“Where are you bound for at Croydon?” the wool-merchant asked.
“Probably the Black Ram,” said deSteny.
“A suitable place for fighting men. The tavern has good ale and strong cider. We will probably go to The Cup and Ball. They have better service for merchants, including a small warehouse for our goods.” He slapped his thigh. “It is the Black Ram, the Cup and Ball, the Weeping Lady, or the abbey.”
“True enough,” said deSteny, who had stayed at the abbey in his previous visit to Croydon but doubted that another hostel had been built in the intervening years.
“And you choose the place that suits you best,” said the merchant.
Meaghar, who was behind deSteny just now, chuckled. “Do they have bawdy houses in Croydon?”
“Not officially,” said the wool-merchant with a lifting of his brows. “There are ways you can arrange these things.”
“Are you going to market?” deSteny asked politely, ignoring Meaghar.
“Eventually.” The merchant accepted this return to business without any sign of rancor. “For now we are meeting with merchants from the Low Countries and France who have a fancy for English wool, which we have in quantity, just as they have goods we seek. They come twice a year, and they bring gold and other merchandise with them. If all goes well, we’ll sell most of our bales and can trade the rest at Canterbury Market before we return to the north-west. I am from Gloucester.”
“Good country for wool,” said deSteny, who had often met Gloucester merchants at Nottingham.
“But not without hazard,” said the merchant with another lift of his shaggy brows. “The forest is a difficult place.”
“That it is. Every place has its hazards,” said deSteny.
The wool-merchant went along for a short distance without speaking, and then added, “We heard many warnings, coming here. Rumors of trouble in the forest.”
“We have heard such rumors, as well,” said deSteny.
“Do you—being Sheriff of Nottingham—put any stock in them?” The speculation in his eyes was tinged by fear.
“Yes, because a prudent man is always cautious and heeds warnings.” He made a point of being calm, his manner as courteous as he could make it. “And it is sensible to take precautions on the Great North Road, rumors or nothing.”
The wool-merchant nodded. “That is good advice you offer. Thank you. I’ll bear it in mind when I turn northward again.”
DeSteny wanted to ask what the wool-merchant had heard, but supposed this might make the man suspicious, so he said only, “I am pleased to be of service,” and continued on to Croydon and the Black Ram.
How Little John found Hood
HE HAD been wandering through the forest without coming upon what he sought. He had been careful, keeping to the light that protected him, and water that shielded him. When he slept, he took care to find holy ground—anything from a cemetery to a shrine—and kept his crucifix clutched in his hand, and had whispered prayers as he walked. But so many days had passed that he had begun to lose heart, thinking that he would fail in his sworn purpose. At dawn he had risen from his sleeping place among the graves protected by standing stones that had recently been surmounted with crosses. He had slept there before and been satisfied that it kept out all evil, which satisfied him that God would not forsake him in his mission.
This morning was a good morning, not too cold, and he stretched as he rose, wrapping his cloak around his shoulders. He ate the last of the cheese he had earned with a day’s labor cutting trees at a remote croft a week since. He scratched his beard, and wished he had thought to bring shears with him as well as his knife; he would soon be as shaggy as a winter pony. Picking up his quarterstaff, he set out for the river half a league away. The songs of birds accompanied him, but he paid no attention to them, for he missed the sound of human voices and the birds were no substitute for hearing his own name spoken. No bird called “John” or “John Gates,” and so he shut out their cheerful voices.
As he came to the river, he looked about for a means to cross. The current was too fast for him to swim, and the water too deep to wade, but he was determined to get over to the other side. He followed the bank for some distance, going deeper into the forest than he had ever done, into the closely gathered trees where the light scattered down like small, shining coins into the green gloom. He walked on through the morning and the full light of noon, and shortly after the sun crossed the mid-heaven he found himself on the narrow bank that grew steeper as the trees crowded in closer and closer together.
Finally he came upon a makeshift bridge—two halves of a tree-trunk stretched from bank to bank, offering narrow footing on a stout support—and he looked about before stepping onto the rough surface, making sure he could cross without mishap. He took a dozen steps, going carefully, for although the halved log was thick and sturdy enough to hold four or five men at once, it rocked a bit and the worn surface was filled with splinters and worn bits that made for uncertain footing. Using his staff to improve his balance, he was almost at the center of the bridge when he heard a soft chuckle behind him. He turned and saw a man behind him, dressed in scarlet and holding a dirk in his hand. John kept his place on the bridge but carefully swung around to look at him.
“You are a long way from home,” said the man with the dirk.
“How can you know that?” John asked, watching the dirk.
“Because this is a long way from anything,” said the man in scarlet. “If anyone is here they are lost.” He favored John with an unfriendly smile while he toyed with his dirk. “Am I wrong?”
“I have been searching for someone,” said John significantly as he looked at the man. “I know what you are, varlet. I know what you and your kind have done. You are what I have sought.”
“Am I?” The man in scarlet tossed the dirk into the air with negligent ease and caught it expertly. “What makes you so sure of that?”
“I know what you are,” John accused.
“Do you? And what is that?” Scarlet laughed without merriment.
“You know what you are,” John said.
“I am a wanderer of the forest, as are you,” Scarlet said with spurious geniality.
“You and your kind are monsters,” said John calmly.
“And what do you mean by that?” said another voice at the other end of the bridge. “Do you know or are you guessing?”
John looked around and saw another man, a tall, white-haired man, with his hood flung back to show his pale features, lean and fox-faced, with an air of menace about him that all but stifled the breath in John’s throat. He hoped his fear didn’t show when he answered, “I know.”
“Then you know how reckless you are being,” said the white-haired man.
“Hardly reckless.” He took a fighting stance and brought up his quarterstaff into a fighting position.
“Then you are desperate,” said the man in scarlet.
True though it was, John would not give the two the satisfaction of hearing him admit it. “Come on! If we’re going to fight!”
The white-haired man shrugged his shoulders. “That is up to you,” he said calmly, but in such a manner that John’s flesh crept on his spine.
“If you want to cross, come ahead,” John offered, shifting his stance to the smaller of the two half-logs. “We can pass if we’re careful.”
“Passing isn’t my intention, nor is stepping on the bridge,” said the white-haired man. “You are becoming a nuisance, caitiff, blundering about as you have done. The only thing I can admire in what you do is your tenacity, and that, under the circumstances, is far from praise.”
John heard him out, his hands tightening on the staff he carried. “Whatever you intend, have at it.”
“I think not. I think you must come to me. It is fitting, since he is the one determined to force a fight upon me. He must begin it
. Mustn’t he, Will?” The white-haired man chuckled, and it was the most evil sound John had ever heard.
“Yes. He must,” said the man in scarlet.
“I will do no such thing,” John vowed. “If this is to be a battle, let it be here, on this bridge. Over this water.” He shifted his stance again, preparing to defend his position on the bridge, and knowing he faced a formidable opponent. He studied the white-haired man carefully, taking note of how he moved and behaved, anticipating a difficult fight.
“We can wait,” said the white-haired man. “Eventually you will have to leave the bridge, and when you do, we’ll be waiting.”
“I’m not afraid,” John said, aware of the terror rising within him.
The man called Will sat down on the bank and began to throw small stones into the stream. “You will grow tired, fellow.”
“Then I will fall in and the river will carry me away. You will not be able to touch me,” he said defiantly, hoping he wouldn’t drown, though at the moment, that seemed preferable to dying at the hands of these two unwholesome creatures.
“What a waste that would be,” said Will Scarlet, and glanced over to the other end. “What do you think, Hood?”
“I think it would be a waste,” the white-haired man answered silkily. “He is a fine figure of a man, strong and full of life. He may not value that, but I do. And after all his family has given us so far. How shall I repay such generosity?” This was calculated to inspire fury, and John nearly succumbed to it.
“You killed them!” he shouted.
“Unfortunately, yes. We gave your woman the choice of becoming one of us, but she refused. More fool she,” said Hood.
John managed to curb his temper, but he could feel his gut tighten and the blood rise in his head and neck. How dared this vile travesty of a man say such things to him? He used his quarterstaff to make a swipe at Hood’s head. He had no hope of striking him, but wanted the satisfaction of some gesture before he was wholly caught up in fighting this unnatural being. “May God give me strength against you!”
Hood took half a step back, but whether from actual distress or as a calculated ploy, John could not tell. To keep from being rendered incapable of action, he began to spin his quarterstaff in the French fashion, the whirring it made giving him renewed satisfaction. Squinting up at the trees, he shifted his position a bit, taking care to stay out of the sunlight. “The longer you make us wait, the harder it will be for you.”
“So you say,” John responded, wanting to taunt his tormentor. “But the water protects me, and the sunlight. If I swim away, I will be in full sun in less than a league. And the water will keep me safe until I reach the light. You daren’t follow me into the water, let alone the sunlight, dare you? You’ll be burned to ashes.” He could not swim, but he hoped he could stay afloat long enough to reach the place where the trees thinned and the river cut through broad meadows, where no fell creature could come in the day.
Hood folded his arms. “And leave your woman and child unavenged? After all you have sworn to do?”
John continued to twirl his staff. “If not today, some other time.”
“All cowards say such things,” Hood remarked to Will. “Haven’t you noticed?”
“That I have,” said Will, throwing a bigger rock into the water.
“Do you think you can hit him?” Hood asked Scarlet impatiently.
“Eventually,” said Scarlet. “I want to wear him down.”
John began to feel a sinking sense of defeat. It had taken him many weeks to find these two, and if he failed to fight them today, it might be a long time before he had such an opportunity again. He swung his quarterstaff again, stopping its rotation and using its impetus to make a strong lunge at Hood, who jumped back, and let out a high, eerie cry as a bit of sunlight touched his cheek. At once a burn appeared there, smoke rising from it as if from an invisible branding iron. It was exhilarating to see that dire creature hurt. John gave a shout of satisfaction and moved a little closer to Hood’s end of the bridge. He moved toward Hood, his quarterstaff up in the air ready to strike. As soon as he started toward Hood, a rock thumped into his back, almost knocking him off his feet. He teetered, righted himself, and stepped back to the center of the bridge.
“Such poor judgment,” said Hood sarcastically. “To allow yourself to be goaded that way.”
“A coward’s ploy,” John said, breathing too quickly.
“Better than a fool’s,” said Will, tossing a pebble in John’s direction.
“So tell me, crofter, how you come to think you can stop us? We are many and there is only one of you.” Hood folded his arms and contemplated John as if he were a prize goat he was planning to buy.
“You took my wife and child,” said John.
Will laughed softly. “So we did.”
“Yes. And you buried them and mourned. But how could you think to come after us?” Hood shook his head. “Others are more careful of their lives than you.”
“Others have done what is between them and God”—he had the satisfaction of seeing Hood wince again—“I do as I must for the sake of my soul.”
Will laughed aloud. “I’ll tell the Red Friar.”
Hood lowered his head. “And what will any of this accomplish? You cannot kill us—it’s too late for that. You can only sacrifice yourself.”
“But I can kill you,” John said. “If you are burned by so little sun, then full light must consume you. I have heard it said that as you are bound for Hell, you burn as a foretaste of it. I know you cannot cross running water or tideland, except when the tide is turning. I know holy water will hurt you, and the cross. I can hurt you with iron, and salt. I know you burn and that wooden weapons will defeat you.” He held up his quarterstaff. “This will.”
“If you think so, you may try,” said Hood, offering a vulpine smile.
“You want to catch me off-guard,” said John, shaking his head knowingly. “You think that with one of you on either bank, I must eventually make a mistake. You want me to fall into your hands. I’m not such a fool.”
Hood laughed again. “Not a fool, no, but far from wise.” He closed his eyes for a long moment, then turned his baleful gaze on John. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with, for all you’ve been told.”
“You want to distress me,” said John. “You want me to let you get hold of me. Apage, Satanas!” he ordered, holding up the crucifix that hung on a thong around his neck. He let the end of his quarterstaff rest between his feet.
“Latin,” said Hood. “Your village priest must take good care of you. What other things have you learned, I wonder?” He gave a signal to Scarlet. “Don’t let him back up, Will.”
“What Father Batholomieu taught is no affair of yours,” said John, raising the staff with one hand. “You cannot speak of him.”
“I can do any number of things,” said Hood. “Most important to you now—I can wait.” Hood moved a step away to avoid the shifting sunlight.
Without any sign of fear, John addressed Hood. “You are a damnable thing. You will be lost to the world.”
“Yes, but long after you,” said Hood, the sinister edge in his voice making his intentions clear.
“Shall I rock the bridge?” asked Will, getting up and starting toward the split logs.
“And send him into the water? No,” said Hood. “But rock the logs a bit, to keep him off his balance.”
“As you like,” said Will, and put his foot on the larger of the two halves, giving it an experimental shove, smiling when John had to shift and lean to remain upright. “Yes. I see what you want.” He kicked at the end of the half-log—hard—and the wood shuddered down its length.
“Do you think you’ll be here at sunset?” Hood asked John.
“I could be. Not that it will help you. The water protects me, or you would have come after me before now. I am saf
e as long as I am on this bridge. The water will run all night.” John was beginning to worry, trying to think clearly in spite of the terrible dread that was turning his body cold.
“If you join us, you would have nothing to be afraid of,” said Hood.
“Except God and the light of day,” said John, stepping onto the other half-log as the one on which he stood rocked again.
Will whistled tauntingly, and moved to the second log, grabbing the rough wood and wrenching it. “Step lightly, big man.”
Hood watched, his garnet eyes narrowing. “We could use a smith, and your shoulders and your hands say you can do such work. You would want for nothing.”
John laughed. “But for life and salvation.” He rocked as Will jarred the logs.
“You are not coming off that bridge alive,” said Hood. “You will drown or you will come to us. Nothing else is possible.”
Using the end of his quarterstaff like a pike, John lunged at Hood. “Then I must drown.”
Hood grabbed the quarterstaff and yanked hard, his strength far greater than John’s, which surprised John for the few heartbeats he had to try to fight back. But then he fell and his shoulders landed on the end of the logs. An instant later Hood was on him.
From the far side of the river Will Scarlet watched, ravenous and loathing himself for his hunger while he watched Hood feed.
How Marian left her Father’s House
THE FORTRESS of Arundel was built on old Roman foundations, and so was basically a square-walled fortification with six buildings arranged in a U within the walls. Stables and a small chapel were newer than the rest of the place—the barracks were the oldest two structures inside the walls, one of them now housing the lord, the other all the soldiers and their families.
Trouble in the Forest Book One: A Cold Summer Night Page 14