“I shall tell Sir Humphrey you said so.” He paused, buffing the sole of his boot on the stones of the floor. “Have you any news for him?”
“Do you mean have I heard from Windsor? No, I have not,” said deSteny.
“Do you think you will?” Garvey asked.
“It isn’t for me to say,” said deSteny.
Garvey shrugged. “As you wish. Will you be supplying the disguises, or shall you leave it to Sir Humphrey?”
“I will tend to some of it, as it is my responsibility and duty,” said deSteny.
“Sir Humphrey will be glad to hear of it,” said Garvey, and prepared to withdraw. “How many of your men are you going to put into disguises?”
“Why, all of them,” said deSteny as if the answer were obvious.
“Will they comply?” Garvey asked.
“They are my men,” said deSteny as if it were all the answer he needed.
Garvey sniggered and turned on his heel and went to the door, pausing there to look back at deSteny. “No wonder you’re not a knight,” he said, and left deSteny to himself.
Had deSteny been less sure of his plan, he might have gone after Garvey deLindley and cuffed him on the ears for his impertinence, but he let the youth go. There was nothing he could say that would change anything that Garvey already thought. He gathered up his clothes and weapons and his drying sheet and went along to have his morning bath, knowing he had more important matters to deal with than the manners of a squire.
As he climbed into the tub, he found his thoughts drifting back to the days in the Holy Land, when he had bathed in the river at dawn every day before beginning his obligations for the day. With that recollection came other visions: some of battle, some of injured men, and of the dreadful, undead creatures who had gone about the Crusaders’ camps preying on the wounded. He knew the legends of old, but no story he had heard as a boy in England matched the ferocity of what he encountered on the road to Jerusalem. He winced, not at the cold water, but at the image in his mind of fallen knights rising again, enslaved by the foulest thirst that ever corrupted a Christian. For these men all hope of Paradise and Salvation was lost, and in its place was the degrading, corrupted desire that turned them into creatures of Satan. At first he had fought them with all the strength of his faith, but when that was gone, he had only his duty to his comrades to carry him on in the fight. He clung to that now for purpose and resolve.
“Sheriff?” Jotham asked from the door.
“What is it?” He resumed scrubbing his back with a short-handled brush, almost enjoying the play of cold water and fire-warmed air on his skin.
“You have a messenger in your study, from Sir Gui.” He made his report without inflection, and he studied his hands as he reported. “You know him.”
“I will be with him directly. See he is given bread and drink for his trouble,” said deSteny, nearing the end of his bath. “Tell him I will come directly.”
“That I will,” said the boy, and hurried off.
DeSteny rose from the tub and stood in front of the fire, letting its warmth restore him. He took the drying sheet and wrapped it around himself, preserving as much heat as he could. As soon as he was dry, he dressed carefully, thrust a dagger through his belt, and buckled on his sword before going up to his study once again. His short-cropped hair was still wet, and occasionally a drop of water would run down his face or his neck, a cool reminder of his bath, but it seemed to him that this was also a reminder of his mortality, and he took it to heart.
Radulph Parr was fiddling with the lavish, gold-piped dags on his sleeves when deSteny walked into his study, a pointed attempt to show the difference in their stations in life, for Parr’s clothing would cost more than deSteny could hope to earn in three years. Parr was supposed to rise for the Sheriff, but he only moved forward in the chair, as if to deal with a recalcitrant child. “Sheriff. You kept me waiting.” He paused so that deSteny could apologize. When he didn’t, Parr went on, “Sir Gui sends me to tell you something.”
“I will listen with my full attention,” said deSteny. He had met Parr in the Holy Land when he was assigned to the men around King Richard, and had clashed with him then, knowing him for a coward and given to mendacity; he tried to keep this from affecting him now as he stared at Parr, but he was worried that some of his opinion of the man was reflected in his demeanor.
“It may appear somewhat inept of me to receive you in this way, and in your own holding,” said Parr. “But you will agree our circumstances have changed.”
“That they have,” said deSteny and would not elaborate.
“You have certainly altered your life since Crusading,” Parr goaded.
DeSteny didn’t counter this covert accusation. “What does Sir Gui want?”
“I asked not be given this task, little though you may think so,” Parr went on, staring at the opposite wall, unwilling to give up his game. “I told Sir Gui that it would be best to choose another.”
“But he didn’t,” said deSteny, suspecting that Sir Gui enjoyed the idea of making this difficult for his Sheriff. “And he is your liege-lord, so you must comply with his charges, as must all his vassals.”
“I didn’t tell him why I didn’t want to do this,” Parr said.
“I suppose I should thank you for that,” said deSteny.
“Yes. You should.” Parr glared at him.
“Then consider it done,” said deSteny.
Parr brushed the front of his long tunic. “So. This is the message: Sir Gui will come to Nottingham in a se’enight to make preparations for the Eve of All Saints Fair, and he expects to be received as he deserves. You have notice, and so you have no excuse to be remiss in any appropriate distinction. A courier will be sent when his departure time is nigh. He will bring a suite of perhaps thirty-four, and they must be properly housed and fed. His fighting men will go to Sir Humphrey, who will have charge of their keep.”
“Very well,” said deSteny.
“Further, Sir Gui will announce a reward for his affianced bride, in the hope that she may be ransomed to her family. He must have a crier to announce his reward throughout the town.” Now that he was doing his assigned service, Parr’s voice was louder and more assured, but he continued to sit as if to protect himself.
“I will provide him with one,” said deSteny.
“He wants, also, the seat of honor for all contests, as is his right,” said Parr.
“Providing he is the most noble attendant, he will, of course, have the seat of honor,” said deSteny. “The Bishop will share the platform.”
“Of course,” said Parr.
“And Sir Humphrey, as well, on a lower level,” said deSteny.
“That’s only right,” said Parr, finally rising. “So you know when to expect Sir Gui and his entourage.”
“Thank you for bringing me word,” said deSteny.
Parr tugged on his dags. “Do you ever miss it, your old life?”
“Not as you might think,” said deSteny stonily. He did not like being reminded of the past, especially not by a popinjay in a dagged tunic with parti-colored leggings.
“Then I’m sorry for you,” said Parr, as much of a concession as he could make.
“Thank you, but it isn’t necessary,” said deSteny.
“Until Sir Gui returns, then, Sheriff,” said Parr, and left him alone.
A moment later Jotham came through the open door and stood silently for as long as it might take a monk to say an Ave. “He is not your friend.”
“No, he is not,” said deSteny. “But why you should know it, I cannot determine.”
The page shrugged. “I listen.”
“That could get you into trouble, Jotham,” deSteny warned.
“Not listening could get me into more,” said Jotham with a cheeky smile.
DeSteny knew that he ought to re
primand the page, but just now he could not bring himself to do so, not with so many grim visions rising in his mind and demanding his attention far more than a charmingly impertinent page. He waved Jotham away, his attention already focused on preparing his campaign against Hood and his minions. “Go along with you.”
Jotham, unaware of what occupied deSteny’s mind, giggled as he fled.
How Summer came to an End
AS THE moon rose, the Hart emerged from the depths of the forest into the secret glades and meadows, but this brought him little satisfaction: Sherwood thrummed with Hood’s malice. This was no longer a haven, and it provided only the illusion of refuge. The Hart picked his way as warily as he would have done if the hunt were still abroad, thinking with each step that the Boar had better be prepared for a battle when he assumed mastery of the forest in three more days, for this crusade was not one that could only be fought by men, but that summoned all the worldly and unworldly powers to the engagement that lay ahead
Visit our website and online bookstore at eventhorizonpg.com
Visit our new Facebook Store!
Check out our Imprint Facebook Pages for the
latest news about our books and authors:
Event Horizon EBooks
DarkStar Books
Lone Star Publishing
Starbase Phoenix Publishing
Trouble in the Forest Book One: A Cold Summer Night Page 29