by N B Dixon
Marian had no difficulty promising him that. She was certain she would not be able to think of anything else.
Once Guy was gone, Ursula scuttled back into the room and helped Marian to prepare for bed.
When she was alone, Marian lay back against her pillows, waiting for sleep to come. Her body was more than ready for it, but her mind was wide awake. She’d been right. Guy of Gisborne wanted her lands. He wanted to be the next Earl of Huntingdon. All his charming courtesy and solicitude for her welfare was leading towards that single goal. From what Guy had said, Marian suspected the prince intended to make sure his brother never returned to England. There was no use looking for help from that quarter.
She could go into a convent, thereby making sure that her lands became the property of the Church. Even Prince John would not be able to get his hands on them then, but she balked at the idea. She had no vocation for the Church.
Who would she choose to be Earl of Huntingdon if she were given the choice? Certainly none of her male acquaintances. Unbidden, Robin’s face filled her mind with its piercing green eyes and untidy dark hair.
Chapter 11
From his place at the table in the back corner of the tavern, John froze. Daphne broke off mid-sentence, looking at him.
“What is it?”
John cursed as the man who had attracted his attention received a mug of ale from the landlord and began making his way through the tables in search of somewhere to sit. There was plenty of space, but he bypassed most of the tables, heading for John.
John’s hand drifted to the axe at his belt. “Go now, love. He mustn’t find you here.”
“It’s too late. He’s already seen me.”
Panic clawed its way into John’s throat. It had been stupid to come. He’d known it even when he had suggested they meet, but the temptation to see Daphne again had overridden his caution. Now they would both pay the price.
Martin paused, looking down at both of them. “You’re either brave or a fool, John. I’m not sure which.”
John’s hand tightened on the haft of his axe, but he made no move to draw it. Martin had been his friend, and the idea of killing him did not sit well with John. He knew if it came to fighting his way out, he would have no choice.
“How did you know I was here?”
Martin shrugged. “I didn’t. This was a favourite tavern of ours, though. I might have known you’d suggest bringing a girl here at some point.” He nodded to Daphne. “Nice to meet you, lass.”
Daphne’s response was a frosty glare.
“Let her walk out, Martin. I’ll come quietly.”
“John, no!” Daphne exclaimed.
Martin ignored both of them. He perched on the bench beside Daphne, who immediately moved around the table to John’s side. Martin shot a nervous look around the room as though to make sure they were not being observed, then leaned close to John. “I won’t hand you over to Gisborne.”
“Why?” John asked. “Why this sudden change of heart? You were ready to stick a sword in me the last time we met.”
“I could hardly do anything else with the rest of the men looking on. You’re a wolf’s head, to be taken and killed on sight. It would have been my neck in the noose if it got back to the sheriff that I let you walk away without a fight, but I swear I mean you no harm.” He sighed. “I’ve seen enough of my old friends die this week.”
“What do you mean?”
“You and your band were set upon in Sherwood by soldiers. Gisborne had the survivors of that battle hanged.”
“Why, for God’s sake?”
“Why do you think?” Martin’s voice was bitter. “He wanted an example made of them. Beaumont got off, of course. I expect his wife was behind that.”
John’s conscience gave an unwelcome twinge. He knew those soldiers, had drunk and played dice with them. But as always, his pragmatic side reasserted itself. They were his enemies, through no fault of any of them. Gisborne was to blame, Gisborne and the whole rotten system he chose to enforce.
“How can you do it, John?” Martin burst out. “How can you kill men who were once your friends?”
“I’m fighting for a good cause, something I believe in. If more men turned their backs on Gisborne and Prince John, we’d be rid of them in a week.”
“Robin Hood.” Martin said the name like a curse. “I never thought you’d throw your lot in with a common thief and murderer.”
“He’s not like that.”
“No? You don’t have to listen to the widows of the men you killed crying because their husbands won’t come home. You don’t have to see their children wandering about or standing on corners hoping for a glimpse of their fathers. Robin Hood is to blame for that, for all his fine principles.”
John was unable to meet Martin’s eyes. “I’m sorry for that. You may not believe it, but none of us kill because we enjoy it. We do it because we are trying to stay alive. I’m an outlaw, Martin. If you think I’m going to stand there and let men take me, old comrades or not, then you’re a fool.”
“Would you kill me, then?”
John’s face twisted. “If you force me to. God, Martin, why do you work for Gisborne? You must see what a vicious bastard he is.”
“Is your Robin Hood any different?”
“He doesn’t kill innocent people. He doesn’t hang somebody because they killed a deer to feed their family.” John struggled to keep his voice down. “He could keep everything we steal from those pompous preening nobles, but he doesn’t. He gives away most of it to any family who needs help, your sister among them.”
Martin gave a visible start. “What’s that about my sister?”
“We’ve been giving her money throughout the winter, along with many other widows in Nottingham. Would Gisborne do as much?”
Martin had no answer, and John was weary of the conversation. He needed to leave before more soldiers turned up. Martin might hesitate before cutting his throat, but none of the others would. They hated him almost as much as they did Robin, since they viewed him as a turncoat. He lumbered to his feet, pulling Daphne up with him.
“Will he turn you in?” Daphne said once they were safely outside.
“I don’t think so. Still, you’d better run off home, lass.” He drew her in for a quick, hard kiss, then reluctantly released her and turned his steps towards Sherwood.
***
“You say the Abbot of Saint Mary’s is coming to Nottingham?” Robin asked John.
“Aye, with tithe money and grain for the Church. There was grumbling about it in the tavern. He’s not popular by the sounds of it.”
Wat grinned over at John. “I thought you were romping with your lass and chatting to your old chum Martin. You sure you got your facts right?”
“I’ve got ears,” John growled.
They all turned expectant faces to Robin.
“Did they say when?”
“Tomorrow.” John glared at Wat. “Unlike you, I don’t keep my head up my arse, even when there’s a pretty lass about.”
Wat flushed. Only last week, Robin had sent him to one of the numerous taverns they used to meet informers and keep abreast of any news from Nottingham. Wat had been drawn into a flirtation with one of the local girls and narrowly escaped being arrested by some of Gisborne’s soldiers.
Robin picked up his sword, relaxing as the familiar weight settled at his side. “We’ll set a watch at the Nottingham road tomorrow. I’m leaving for the abbey to bring Sir Richard home.”
Will was on his feet at once. “You’re not going alone.”
His expression dared Robin to argue. Robin was about to suggest someone else came instead—anyone other than Will—but his pride rebelled. It was what Will was waiting for, and a confrontation would arouse suspicion among the others. They’d been giving him odd looks all morning after he’d woken them with yet another nightmare. As yet, no one except Will had dared question him about it. They probably knew he’d bite their heads off if they tried.
&
nbsp; ***
Sir Richard’s wound was healing well, the nun in charge of the infirmary assured Robin. He and Will had brought an extra horse with them, and with Robin’s assistance, Sir Richard was able to mount. Robin did not miss his grimace of pain.
“Will you be all right?”
Sir Richard shrugged off his concern. “I’m well enough, and the nuns need my bed. There’s been an outbreak of fever in some of the nearby villages. It seems to affect the very young and the very old in particular, and Abbess Evelyn has ordered the most serious cases brought to the abbey for treatment.”
Robin kept a careful eye on Sir Richard as they rode. He restricted the horses to a walking pace, but it was obvious Sir Richard was not as well as he claimed. His face was drawn with pain, and he sat upright in the saddle with a visible effort.
Once they reached camp, Will drew Robin aside.
“This isn’t the place for him, Robin. You only have to look at the man to see he’s ill.”
“Where else can he go?” Robin asked impatiently. “He’s an outlaw like the rest of us.”
Will made no reply, but worry was written plain on his face, echoing Robin’s own.
***
Over breakfast the following morning, the outlaws discussed the upcoming attack on the abbot.
“Won’t he have lots of men at arms with him?” Edward said. “He’ll be carrying a lot of money.”
Wat rubbed his hands in eager expectation.
“We have our bows,” Robin said. “All of you make sure you have full quivers.”
“Do we kill him?” Edward looked anxious. “A man of the cloth?”
Robin was tempted to answer in the affirmative. He had no love for men of the Church—with the exception of Father Tuck, who’d proved himself a decent man—and the abbot deserved a reckoning for the suffering he had heaped on Sir Richard and the people of Blidworth. He reminded himself that murdering the abbot would not make his point. Besides, he couldn’t shoot a defenceless man in cold blood, however loathsome he might be.
“We harm no one unless in self-defence. That rule hasn’t changed, even for the abbot.”
Sir Richard insisted on coming, in spite of all Robin’s efforts to make him stay behind. They left in plenty of time, riding their stolen mounts through Sherwood’s winding paths and trails to a position that would give them a good vantage point next to the Nottingham road.
Sir Richard drew his horse alongside Robin’s. He looked a little better after a good rest and a couple of decent meals, but Robin still continued to watch him closely. He knew Will was doing the same.
“Have you thought this through?” Sir Richard asked.
Robin glanced over at him. “We’ve robbed churchmen before.”
“This is not some hapless monk travelling along the Nottingham road. The Abbot of Saint Mary’s is one of the most powerful men in the Church. He is a close friend of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who has the ear of the king himself. Robbing him could have more serious repercussions than Gisborne sending his men into Sherwood after you. It could lead to you being excommunicated.”
Robin laughed. “I’m an outlaw. Technically, I don’t even exist. If the Church declares it as well, that makes no difference to me. Besides, there are people who need that money far more than the Church does. If these abbots were as Christian as they pretend to be, they would be helping the poor.”
The rest of the journey passed in silence. Robin knew Sir Richard did not entirely approve of his methods, even if he couldn’t deny that the outlaws did some good with the money they stole. He had always been a religious man, with a healthy respect for the Church. But Robin had never shared that respect. So far as he could tell, the Church was always hand in glove with whomever it considered to be the most powerful, and right now, that was Prince John. Robin was sure that if the Church wanted to, it could exert more power over the prince, perhaps curb his rebellious tendencies, maybe even use some of its well-stocked funds to contribute to Richard’s ransom.
Robin was no lover of King Richard, but he was their monarch, for better or worse, and his people needed him. All John cared about was making money and having a good time. Then again, Richard cared little for his subjects either. He saw them only in terms of the money he could extract from them to pay for his wars abroad. In Robin’s hearing, he had joked that he would sell London if only he could find a buyer.
Robin sighed inwardly. How had England come to this? To be caught between two men, one of whom thought of nothing but fighting wars in distant lands and completely ignoring the plight of his own people, while the other man was consumed by jealousy and a lust for power. Between them, they would bankrupt England, and he was helpless to do anything about it, except what he was doing already.
He didn’t know when this cause had become so dear to him. Perhaps it was because it gave him something to focus his attention on. If he worried about the people of Locksley and the surrounding villages and how best to keep them fed, he didn’t have to think about his own personal problems.
***
His entire body throbbed with pain and his face was bruised and swollen. He was still weak from the fever that had racked him for days. He stank of stale sweat and worse. Sand coated him in a clinging crust and his tunic stuck uncomfortably to his skin. He knelt at the feet of the priest, unable to look him in the eye, his entire body shaking.
It had taken every ounce of courage he possessed to ask the priest to hear his confession. He’d thought he would feel better after unloading his soul, but it had left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. He wanted nothing more than to skulk back to his tent and hide. He did not think he could bear to see the condemnation he knew must be written across the priest’s face. He waited for the pronunciation.
“I have come across men in my life that I fear no amount of prayer and forgiveness can save,” the priest intoned. “I fear you are one of them.”
Robin looked up at him, Desperation in his eyes. “That can’t be true. It wasn’t my fault.”
The priest gazed pitilessly down at him. “Wasn’t it? You gave in to your base instincts. You confessed as much to me just now. You knew it was a sin. You knew it would bring about a divine retribution, yet you did it anyway. You defied the will of God. You ignored the commandments He laid down for our own salvation. You brought your present unhappiness upon yourself.”
Robin shook his head, unable to speak. Could the priest really mean what he was saying? That all he had gone through had been a punishment? God’s way of showing him how unnatural he was. They had said as much to him. They had called him animal and whore.
A shudder wracked Robin from head to toe. He had come seeking absolution, some release from the shame that threatened to crush him, and the priest was telling him it was impossible.
“Help me, please.” The words emerged as a barely audible whisper.
“There is no help for such as you. Be gone from my sight and let me tend to those souls that can be saved.”
With what tattered shreds of dignity remained to him, Robin got to his feet and stumbled towards the mouth of the tent.
“I hope this will be a lesson to you,” the priest called after him. “You have experienced the repercussions of giving in to evil fornication. Never do so again, lest God strike you down with an even heavier blow. If you would escape the fires of hell, curb the unnatural lust you feel and drag no other along with you.”
***
Robin came back to the present with a jerk. Sir Richard was looking over at him.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Robin said through gritted teeth.
His gaze strayed to Will, riding a little ahead of him. He’d heeded the priest’s warning, though it tore little pieces from his heart every day. He could never forgive the priest for his attitude, but what if he was right, and it had been divine retribution? He’d gone to the man for help, and the priest had looked at him as though he were something evil.
Robin’s knowledge of
the Bible was hazy, but he remembered that Jesus had turned no one away, even sinners. He had believed no one was beyond redemption, and yet, the priest, supposedly a man chosen to interpret the will of God, had turned his back on someone in need. The abbot was no different, but he could be punished.
***
The Abbot of Saint Mary’s hated to ride. He had never been much of a horseman, to the despair of his father. The youngest of five sons, it had been expected that he would never amount to anything. Though he knew pride was a sin, he wished his father could have seen him now. Here he was, in a curtained litter, being pulled by two horses, and flanked by a large group of men at arms.
Two of his brothers had died at the Crusades. Another was dead of a fever, and the remaining brother, their father’s heir, was childless, so that his lands looked like reverting to the Crown or the Church after his death. All in all, the abbot thought he was to be congratulated for being the only son who had managed to make something of his life.
He was looking forward to seeing his friend Prince John, who was currently in residence at Nottingham Castle. They were of an age, and had known each other since childhood. John, too, was the last of a large family, and it had created a bond between them. John knew what it was like to be overlooked by parents and siblings alike. True, his brother Richard was on a noble cause to free the Holy Land from the infidel, but he had been careless enough to get himself captured. If he did not return to England, the abbot felt sure the realm would be prosperous in John’s capable hands. The prince knew how to make the most of what his subjects had to offer.
At the back of the procession, the wagon containing the tithe money was guarded by two men wielding crossbows. This area had been plagued by outlaws since the winter. The sheriff had urged great caution in travelling this way. Unfortunately, there was no other route to Nottingham. Privately, the abbot thought Gisborne was making a fuss over nothing.
A sudden cry from ahead startled him out of his thoughts. He sat up a little straighter on his cushions as a commotion broke out all around him. Outraged yells and truly ungodly curses assaulted his ears. The leader of the men at arms was shouting orders. The abbot began to tremble. Then abruptly, his litter was in motion again, though at a less sedate pace than before. The abbot wondered if the horses were running wild. He gripped the sides and began to pray. The shouts of his escort were fading, accompanied by the deadly hum of arrows. It dawned on the abbot’s mind that he might have been kidnapped. He clutched his crucifix in one hand, his rosary in the other.