“It’ll be . . . all right.” John cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, Beth, I’d know what you . . .” He began again, “Why don’t you go along with her? There’s plenty of room there.”
The seamstress opened her lips silently. Tom Toad let go of his braid. After a while, he growled, “You have it all planned out, don’t you.”
Beth didn’t believe the hope. “Please, John, I can’t stand being mocked!”
Quietly, John told them of the knight’s offer. “And I’d prefer that, too. Richard at the Lea says you could be the girls’ nursemaid. You’ll just watch over them both.”
Through her tears, Beth laughed. “As always. Doesn’t leave me much choice.” She dried her cheeks. “And you mean for us to leave soon?”
“It’s time.” John expanded his chest in relief. “By spring at the latest, I promised.”
“I’ll need a few more days,” Beth began. “First, I have to get us dressed up properly.” She glanced at the bales of fabric stacked against the wall. “Oh! For Marian, I already know what—”
“Stop, damn it!” Tom slammed his fist on the table. “This is no good, no good at all.”
“Shut up, Tom Toad! You have your gang,” Beth rebuked him, but took it back immediately. “I don’t mean to be harsh. But in the summer, you’re traveling. And in the winter, well . . .” She waved a finger at him. “I’m sure I’ll have a chamber to myself at the castle.”
“That simple?” Ruefully, Tom grumbled, “When you become a lady, I bet you’ll have me strumming something and singing some balled before you’ll even let me in.”
Beth paused with a sudden thought. What about her work? Could the village women even manage on their own?
John confessed, “Already talked it over with Robin.” It wasn’t far from Fenwick Castle to Barnsdale Top. “If you need to, you can come back here. Before we leave to go to Sherwood. And after the summer, when we get back.” He grinned. “Besides, don’t you think I’d want to see how the girl is doing?”
Beth pulled her hair over the scar on her left side. “My princess is going to be a princess.”
Tom Toad watched his wife. After a while, he nodded to John. “All right, then.”
The door slammed open and Marian rushed in, hair disheveled. Her cheeks glowed. “Beth. I was with Lancelot today . . .”
She noticed the men at the table and furrowed her brow. “What’s the matter, Beth? You’ve been crying.” The girl glowered at Tom and John. “What have you done to Beth?”
“It’s all right, princess.” The seamstress rose quickly. “But look at the state you’re in! One of these days, I won’t be able to comb that at all anymore.”
“Then cut it shorter!”
“Don’t say that. A woman only cuts off her hair if . . .”
Marian groaned. “. . . she’s being taken to be executed.” She let her fingers snip like scissors. “I know, I know.”
“So, Princess, keep your hair long.” Beth scooped milk from the jug. With the cup in hand, she led Marian to the table. “Sit down. John has something to tell you.”
“Why me?” John pouted. “Can’t you, Beth?”
She shook her head sternly, pulling her stool close beside the girl. “Do it now,” she commanded.
By Dunstan! But he was no help now, either. “You see, little one, you know Sir Richard at the Lea,” John began.
Marian nodded, unconcerned.
“You know . . .” Many more you knows and I means followed. When John finally finished, Marian was silent.
The giant could not bear the silence. “Don’t be sad, little one!”
Marian stayed silent.
The gift! John wiped his brow. He almost forgot about the present. “And also, little one: Robin will let you have Lancelot. The white horse is yours.”
Marian’s eyes glinted. “Mine alone?” He nodded.
“And Beth comes, too?”
The seamstress nodded.
“And you’re not sending me away just because you want to be rid of me?”
John shook his head.
“Swear!”
He raised his hand.
Marian drank the milk. She set the empty cup down hard.
“Agreed.”
“Yes?” John felt a twinge in his chest. Almost indignantly, he braced both fists on the table. “You’re not mad, at all?”
“No.” Marian blew a curl off her forehead and said, “It’s all right.” She set her voice in as low a growl as she could muster.
Beth laughed and hugged the girl. “We’ll have a fine time. We’ll ride up to the castle like two ladies. You wait until you see what I’m sewing for both of us.”
“Just like that,” John grumbled. “Like I’m nothing. Just says ‘agreed,’ and that’s that.” Only after a while did he remember that, in fact, he wanted it that way, and that he had now achieved what was best for Marian. “I really hope it is. All right.”
Beth and her princess planned their departure for the next week. “If it doesn’t snow again,” John advised. He was overruled. “That’s fine. But I’ll take you to the castle.”
“Both of us will,” Tom decided. “After all, I need to know where to find my wife.”
Beth pushed the men rudely toward the door. There was still much to prepare.
On the way back to the camp, the men strode side by side in silence for a while. At last, Tom poked the giant in the side. “You’re a clever one.” He looked up at him, mockingly. “I had no idea. Always thought you were all strength.”
“That’s right. But you’re better at telling stories. And I’m looking forward to hearing you sing soon.”
XVII
The latest dispatch from the Crusade: August 1192: Another battle for Jaffa breaks out. The Crusaders wade to victory through the blood of Muslims. Nevertheless, Richard abandons the conquest of Jerusalem. He negotiates with Sultan Saladin.
September 2: The enemies sign a three-year truce. The Crusaders retain the coastal cities. Only Ascalon must be destroyed. Peaceful pilgrims are allowed to go to Jerusalem and pray unhindered at the Holy Sepulcher. The Crusade is over.
After all the misery, after all the killing, what a price! Guilt stains the white mantle of the Crusaders.
October 9: King Richard leaves the Holy Land. Autumn storms separate his ship from the fleet. Between Venice and Aquila, Lionheart makes landfall. He knows that enemies and rivals lie in wait for him. Disguised as a merchant, he tries to make his way north.
December 22, 1192: Near Vienna, Richard the Lionheart is caught in the net of his enemy Duke Leopold of Austria. On the same day, he is taken to the strongly fortified castle of Dürnstein.
Hard negotiations ensue for the precious prize. The duke delivers Lionheart to Emperor Henry VI.
King Richard a prisoner! The news shocks his followers in England.
King Richard a prisoner! The news delights his brother Prince John.
Ransom! The emperor demands 100,000 Cologne silver marks for the prisoner’s release.
NOTTINGHAM SHIRE. SHERWOOD FOREST.
Gold bars, silver coins, even a box filled to the brim with precious stones—by the end of June, the Brotherhood had successfully pulled off three raids. Without any casualties, almost without any fights, the outlaws had been able to capture goods on the great trade road. The loot was safely stored in the main camp under Robin’s hut.
“I like this summer better every week.” The outlaw shouldered his bow and girded his sword.
“It’s been good so far.” John poked thoughtfully at the bark of the Great Oak with his staff. “Almost too good.” He pressed his lips together.
“Yes, my friend. The people of Sherwood are firmly on our side. And since my cousin has been with us, we have a lucky star.”
Will Scarlet spied for the freemen. Sometimes decked out like a squire, sometimes dressed as a wealthy merchant, he rode to Nottingham. He always lodged at the inn below the fortress. Sometimes he stayed away for ten days or more.
But when he returned to his fellows in Sherwood, he always brought good news. Success boosted his standing. He soon became Robin’s closest confidant after John.
The information he had brought with him to the summer encampment the day before once again promised fat, easy pickings. “The Bishop of Hereford’s emissary is on his way to York! It wasn’t easy to get anything on that. But after the third jug of wine, I had the servant ready to spill: During the journey, his pious master sits in his litter on a box brimming with pearls and jewels.” Anticipation glittered in his gray eyes. “We should pull the eggs out from under that hen.” Best time to gather eggs: the next day around noon. Most convenient place: at the crossroads three miles north of Edwinstowe. Escort: four mercenaries who’d rather drink than fight. “You, Little John, and I will lift the bishop from the nest. It’ll be quick and easy.”
“Thanks, Will! I couldn’t have planned it any better.” Proud, Robin had nudged the giant. “Well, what do you say?”
“Right.” That was all John had answered.
The sun had not yet risen. The sky shimmered reddish through the foliage of the Great Oak. Spread across the circular clearing, the men lay rolled up tightly in their blankets. Friar Tuck was snoring. Even the dogs were still asleep. Only their leader and his chief lieutenant had risen at first light, had put on their weapons, and now they waited.
At last. A low whistle. The two immediately left the campsite through the surrounding brush.
“Look at you!” Robin walked around his cousin. Coat, doublet, and all were the most expensive in the clothing cave’s stock. Scarlet had turned himself into a landed Norman lord. Three pheasant feathers bobbed from his hat. But his right sleeve and stocking were torn, his knee above his boot bound with a blood-soaked rag.
“Looks like I fell off my horse. Am I right?” Scarlet enjoyed the amazement of his companions. “As soon as the troop with the litter arrives, I’ll limp around in the middle of the crossroads and wave. If the bishop’s emissary sees me like this, he will stop. I’ll distract everyone with my wailing until you get there.”
John grinned. “Better you than me.” I wouldn’t have thought of such a thing, he admitted to himself, without envy.
The morning was crisp, the sky cloudless, the sun slowly rising above the treetops. Robin winked at John. “Gonna be a good day. Maybe you’ll like something from the jewelry box. A pearl necklace or a nice brooch made of gold.”
“Why?”
“As a gift for Marian. Now that our little condition is becoming a lady.”
“That would be something.” The thought of bejeweling Marian like a lady pleased the giant.
Will Scarlet snapped off an elder branch, played with it for a while, then tossed it away. Barely a hundred paces farther on, he snapped a beech branch, was dissatisfied, and broke a second. He put it between his teeth. A little later, he spat the branch on the ground.
“Are you hungry?” growled John.
“Ah, never mind.” Will laughed boisterously. “I’m fine.” After a while, they reached a narrow valley. A stream gurgled its way through the tall grass. “There’s one thing I’ve always wanted to know.” Scarlet stopped the others. “Who out of the three of us shoots best? We’ve got plenty of time. What do you say?”
Robin clapped his hands. John shrugged indifferently. “I know,” he said. “But if you need to know, too, fine by me.”
Scarlet pulled one of the pheasant feathers from his hat and pointed to a thick beech tree beyond the dale. “Wait. Be right back” He ran into the meadow, leaped light-footed across the stream, fastened the feather in a knothole, and sped back.
“What’s the wager?” he asked.
“Enough to make this worth it.” Robin grinned. Ten shillings for the winner was agreed upon. Payable as soon as they returned to camp that evening. Their bows were to be identical. For the raid, John and Robin each carried a short bow. Robin lent his to his cousin. Scarlet fired. The arrow whizzed across the valley and struck the feather’s gleaming white edge. Robin fired. His arrow also nailed the pheasant feather to the trunk.
“That’s all right.” Calmly, John raised his bow and drew. With a crack, the top of the wood snapped back with the string, whirling past John’s head. The bow had broken.
The cousins laughed. Robin grinned. “Don’t know your own strength.”
“Now what?” John frowned.
Robin handed him his bow. “Here. But be careful with it.”
By a finger’s breadth, John missed the target.
“Our runt has lost!” Robin raised two fingers. “That’s ten shillings for each of us.”
Scarlet grew serious. “One bow is not enough for me. If I’m standing there in the road, I’d like to have two archers at my back.”
He was right. John tucked the broken bow into his belt. “Keep moving along. I’ll run back and get another one. Won’t be long.”
“We’ll wait,” Robin decided. He stretched out on the grass. His bow lay beside him. “There’s time. Hurry up, though. I don’t feel like having to run to catch up with those gems.”
John turned back toward the camp. Not a twig snapped as he silently dove back into the forest.
No sooner had the giant disappeared than Scarlet crouched anxiously beside Robin. “I don’t know. What if our mark left Nottingham early? Don’t you think I should hurry to the crossroads, just in case?” His hand was on the hilt of his sword. “Be a shame if that hen with her golden eggs got away from us.”
Robin sat up. “That’s what I like about you, cousin. You’re thinking ahead. Glad you’re with me. Agreed. Go ahead. But no heroics! Wait till John and I get there.”
Scarlet sprang to his feet and strode along the edge of the meadow. Before he left the valley, he whistled and waved a hand at Robin one last time. Then he ran off in the direction of the road.
The brook murmured. Birds were chirping.
Suddenly, a foot planted itself on the bow in the grass. At the same time, a sword blade slapped against Robin’s neck. “Sit still!” ordered a hoarse, hollow voice. The outlaw froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a leg beside him. Not a boot. Fur—brown, smooth fur to the tip of its foot. “What are you?” Robin breathed carefully, trying to buy time. “Are you human?”
The blade turned, the sharp edge cutting into his skin as his assailant gave a muffled, satisfied laugh. Then the voice rasped: “Your giant can’t help you. Nothing will help you.”
Suddenly, Robin threw himself to the left, rolled over, leaped to his feet, and had his sword in his hand ready to thrust. He stared in disbelief. A beast stood there. Motionless. Its head was a horse’s head, a mane hanging long over its neck, its eyes far too deep in their sockets. From neck to feet, a brown coat covered its entire body. Robin sneered. “What carnival have you sprung from?” The horse-man carried his bow shouldered, his quiver high—the sword was in his furred right hand, a shield on his left arm. Two long daggers hung down from his belt, and a spiked metal ball dangled from a chain and short staff beside them.
Slowly Robin walked backward toward the edge of the meadow. The horse-man did not move.
“Well, what is it you want?” the leader teased. “C’mon! Though I have no bread scraps for you to nibble.” He taunted with his sword. “But you’ll like this.”
“Don’t take another step, you coward,” commanded the voice from the horse head.
“Of course.” Robin stayed in place, the sword held in front of him. “May I know who is scaring me so?”
“Before I smash you to pieces, I am Guy of Gisborne. The man who hunted down Robin Hood.” With that, he leaped, a tremendous muscular force rushing forward with wild, sweeping strokes of his sword. Robin barely managed to ward off the first blow, but he had no shield and had to dive away from the second blow. The horse-man forced Robin backward. The blades of the swords struck against each other. A terrible duel raged in the narrow dale.
Little John ran without too much haste, deftly following the well-marked
path back. He saw the bent beech branch. He spotted the discarded elder branch. This cousin. Otherwise, he’s serviceable, but in the woods? Makes tracks like an ox. He resolved to talk to Robin about it. After a while, he grinned. But what about me? Not much better. Snapping a bow as if I had never shot one before, even if it was a small one. As he ran, he felt the two pieces of wood. John stopped abruptly. He stared at the fractured ends. His fingertip brushed over the edges. First, he could feel a tiny smooth cut, then the roughness where the wood had splintered under force. “I don’t understand,” he muttered as he walked, slowly now. Who gave me this bow? Someone brought the bows from the weapons cave for Robin and me last night. Ahead was the well-camouflaged entrance through the thicket. John bent down to pass through.
Nets fell from the trees, with thick ropes. They dropped heavily on the giant. He reared up with a cry of rage, pulled at the ropes, and pushed with his legs. He giant tugged, twisted, fell to the ground, squirmed, tangled himself more, lay shaking. “Ambush!” he roared. “Ambush!”
Loud laughter was the response. Four of the sheriff’s men-at-arms approached their prey—four spears aimed at the giant’s chest.
“Ambush!” shouted John again.
“Shut up!” One of the iron men kicked him in the face. “It’s long past too late for your friends.”
Three miles away, the peaceful valley had become a battlefield. The fight raged between Robin and the horse-man. The grass was trampled down all around them. They leered at each other, panting, leaping at each other again and again. Robin bled from a shoulder wound. Twice in a row, his blow broke through the other man’s guard. Twice the broad blade rebounded harmlessly off the horsehide. Robin backed out of reach, shouting, “What do you want from me?”
“Your head,” roared the voice from the horse-head helm. “Alive, you are worth eighty pounds in gold to the sheriff. But I’ll make do with less.” The horse-man charged forward, swinging his sword over his flowing mane.
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