Finally, the pair with swords lunged at him at the same time. John feinted with the rake, smacked one then the other on the wrists, moving faster than he ever had in his life. Swung the rake again; stumbled when he tried to back out.

  An arrow struck the ground between two of the attackers, hitting with a sudden thunk. The line of cloaked men scattered. Another arrow struck, and another. The men turned to look for this new attack, but in the dark they could see nothing. The other side of the field was all shadow.

  Then the lantern was struck, the glass bursting, the candle going out. Its bearer dropped it, jumped away, screamed.

  “What is it!” one of the men cried.

  “We are discovered, run!” said another.

  They fled in all directions, into the dark and the hedgerows where they must have thought they could find shelter. John was forgotten, crouching with the rake behind a fence of arrows. None of them had gotten too close, as if the archer hadn’t meant to hit anybody, merely frighten them.

  John noticed: they weren’t Locksley arrows with their plain gray feathers. He pulled one out of the ground, studied it. Brown fletching, unremarkable. If it wasn’t a Locksley who’d fired the shot, then who?

  Out of habit, he collected all the arrows. Then he ran to where the archer must have stood.

  * * *

  “John went out, and Mary and Eleanor followed?” Robin said. He was pacing, while Will Scarlet stood off to the side, gaze downcast and chagrined. Will said they had been gone for more than an hour, after promising to be back quickly, which meant that either they had found additional mischief or they were in trouble.

  Marian refused to be angry, and definitely refused to be frightened. She sat by the fire, working with spindle and wool, which was easier in the dark than embroidery or mending, to try to calm herself. She hated to think what sort of mischief they might encounter with so many strangers around. They were good children, really. Except they were very nearly no longer children at all. Mary was full grown. Marian just didn’t like to admit it.

  “I didn’t expect John to be able to sneak out. I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t apologize—I’m impressed he got past you,” Robin said. “And the girls? You just let them go?”

  “Mary didn’t try to lie, and she insisted they’d be back soon.”

  Frowning, Robin looked out toward the torch and lantern lights of Westminster, setting the nighttime mist aglow. “She must have known where John was going.”

  “She wouldn’t say.”

  “Those conniving little kits, what have they got up to?”

  “Rob, I’m sure they’re fine, they’re just out exploring—”

  “Should we go after them?” Robin was so rarely uncertain about anything. “There are a dozen men within an arrow’s flight who would use them to hurt me.”

  “They wouldn’t dare, not under the king’s nose like this,” Marian said, but was unconvinced.

  “The king’s got nothing to say about anything,” Robin said. “He’s no older than they are—oh.” He sank onto a bench and ran tired hands through his hair.

  Marian and Will exchanged a glance. “Robin?” she tested.

  “I told him that he should be friends with the king. The boy took me at my word. What trouble has he gotten that poor child into?”

  She needed a few moments to catch up with him, and then was astonished. “You’re saying he’s gone off to . . . what? Drag the king into some boyish pranks?”

  “And Mary guessed, so she went after him. Eleanor never likes to be left out of anything. And . . .” He shook his head, defeated. “They’ve been gone for hours!”

  On the one hand, Marian was furious that the children would be so foolish to go out in a strange place at night. On the other, perhaps the young king might like a bit of harmless mischief. How much trouble could they really get into with that very well-guarded young man in tow?

  “Well,” Marian said calmly. “Perhaps they found an adventure.”

  “Marian, they were supposed to be nothing like me. They were supposed to be sensible and quiet and not at all prone to adventures.”

  “Hmm,” she said, refusing to state any opinion about what Robin’s children were meant to be like. If they were wild, she’d blame Sherwood Forest before she blamed Robin. Something about that place got into one’s bones and made one rash.

  Will went to the cask of ale to pour a couple of mugs and brought one to Robin. “Drink, my lord.”

  Robin tried, but just as he brought the mug to his lips, a fresh commotion traveled from the back of the camp. Dav of Doncaster and Grace had a young man between them, dragging him so he could not get his feet under him. Dav and Grace were two of Robin’s company who’d left the forest to come with him to Locksley. Dav was lean, with a studious gaze, his dark beard now dusted with gray. Grace, a tall woman with a constant frown, dressed as a forester and kept her hair short. With her cap and leather jerkin, she was often mistaken for a man and she liked it that way. Middle-aged but no less hearty for it, they were unswervingly loyal.

  Robin set down the mug. “God, this was supposed to be a peaceful night!” Marian set down her spinning to watch.

  “What have you got here?” Will asked, on alert now, his hand tightening around the grip of his sword.

  “Caught him sneaking around back,” Dav said. The prisoner lunged, but Grace twisted his arm and dropped him to his knees at Robin’s feet.

  Robin of Locksley, lord of Sherwood, outlaw of legend, master of whatever realm he happened to find himself in, put hands on hips and looked down his nose at the man. Marian’s breath still caught to see him like this, as it had the very first time she had set her gaze on him.

  “Might I ask why you were sneaking into my camp, sir? You’d have been welcomed and offered wine if you’d come in the front.”

  The prisoner was high-born, the way he bucked and bristled at the handling these lowly foresters gave him. He might not even have noticed yet that Grace was a woman. “How dare you! I owe you no explanation—”

  “Give me a name, then. Surely, you can do that much.”

  The man spat. So, high-born and foolish.

  Marian rose from her bench and went to stand by her husband, her hands folded serenely. “This one is Berold FitzHugh’s eldest son, I think. Ranulf FitzHugh, aren’t you? Robin, you remember the FitzHughs?”

  He thought for a moment, or pretended to, his gaze narrowed as he studied the irate young man. “Ah, yes. Had a habit of bribing old King John into granting him the lands of rebel barons, didn’t he?”

  “My father is loyal—”

  “Lord Ranulf, why are you here?” Robin said, his tone growing iron.

  The lad finally stopped fighting, as if he just now realized what he had gotten himself in to. “I . . . I . . . I wished to speak to your son. At the tournament . . . It’s a matter of honor! It does not involve you, my lord.”

  “But this is my camp,” Robin drawled. “A matter of honor, sneaking around the back? I don’t think so.”

  Marian frowned. She did not like Ranulf, and did not like what any of this implied. “Dav, will you look at his hands? Do you think he uses a bow?”

  Grace, a gleam in her eyes, held Ranulf while Dav yanked back his arms and had a look at his right hand, which would draw the string. He said, “Calluses, my lady. I think he does.”

  “Mary beat you at the tournament today, didn’t she?” Marian said. “And you came here hoping to . . . what?”

  “I told you, my purpose is with Lord John—”

  “Then why not come in daylight?”

  Ranulf glared. Beside her, Robin uncrossed his arms, squeezed his hands into fists. He was rarely so angry that he had no words or carried such darkness in his gaze.

  Marian said softly, “My children can well look after themselves, as you’d have realized if you spent half a thought on the matter. So, what did you think would happen, coming here? Knowing who their father is?”

  Ranulf was trapped. He had the look of a hound who had cornered a boar all by himself and then didn’t know what to do with it. “Those . . . They’re just stories. You aren’t him, not really.”

  “No, of course not. That man lived a long time ago,” Robin murmured. “I am much angrier right now than he ever was.”

  A log in the fire snapped, and sparks rose up. Marian shivered at the sound. Summer was nigh, but she was suddenly cold.

  “My lord?” Will asked cautiously.

  “Tie him,” Robin said. “We will decide what to do with him before the night is out. And now I really need that mug of ale.”

  * * *

  Eleanor was nowhere in sight. When the girl wanted to disappear, she was very good at it. But if she hadn’t simply run off, if she had been taken, if there were murderers about and something happened—

  “Where has she gone?” Mary said. “Did you see her?”

  Henry was also looking around in a panic. “She’s so quiet, I didn’t hear a thing.”

  “Isn’t that just like her. Eleanor is so quiet, poor Eleanor who can’t speak, and she uses all that pity to get away with the worst kind of mischief!”

  “But what if someone’s caught her?”

  If someone had caught her, she could not cry out for help. Mary could shout her name all night long; her sister couldn’t answer.

  “Eleanor is very clever and isn’t caught easily, but we must find her.”

  Stirring again, Walter said pleadingly, “Your Grace, what is happening?”

  “Someone has tried to kill you.”

  “But why? My lady, let me go; I’m well enough now—” He pulled away from her grip and stumbled. Mary and Henry both caught him that time.

  Deliver Walter to the abbey or look for Eleanor? Mary did not see how she could do both at once, and she dared not leave the king alone. No wonder Robin Hood had kept a whole troop of men and women around him, just to split out some of the work.

  Still at the hedgerow, looking across the field, she could just see John—and the men who were converging on him. Insects buzzed around their glowing lantern. John might be able to trick a pair of them, but not so many.

  “John, you’ve got to get out of there,” she murmured.

  Henry set his jaw. “I will go and show myself. Command them to leave off.”

  “Can you be sure they will recognize you and not kill you before you have a chance to speak?”

  He scowled. “How is it there’s so little I’m allowed to do? I’m meant to be king!”

  “What must I do to serve you, Your Grace?” Walter said tiredly. “I can deliver a message, or, or . . .”

  “Be quiet,” Henry said. “That’s all for now.”

  “Yes, my liege.”

  Walter seemed to be coming around but still wasn’t steady on his feet. That decided it for Mary; John and Eleanor she could trust on their own, at least a little. Henry and Walter, she could not.

  “We will take him to the abbey. Then at least you and he will be safe, and I can go help John.”

  “I will send guards back with you,” he said decisively, as if happy to think of some useful thing he could do.

  A shout carried up from the river. John had fallen. The dark-cloaked men had run him down, and now they closed in on him.

  “He’s done for,” Walter stated unhelpfully.

  “Eleanor!” Henry exclaimed.

  Mary looked and gasped to see the girl running up along the hedgerow. “Eleanor, where have you—”

  She held out a bow and quiver of arrows and seemed quite smug to have brought them.

  “You went to find weapons,” Mary stated, disbelieving. Eleanor nodded. The girl hadn’t had enough time to get all the way to the Locksley camp and back. She was barely out of breath. Mary took the bow; it hadn’t seen much use. The arrows had brown fletching. She didn’t recognize them. “Where did you get these?”

  Eleanor pointed vaguely back at the barons’ camps. Mary closed her eyes a moment and drew a calming breath so that she wouldn’t yell. Yelling never did any good with Eleanor.

  “You can’t just go taking bows and arrows from people,” Mary said—softly. Her little sister shrugged, unapologetic.

  “Mary—” Henry said.

  She could no longer see her brother, hidden behind the wall of attackers. She drew a handful of arrows, planted them in the ground next to her, raised one to the bow. She had never killed. Now she had the thought that she could kill all these men easily. Henry would pardon her, whatever happened, just from sheer high spirits. But she hesitated—was she ready to kill?

  She was not, so she aimed carefully, drawing on a spot a foot or so to the left of the lantern, which served as a bright and easy target. Released her arrow on a long, high arc. Picked up the next arrow and fired. The arrows hit the grass in a row behind the attackers, shots meant to startle, to frighten, not to kill.

  It worked. Unable to see where the arrows flew from, unwilling to risk their own lives to finish off the boy’s, the men scattered.

  Her fourth arrow hit the lantern itself. The candle inside burst and sputtered out. One of the men screamed.

  “You three wait here.” She went to her brother, who was running toward her, collecting arrows as he came.

  “You almost shot me!” he yelled, laughing and gasping for breath.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Where’d you get the bow? Whose arrows are these?”

  “You’ll have to ask Eleanor.”

  “We’re going to have so much explaining to do.”

  “First, we run.”

  The attackers were already regrouping to follow. The arrows had only temporarily startled them.

  When they reached Henry, Eleanor, and Walter, Mary risked a look back. Six men came at them from across the field.

  “Go, go,” she hissed, urging the others before her, steering them away from the hedgerow, down the lane toward the encampments. Witnesses, right now they needed lots of witnesses. They reached the first of the tents, fires, picket lines, and sleeping horses. Now if they could just find a place to hide and rest for a few moments.

  She was about to apologize to the king again, but he was grinning. “Was this what it was like for Robin Hood in Sherwood, do you think, when the sheriff’s men chased him?”

  “I don’t know,” Mary said. “How frightened are we all?”

  “Robin Hood was never frightened, I’m sure of it,” the king insisted.

  “The stories tend to leave that part out,” John said. “Mother talks mostly about the wet and the cold and holding your breath while the sheriff’s men walk by and every little noise wracking your nerves. So, yes, I’d say this was a lot like it was for them.”

  “But we saved Walter’s life,” Henry insisted. He so wanted to be useful.

  “Well, I did promise an adventure,” John said tiredly.

  Henry spoke carefully. “A king must do great deeds. Everyone knows this. But I’m not sure what I can do.”

  “You don’t have to do great deeds right now,” Mary said, trying to sound reassuring. “You’re only thirteen. Plenty of time to do great deeds later.”

  But Henry insisted. “I might reclaim my family’s lands in Normandy. Or go on Crusade like my uncle did.”

  “All very expensive,” John said. “The barons will not like it when you start asking them for money for wars abroad.”

  “Yes, I know. But I am king.” As if this explained everything. As if going on Crusade was anything like being an outlaw in Sherwood Forest.

  “Perhaps it would be enough for you to be a good English king,” Mary said.

  “Like Edward the Confessor. He was a great man!” Henry said.

  Mary, a little taken aback, said, “Some would say there has not been a good English king since Edward, before the Normans came.”

  “William the Conqueror is my forefather. I am his direct heir. Do you disparage him?”

  “No. Forgive me, sire. I’m a bit tired just now.”

  “Line all my ancestors up—it’s a lot to live up to,” Henry said. “I don’t see how I can.”

  “Do not worry so, my liege,” John said. “Some things take care of themselves.”

  “I suppose so. But this man would have died if you had done nothing. Some things do not take care of themselves.”

  “There they are!” a voice called from behind him.

  They could not keep running.

  Eleanor took hold of Mary’s arm and pointed to a camp with lit torches and restless horses. Men still worked setting up tents, as if the company had just arrived.

  “Why there?” Mary asked, and Eleanor laid her hand on the bow. “The camp where you got the bow from? Well, we’ll have to return it in any case. The folk there seemed friendly to you?”

  Eleanor nodded.

  “Do we risk it?” John asked.

  “We can’t keep on like this. We must hide, I think,” Mary said, and they ducked off the path, into the edge of the camp.

  The missing bow had been noticed. Near the largest of the pavilions, a man was studying a rack, where swords, spears, and bows rested. He counted, counted again, looked around quizzically. Hard to get a good look at him in the near-dark. He seemed young, not much taller than Mary herself but powerfully built.

  He noticed the odd company straight off, and his hand went to the sword on his belt. Fortunately, it stayed there. He stood with a bearing that suggested he was used to being listened to. Well born—a knight, even, given the sword. Not used to having weapons stolen from his camp.

  She held up the bow and quiver. “I’m very sorry to bother you, sir. I’ve come to return this. And to ask for help. We’re in a bit of trouble.” All of them were breathing hard from the running, and Walter was clearly injured. She tried to seem harmless and contrite but was afraid she merely looked crazed. “We just need a place to hide for a bit.”

  He glanced down the path where they’d come. Their pursuers had split up, and a pair of them approached, on the hunt.

  “My lady, of course. This way.” He gathered the weapons from her and herded them around to the back of the tent. Once hidden, they stood still, breaths held. Mary’s chest hurt from holding it. She touched Eleanor’s shoulder, made sure Walter stayed upright, and didn’t have a hand left for anything else. The young knight kept watch.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9