Immortal Outlaw

by Lisa Hendrix

  “We do not need a monk, worldly or not.”

  “But you do need a priest. Seldom have I seen a group of outlaws who need one more.”

  “I am not outlaw,” growled Steinarr.

  “You have no horse, Friar,” said Ari.

  “Will’s dun horse will hold us both.”

  “And how would you know that?” demanded Steinarr, staring directly at Will.

  “I was only boasting,” protesting Will. “He is the ugliest beast in the Midlands, but he will carry two grown men at a gallop for ten mile.”

  “No. Come. We are leaving.”

  He headed toward the horses, with Marian and Robin on his heels. Ari followed along, speaking under his breath. “We could use him. One more man between Robin and Guy.”

  “A monk?”

  “Aye, and more so if he knows how to use that quarterstaff. Did you see the man’s arms? They’re big as Gunnar’s. He could be a bull himself.”

  Steinarr looked to Robin. It was time to start giving him some voice in this. “It is your quest, Robin, and your choice. What do you wish to do about him?”

  “We could take him along, at the least, and see if he fits in. I need men, I know that, and I do not trust all of my father’s. I want some loyal to me alone.”

  “We can send him back if he does not suit,” said Marian. “Or leave him at the next abbey.”

  Steinarr turned and shouted to Will, “If you fall behind, we leave you. Both of you.”

  “I understand, my lord.”

  “As do I, my lord,” said the friar.

  “Then get your things,” said Steinarr.

  The friar held up his staff and the cross on his cincture. “These are all I own, my lord. Just let me tell the abbot.”

  He hurried off, and by the time everyone was mounted up, he was back.

  “The abbot said he expects another curtal friar along with his Proverbs, whatever that means.”

  “It means we are saddled with you,” said Steinarr, feeling himself mellow somewhat as Marian wrapped her arms around him.

  “What is your name, Friar?” asked Robin.

  “Turumbertus,” said the monk. “But ’tis such a mouthful that most folk just call me Tuck.”

  “I DO NOT recall Father ever owning a book like this,” said Matilda as she and Robin paged through the abbot’s book of Proverbs that evening. “I wish he had. ’Tis a beautiful thing.”

  Even by the thin light of the two stolen candles, the illuminations were like jewels, rich with color and sparkling with gold leaf. Images both sacred and secular twined among the text, illustrating the verses and covering nearly every inch of parchment that did not contain lettering. Heads together, she and Robin examined each leaf, looking for whatever Father might have hidden.

  “I hope it is not buried in the text. It would take me days to sort through so much Latin.”

  “We do have Friar Tuck now.”

  “Aye, we do. Look, a windmill like the one in Tuxford. I wonder …” She reached for her scrip and dumped everything onto the grass at her feet, then began laying everything out in the order they’d found it. “Perhaps it all ties together and these things can be found within the figures.”

  Matilda started to turn back to the beginning to look for familiar objects when she realized Robin had straightened and was staring at the book, grinning.

  “What?”

  Robin pointed at the first words of a verse. “Benedictio domini.”

  “I know no Latin, and even I know that,” said Will, who was sitting nearby. “The blessing of the Lord.”

  “ ‘The Lord’s blessing on your search,’ ” said Robin. “That’s what the abbot said, just as he left.”

  “‘Benedictio Domini divites facit nec sociabitur ei adflictio,‘ ” read Matilda. “Something about adding no sorrow. Friar? Your aid, if you please. What does it mean?”

  “The blessing of the Lord, it makes rich and he adds no sorrow with it,” said Tuck.

  Matilda looked to Robin, and he to her, each hoping the other recognized the verse, but no: they both shook their heads.

  “Not the text, then,” said Robin. “The illumination?”

  Now it was Matilda’s turn to smile as she recognized the subject. “David and Bathsheba. Lord David.”

  “Wise King Solomon, who wrote the Proverbs, was the son of David and Bathsheba,” said Tuck.

  “And perhaps Bathsheba is meant as my mother. King David saw her in the bath and seduced her. Lord David first saw my mother when he visited at Hawkhurst and she was sent to wash his hair.” Robin glanced sideways at Matilda, embarrassed. “I should not speak of her to you.”

  “It was Father who broke the vow of marriage, not she. At any rate, you confirm this must be the right page. And look at the knotwork between the columns of text.” She found the scrap of parchment from Blidworth and held it against the book. “ ‘Tis the same design.”

  Robin squinted at the two pieces. “Not exactly. There is something …” He turned the book upside down, then followed the line down the center. “There are letters amongst the knots. S … E … E … Write them, Maud.”

  There was a scramble for something upon which to write, the ground being too grassy and she being unwilling to mark on the parchment for fear it might still hold some necessary secret. Torvald finally handed her a burned twig and a piece of bark. “M … E …” She started marking down the letters as Robin picked them out, one at a time.

  “ ‘See me as at midday,’ I know this. Me is David. As at midday …” She scrabbled through the oddments for the red carbuncle and held it up to peer at the page. “We found this at midday. I see a ghost of something in the red. Ah. ’Tis the token from King Richard. But there is something else. A few lines of text. I need more light.”

  Torvald brought a brand from the fire, Tuck lit a stick, and Will moved the candles closer, but even with much tilting and straining, none of them could make out more than a few letters. And when Torvald took his turn peering at it, she felt a strange disturbance in the steadiness that usually surrounded him, barely a riffle, but he must be rattled or she wouldn’t feel him at all. For whatever reason, even though she could touch the stallion, Torvald the man usually stayed out of reach like everyone else.

  “There is just not enough light,” declared Robin at last. “We will have to wait for the morning sun.”

  “I do not want to wait.”

  “And yet you will,” said Torvald. He quietly motioned her away from the others and she sidled off to the far edge of the firelight with him.

  “You saw something in the image of our token, my lord.”

  “Aye. You must show it to Steinarr. But Ari first, I think.”

  “Why?”

  “Just show it to them.”

  She looked out into the dark beyond the light. “Does he watch us now?”

  “Not yet, but he will. He comes every night now.” Torvald looked at the sky, and she knew he read the stars the same way Steinarr read the sun. “It is not so very long until sunrise. Rest now, Marian. Tomorrow will be a hard day for all of us.”

  “WHAT ARE YOU doing out here?” asked Steinarr as he spotted Marian sitting on a downed tree, basking in the first rays of sun like a turtle.

  “Come to meet you, of course,” she said as he slid off the stallion. “And to tell Sir Ari that Robin wishes a moment with him.”

  Ari raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? He acts more the young lordling every day.”

  “So he should,” said Steinarr. “Go on, and keep him distracted so I can steal a moment with Marian.”

  “A moment only,” said Ari as he turned his horse toward camp. “No taking her off somewhere.”

  “We would not be so foolish, monsire,” said Marian. Yet as soon as Ari was out of sight, she moved into Steinarr’s arms as though she never intended to leave them. “At last. I find I do not like traveling with others. Too many eyes. ’Twas much more pleasant alone with you, even when we had no time for bedding.” />
  Steinarr tried to ignore the lurch of desire—difficult when she sensed his arousal and wriggled up against him. “Stop that. We need all those eyes to keep you and Robin safe. And he is probably happy to have them all watching us.”

  “Robin has convinced himself I am still virgin. He will be much disappointed when he finally admits the truth to himself.”

  “We should leave his belief intact, at least until we finish. It is only another day or two.”

  “Aye, I suppose. And then what?”

  “I do not know.” He knew what he wanted, but he had not yet figured out how to make it happen. “I cannot think until this is done. Be patient.”

  “Patience is not my strength, my lord.”

  “Nor mine, but we must practice it.”

  “We will start later. Right now, come with me. Robin has something to show you.” She grabbed him by the hand and dragged him off toward camp. “I think it must be important. Sir Torvald said you must see, but that Sir Ari should see first.”

  “Why?”

  “I do not know, but that is why I came to divert you. He has had time, and now ’tis your turn.”

  They entered camp to find Ari squatting beside Robert, looking at the abbot’s book through the red stone from Blidworth. As Steinarr handed the stallion over to Will to be fed and watered, Ari looked up. Concern creased his brow, and he plucked the book and stone from Robin’s hands and carried them away, heading out of camp. “Come. We must talk.”

  The tight way he held himself ruffled the hairs on the back of Steinarr’s neck. “What is this about? Where are we going?”

  “A ways.” Ari kept going until they were well away from camp, then found a sunny spot. He flipped through the book to find a page, opened it out, and handed it to Steinarr.

  “A king and his queen. So?”

  “David and Bathsheba. From their Bible. David for Lord David and Bathsheba for Robin’s mother. He figured out where it was, and Marian figured out how to read it.” Ari held out the stone. “Turn the book upside down and look at it through this.”

  Humoring him, Steinarr held the stone up to his eye. The odd, red-tinged image of the king faded away, leaving the ghost of something else, a circle with some markings around the edge, and in the center, a square with …

  “My fylgja.” The earth shifted beneath his feet, as though the nornir had unraveled the weft of his life and begun to reweave it. Marian. Freedom. “That is my lion. My amulet.”

  “ ‘Tis Robin’s lion.”

  “No. Marian said his is gold.”

  “The outside planchet is gold. I asked Robin. The center is silver, and ancient. Lionheart carried it as a luck piece, and he had it set in gold to give it more weight, to make it fit for a king to give as a gift.”

  “But …”

  “ ‘Tis the treasure their father hid. ’Tis what Robin must return to Edward to secure his title.”

  “No. No. This cannot be.” Hope poured through his fingers like sand. “Over four hundred years of waiting, just so the gods can steal it from me twice in one sennight? What did I do to so offend them? Why do they torture me this way? To bring me her, and this, and then … Where is it?”

  “Edwinstowe. The writing below gives the riddle. Take it for yourself, Steinarr,” Ari urged abruptly. “Take Marian and go get it and heal yourself.”

  Marian and freedom and nights in her arms. They could be in Edwinstowe today, and tonight could be the first of many nights. He could marry her. Love her. Grow old with her.

  “I vowed to make Robin lord of Huntingdon. I swore it to her on my sword. A sword vow, Ari.”

  “Break it. I’ll see to Robin. We’ll settle him on the land at Alnwick. He will be fine. This is your one chance.”

  “It is no chance. If I steal the amulet, Marian will hate me. I will have it and lose her. Or I can keep her love and lose any possibility of a life with her.” Bile bubbled at the rear of his throat. He swallowed hard and lifted his chin. “Tell everyone to get ready.”

  Ari looked as sick as Steinarr felt. “What are you going to do?”

  “I do not know. Odin, help me, I do not know. But one thing I do know, is that I must be in Edwinstowe to do it.”

  CHAPTER 20

  EVEN AVOIDING THE roads and circling wide to the west of Clipstone, Steinarr pushed them so hard that the bells were only ringing Nones as they reached Edwinstowe. A quick reconnoiter by Ari and Will showed that the village was free of visitors, royal or otherwise.

  “Much of the village lies empty,” said Will. “They may have been summoned to aid with the king’s hunt.”

  “We can likely find the token without any challenge,” said Ari, giving Steinarr a significant look.

  Matilda frowned at the seething dismay that rumbled up from the man beside her. He had been like that all day, ever since Ari had shown him the image in the girdle book. The tumult in his mind had so disturbed her that her stomach had been aching all day, knotted by his strange agitation. She’d even asked to ride behind Will for a while, hoping for enough relief to get her balance back so that she could better block him out. Instead, it had only made Steinarr jealously angry, which in turn assailed her with more emotion. Reeling, she’d quickly gone back to her place behind him. His anger had faded, but the underlying distress had not.

  Now he stood staring at the spire of Edwinstowe’s church, just visible above the trees, his emotions swinging so wildly it felt as though his very soul were being torn in half.

  She laid a comforting hand on his arm, felt the ungodly rigidity beneath her palm that had been her companion in the saddle all day. “We do not need to go now. It can wait until morning. There is yet time.”

  He turned to look down at her, his tightly schooled expression masking the turmoil. “No. We go in now. Will, do you remember what I said?”

  “If things go awry, I carry Marian back to Hokenall to the protection of Lord Peter and Lady Nichola.”

  And?“

  “I will protect her with my life,” pledged Will, hand over his heart.

  His earnestness made Steinarr’s jealousy bubble up again even as he nodded. “Good. Ari?”

  “I will see to Robin’s well-being.” That significant look again. “No matter what.”

  “No,” said Robin, making all of them turn to him. “All of you are to protect Marian. You as well, Friar. My first duty, success or no, is to see my sister safe.”

  “She will be,” said Steinarr. “But so will you. Success or no. Mount up. We must be in and out of Edwinstowe before dark.”

  He led them in cautiously, circling almost all the way around the village to look for watchers before picking up the narrow track that led into its center. As they approached the green, he asked Matilda to repeat the riddle.

  “ ‘Saint Edwin rested here and watches over all. Look to the lord’s heaven and find what you seek.’ I think it means we must despoil another church.”

  “Robin?”

  “ ‘Saint Edwin watches over all,’ ” he repeated. “There is surely a figure of him in the church. We begin there.”

  “As you will.”

  Moments later, they stood in the stone church, staring at a likeness of the ancient king of Northumbria who had become Saint Edwin. Overhead, the vault was black with the swirling marks of a smoky fire.

  Matilda shook her head. “There is no Heaven here.”

  “Blasphemy,” cried a disapproving voice. They whirled to find a priest, gaunt as a crow in his black, clambering up from prayer. “Blasphemy.”

  “You misunderstand, Father, I didn’t …” By the saints, she would never survive the penances she would owe. She hurried forward and dropped to her knees at his feet, grabbing his hand to kiss. “I only meant the roof was burned. Forgive me, Father. I said it poorly.”

  The priest looked somewhat mollified. “It is not mine to forgive. You must ask God’s mercy tonight in your prayers. And say a decade of Pater Nosters.”

  “Yes, Father.” How long had
it been since she’d said nightly prayers? A month? How many Pater Nosters would that cost her? “When was the fire?”

  “Only this spring. We were fortunate that it was mostly smoke and that the flames were put out before the damage was too great. God willing, it will be put right soon. The king has granted us license to cut ten large oaks to pay for the repairs.”

  “What was it like before the fire?” asked Robin.

  “Like?”

  “Was it perhaps plastered or painted?”

  “No. Just stone. When it is scrubbed clean once more, you will be able to see the fineness of the masons’ work.”

  “What about the manor?” asked Robin. “We heard a tale of a fine painting of Heaven here in Edwinstowe—that is what my cousin referred to—and since we passed through, we hoped to see it. I assumed it was the church, but now I think perhaps it was … the hall?”

  “Lord Ulmar’s solar. His lady had the vault painted with a depiction of the heavens, blue like lapis stone, with stars and the moon and even a fine comet, which the king added on his last visit to please the lady.’

  Matilda could barely contain herself. “The king?”

  “Aye, my lord. He told her it was meant to be the great comet that portended the coming of King William from Normandy.”

  “That must be what we heard of,” said Robin, more calmly than Matilda would have been able to manage. “Do you think the lady would show it to us?”

  “She would if she were here, but she is at Rufford waiting upon Queen Eleanor, while Lord Ulmar hunts with the king. But the steward will surely let you in. Lady Joanna is quite proud of it—too proud, perhaps, for the good of her soul—and enjoys having others see it.”

  “A fine idea,” said Robin. “Pardon us, Father. We must take our leave. We have just enough time to see this marvelous scene and reach Clipstone before dark.”

  Outside, Marian slipped her arm into his. “I fear I have set a poor example as sister, Rob. You lied quite well in there. And to a priest.”

  “I told no lie,” he said. “I just did not tell the truth.”

  “A fine line,” she said, and gave him a little squeeze. “Well done.”

  He rolled his eyes, but his grin said he enjoyed her teasing praise. “Sir Steinarr, I think we must all play servant to you and Sir Ari. Get us into Lady Joanna’s solar.”