by N B Dixon
Though the king sat stiff and upright in his saddle, he looked old and tired, particularly when compared to the young man riding at is right.
This man was in full armour. He wore a sword baldric across his chest, and on his left arm was a shield bearing the device of three rampant lions. Robin knew from the device that this was Richard, the eldest of King Henry’s surviving sons and heir to the throne.
He cut a far more impressive figure than Prince John. Whereas Richard was tall and well muscled, John was smaller and slighter. His tunic was elaborately embroidered at the hem and sleeves. Rings glittered on his fingers, and his shoes were shiny and curled at the toes. His foppish appearance was a striking contrast to Richard, who looked as if he were riding to war instead of to a banquet.
The soldiers had formed a human corridor down which the king and his court could ride. As soon as they had passed through into the inner bailey, the portcullis began to descend, shutting out the gawping crowd.
Robin drifted along with the other servants to the inner bailey. Stable boys hurried to grab reins as courtiers dismounted and milled about.
Richard leapt lightly down from his saddle and turned to help his father. The moment King Henry was on the ground, Raymond Warci hurried forward to meet him. Robin was not close enough to hear what was said.
Nobles thronged the inner bailey, and Robin scanned them, searching for Guy. He didn’t see him. A sharp nudge in his side made him jump. Turning, he saw Will.
“Lower your head,” Will hissed. “You’re looking around too freely.”
Robin did so. Out of the corner of his mouth, he whispered, “I see our soldier. I think the best time to approach him will be in the great hall once the feast has started.”
“Let’s hope Wat got a message to him,” Will muttered.
The nobles were drifting away into the great hall. Robin, remembering his original errand, hurried off to get the cloths to drape the higher tables. Most of the hall would eat directly off the wooden boards, but the king and his immediate retinue would eat from silver and pewter platters on elaborately spread tables.
The great hall filled rapidly with guests and servants. The Sheriff of Nottingham conducted the king to the place of honour on the dais. Richard was once more seated on his right. John was a little further down the table. Other influential nobles sat close to the dais, while less important people occupied the tables further down the hall.
It was an impressive sight. Many of the nobility of the shire were gathered here. The women wore exquisitely embroidered gowns of silk or satin. Finely tooled girdles encircled their waists. Jewels sparkled on fingers, around throats and in upswept hair. The men, too, wore tunics of fine wool, many of which sported brocade around the sleeves. Several wore surcoats carrying the emblems of their families. The hall rang with talk and laughter.
Robin wove his way through the tables, replacing empty wine cups with full and carrying dishes to the tables as requested. All the while, his eyes were peeled for either Guy or the soldier, John. He had lost sight of Will again.
Robin had attended many banquets in his life, but he had never seen anything on such a grand scale as this. There were salmon swimming in rich, creamy sauces, platters of roast chicken, pork and pheasant, hares cooked in their own blood and other delicacies Robin had never seen before, such as fresh larks’ tongues and dormice cooked in their skins. The prize, however, was a huge roast boar, an apple stuffed into its open, lifeless mouth. It was carried in and set before the king, whereupon three cooks set about carving it. The choicest pieces of meat were placed on the king’s platter.
Wine, ale and cider flowed, and as people grew merry with drink, the noise level in the hall rose. Some musicians valiantly tried to make themselves heard over the din, but it was a losing battle.
Robin went cold all over. He had seen Guy. He was sitting at a table in roughly the centre of the hall. Katrina sat next to him. The skirts and bell-like sleeves of her gown swept the floor rushes, and she was laughing at something her brother had said.
Hatred and fury rose up in Robin. Only rigid determination kept him from seizing Katrina by the throat there and then.
Lady Gisborne was there, too, no less finely dressed than her daughter. Across from her—Robin received another jolt—was his father.
Lord Locksley was studiously ignoring Lady Gisborne.
As Robin watched, Guy signalled for a fresh cup of wine. Robin ducked back into the crowd. He did not want Guy to see him yet. Luckily, another servant had hurried forward to attend to him.
Robin saw John Little sitting at a table towards the back of the hall with a number of other soldiers. There were no fancy platters or tastefully embroidered tablecloths here. The men ate from bread trenchers. They drank ale rather than wine, and no servants waited on them. Robin made his way towards them. Seeing Guy had increased his sense of urgency. He didn’t know when the conspirators planned to strike, but he doubted they would wait much longer. If they did, they would all likely be too drunk to fight.
Robin stopped behind John and tapped his massive shoulder. John whipped around with surprising speed given his size, and his hand closed on Robin’s arm. His grip was like a vice. Robin heard bones grinding, and suspected he would have some nasty bruises come the morning.
“What do you want, boy?”
“You are Wat’s friend?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Robin Hood.” It was the password they had agreed on. John eyed Robin up and down, then released him, much to Robin’s relief, and rose from the bench. As if by magic, Will appeared at Robin’s side, and together, they followed John to a small chamber off the hall.
No one looked their way. Everyone was far too intent on eating and drinking to pay them any mind. Once in the chamber, John let the heavy door thud closed, then rounded on Robin and Will.
Will opened his mouth, perhaps to comment on John Little’s name and size, but Robin silenced him with a look. They couldn’t afford to antagonise their one ally, and Robin had no doubt this man could crush them with one hand.
“Who are you?” John Little demanded. His hand had dropped to the axe at his belt, and Robin found himself wishing he had a sword in his hand.
“I am Robin Hood,” he repeated.
“What sort of name is that?”
“I was once Robin of Locksley.”
He saw the spark of recognition in John’s eyes.
“Why aren’t you going by your true name?”
“It would take too long to explain,” Robin said impatiently. “Did you get Wat’s message?”
“Aye. He said there was some threat against the king.”
“Some rebels intend to kill him and put Prince John on the throne.”
“You’re just a boy. How do you know that?”
“My friend was staying with his cousin, Guy of Gisborne. Have you heard of Gisborne Manor?”
John nodded.
“Guy had my friend murdered when he tried to tell me what they were planning.”
“Why come to me? I’m just a man at arms, no one important. Why not go to the sheriff?”
“Because the sheriff is likely at the heart of the conspiracy.” Robin abruptly changed tactics. “You can’t pretend not to know what I’m talking about, John. You don’t strike me as a foolish man. I know you suspect something is wrong. I heard you talking about it with your captain.”
“Aye,” John murmured. “Raymond Warci is a greedy swine. He’d do anything to get himself more power. As for Prince John, it’s no secret he covets his father’s throne.”
“Then you will help us?”
“Aye. How do you want to do this?”
“We need to expose the conspirators before they can attack. Take the element of surprise from them.”
John nodded approvingly. “You’re thinking like a soldier, lad.”
“Are there any more soldiers who might listen? The captain, for instance?”
“There’re a few I know who have no
love for the sheriff. I’ll speak to them. Then I’ll get the crowd’s attention. After that, you make your entrance.”
“One thing,” Will said, speaking for the first time since they had entered the chamber. He turned to Robin. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy taking on Guy and his cronies in a servant’s tunic without a sword in my hand.”
John grinned. “Through that door there.” He pointed. “You’ll find a guard room. I daresay there’s some soldiers’ uniforms in your size. Weapons, too. Go and arm yourselves, and then make ready.”
“Thank you,” Robin said. He meant it. He hadn’t been sure John would cooperate. The soldier had no reason to take their word against that of his sheriff. If Robin hadn’t known he was already suspicious, he might not have even risked involving him.
John ducked back into the great hall, while Robin and Will hurried to change out of their servants’ clothing.
“This is it, then,” Will said. He had acquired a sword and was testing its weight.
“It isn’t too late, you know,” Robin said. “You could leave and go back to Locksley. You don’t need to die with me, Will.”
“That’s what I like about you. You’re always such a cheerful devil.”
“I’m serious, Will.”
Will’s smile faded. “I’m not leaving you, Robin. I want Guy dead as much as you. We’ll do it together.”
Robin opened his mouth, but the protest died on his lips. In truth, he was glad not to be going into this alone.
“Just try not to get yourself killed.”
Will’s grin returned. “Who is better with a sword, eh?”
Before Robin could answer, a sound came from beyond the chamber door. Boom! Boom! Boom!
Robin gripped his unfamiliar sword more tightly and exchanged looks with Will.
“That must be John. It’s time.”
Robin and Will sidled back into the hall. No one noticed them.
John was shoving the axe back into his belt. Robin supposed he had used it to get the crowd’s attention, no doubt by banging it against the table. A hush had fallen over the hall.
The captain Robin had seen John talking to earlier, had risen to his feet.
“Sire, it grieves me to inform you that there is a plot against you. In this hall now, sit men guilty of treason.”
Muttering ran around the hall. People exchanged startled looks with their neighbours. Robin’s gaze fastened on Guy’s face. It had gone rigid. Beside him, Katrina had paled, while her mother’s eyes were slits of fury.
“What is your evidence of this?” demanded a man who looked as if he might be the captain of the king’s guard.
This was his moment. Robin jumped up onto the nearest table. This immediately put him head and shoulders above everyone else. As the captain had done, Robin addressed the king. All eyes turned to him.
“A friend of mine stumbled on the conspiracy and tried to warn me, sire. He was murdered for his trouble by Guy of Gisborne, one of the rebels.”
The captain spoke out again. “The sheriff has been having many secret meetings recently with men who are known to be enemies of Your Majesty.”
Warci made a choking noise in his throat as the king speared him with a level gaze.
“Is this true, Warci? Speak up, man. Do you refute these accusations?”
Warci stared around the hall like a hunted animal. For a moment, Robin thought he was going to deny everything. His heart sank. It would be his word against the sheriff’s. The king would be more likely to believe Warci. Robin knew their evidence was ropey at best. But Warci surprised him.
“Now!” he roared, leaping to his feet and drawing his sword in the same movement.
Chaos reigned. In moments, the hall, which had been a scene of feasting and merrymaking was a battleground. Royal guards fought Garrison soldiers. Rebels clashed with knights loyal to the king. People tried to flee, but the fighting was too thick. Women and servants were screaming and trying to hide, but there was nowhere to go as benches and tables were overturned and food and drink was sent flying.
Robin saw that John Little was giving a good account of himself, laying about him with his axe. Every man he struck fell and did not rise again. Richard, too, dealt death with every sword stroke. Of Prince John, there was no sign. Robin jumped down from his perch and hurled himself into the fray. There was one opponent he was after, and he didn’t care how many men he had to go through to reach him.
* * * * *
Chapter 21
Robin saw a knight coming at him. Sir Richard’s hours of training kicked in, only this time, his opponent wasn’t armed with a wooden practice sword. He was fighting to kill.
Robin blocked the knight’s first swing, and the man’s eyes widened. Clearly, he hadn’t expected a mere boy to present a serious threat.
The man aimed for Robin’s stomach, and again, Robin blocked the blow. He got in under the knight’s guard and scored a gash in his thigh. The knight bellowed, more in surprise than pain.
“You insolent pup. I’ll slit you open like a ripe orange.”
Robin supposed he should have been afraid, but his primary emotion was annoyance. This man was keeping him from his true objective.
He hooked his blade around his opponent’s and, with a deft flick of his wrist, twisted it from his grasp. It clattered away, leaving the knight staring in blank shock at his empty hand.
“You should concentrate more and boast less,” Robin told him. “Luckily for you, I’m in a hurry.”
He moved away, scanning the crowd. It was difficult to make out anyone clearly amid the constantly moving figures. Here and there, he spotted bodies lying inert among the scattered crockery. Blood mingled with spilled wine in grisly puddles. A knot of the sheriff’s men had cornered some of the king’s guards and were engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand struggle. Robin was about to join them when he saw who he was looking for.
Will had reached Guy first. They were fighting close to the dais. Guy’s face was a mask of fury, but Will was grinning as he turned a clumsy slash.
Robin’s heart lurched. Guy was his. He couldn’t let Will have this fight. If Will got himself killed…
Robin ducked, just avoiding a stroke that would have ended his life. Straightening, his sword raised and ready, he found himself face to face with the Sheriff of Nottingham. Raymond Warci’s eyes were hateful dark slits, his mouth curled in a sneer.
Robin met his gaze calmly. “Things not going quite how you thought they would? What did Prince John promise you?”
“You always were a meddlesome brat. I should have strung you up years ago.”
“And you’re a traitor to your king. Now the niceties are over, can we get on with this?”
“With pleasure.”
The sheriff was a far superior swordsman than the knight. Robin fended off yet another killing blow, and Warci blocked his counterattack with ease. The next exchange of blows was so fast, Robin could barely keep up. He let his instincts take over, making use of his slighter build to weave and duck around his opponent, forcing him to constantly alter his own stance and preventing him from making another strike.
“Coward,” Warci snarled. “Stand still and take your death like a man. Or are you a snivelling boy at heart?” Warci made a wild slash at Robin’s shoulder, which he parried.
“Not bad for a mere boy, eh?” Robin taunted.
Warci snarled and attacked, and this time, Robin wasn’t quick enough. The sword sliced his arm, opening a long, deep gash. Blood spurted, and Robin stumbled. Warci’s face split in a wolfish grin.
“You were saying?”
Robin’s sword arm was on fire. He cursed inwardly. He could fight with his left hand if necessary, but he was naturally right-handed, and he had always scoffed when Sir Richard had encouraged him to practise more with his left.
Vowing to put in some practice if he ever got out of this, he switched hands. It took barely a second, but in that moment, Warci struck again. Robin turned, and the slash
glanced down his thigh, tearing through cloth and skin.
“Robin!”
He heard the cry, recognised Will’s voice. Even as both he and Warci looked around, Guy lunged at Will, and Will, distracted, did not react quickly enough. Guy’s sword slashed Will’s side. Will stumbled and fell.
The world came to a standstill. Robin froze, unable to move, numb with shock. Guy was already lost from sight, but Robin had eyes only for Will.
“Oh, dear,” Warci drawled. “Your little friend is done for, but don’t worry, you will soon be joining him.”
Robin’s vision went red. With a roar of fury, he charged at the gloating sheriff and thrust his sword at his stomach. Raymond Warci’s eyes widened, and he fell to his knees.
“What…have…you…done?”
“That was for Gilbert White-hand,” Robin said. Then he was running, sliding on the slick floor and flinging himself down by Will.
Will’s face was utterly drained of colour. One side of his tunic was soaked with blood, and his sword lay near an outstretched hand. He wasn’t moving.
“No!” Robin whispered. He fumbled for Will’s wrist. “Please, God, not him, too.” He felt a thrumming under his fingertips. Relief flooded through him.
“It’s…not that bad.”
Robin jumped. He had thought Will was unconscious. Will’s face was twisted with pain, but his eyes were open.
“Bastard got in a lucky strike. You should…go after him. Leave me here.”
“Shut up!” Robin growled. He had to get Will out of harm’s way. There was no telling how serious the wound was. He needed to look at it properly. Remembering the small chamber off the hall, Robin slid his hands under Will’s arms and started to lift him.