from our lands, driven out like a dog with its tail between its legs? Damn that Frenchman. That may be too good for him.”
Anger boiled in her eyes, but she banished the look before Richard could see her clearly. It was easy to forget that Eleanor had been married to the French king’s father. Her oldest daughters were Philip’s half-sisters. Had Eleanor born Louis sons, would there be a Richard Lionheart? God’s will, Henry wondered, and drew in a long breath.
Eleanor patted Stephan’s hand and then waved to encompass Robin and Henry. “Whatever the outcome, I will expect to see you at my table tonight. Knowing I shall have a chance to sit with you later will make the day tolerable.”
With Eleanor settled on the dais, the king gestured to Will Marshal. The fourteen prisoners were paraded in, their hands bound. Murmurs undulated through the room like the chant of monks.
Henry strained to see past the knights near the dais. He felt Robin shift beside him. Robin’s head was lowered, his mouth held tight. Was he remembering his own capture in Bavaria? He had rarely spoken of his own Hell. Henry’s heart clenched for him.
The guards forced the fourteen to their knees. While all eyes were on the prisoners, Henry’s gaze flashed to the king. Richard shivered. For one brief moment, the king’s eyes shone with the memory of his own surrender. He’d been delivered in chains to the emperor. Eleanor squeezed Richard’s hand and then clasped her own in her lap, a hard look on her face.
Men in front of Henry parted and he managed his first good look at the captives. He drew back, shocked.
Edric Weston. One of the fourteen. Rot in hell, bastard.
Sunlight streamed into the hall and lit the faces of Richard’s loyal servants standing stiffly to either side of him. The bishop of Durham had arrived earlier that morning with prisoners in tow from Tickhill where he’d laid siege. The archbishops of York and Canterbury, bishops from more places than Henry could name, and the earls—Huntingdon, Chester, de Ferrers—all in their most splendid dress. It felt like the king’s coronation at Westminster a few years earlier. This gathering was smaller, but as much a spectacle as that had been. A sign of power, of authority, it showed these traitors that Richard was King of England. They should be glad to kneel in front of him and beg for his mercy.
Richard studied each man, indifference on his face. Henry had seen that look. It could be deceiving if you did not know the king. He was as good as Allan at concealing his thoughts.
“Weston is here,” Henry whispered, his fingers brushing Stephan’s hand. If Edric looked back—
A loud clatter from somewhere near Robin shatt
ered the quiet. Everyone turned, including Edric. Henry stepped in front of Stephan to keep him hidden. No need to dangle that carrot and risk Edric’s accusations in this public forum. But Henry noticed Edric was not looking at him. Edric was staring at Robin.
The hair on Henry’s neck bristled. Edric had never met Robin. Henry was sure of that.
“Robin—” Henry started.
“I see him.” Robin remained stone-faced.
“My liege,” Edric shouted. Chains on his hands rattling, he thrust a finger at Robin. Guards gripped Edric’s shoulders. “That man! He’s a spy! I saw him in the castle just yesterday. Take him.”
The men standing in front of Robin looked at each other aghast, stepping out of Edric’s aim.
Richard peered through the gap they’d made. “A spy?” He stood and planted his hand on the gold and jewel-encrusted hilt of his sword. “You there,” he said, pointing at Robin.
Robin looked from the king to the men around him, his face filled with innocent charm. Suddenly, he was surrounded by soldiers.
“That’s a lie!” Henry shouted.
“It’s all right, Henry,” Robin said as knights led him towards the dais.
Even from this distance, Henry could see a spark in Eleanor’s eyes and the mischievous look on the king’s face. How would this play out?
“Is this the man?” Richard asked sternly.
“Yes, my liege. He works in the castle. I saw him.” Edric implored his fellow prisoners, looking from de Wendeval to Henry Russell. “Had you seen him? He was with Murdac’s man, FitzHenry—your nephew, my liege,” he said, facing Richard again.
“He was, sire,” William de Wendeval agreed.
God’s bones, Henry thought. If the king denied Robin’s allegiance for some future purpose, Robin would be a marked man. But admitting Robin was his man could endanger Allan. Neither option sounded pleasant.
Stunned silence hung over those present. Many of these men knew Robin’s long loyalty to the king, but few would have known his role these last few months.
Eleanor leaned close to Richard and whispered something in his ear.
For King and Country (Battle Scars Book 2) Page 44