The Two Torcs (7 page)

“I will not be able to return for several days at least,” he said, “but I will see to it that you get what you asked for, and as swiftly as possible. We are not entirely without allies. So, if you see a fat friar or a lanky bard, try not to hurt them. They are on our side.”

Old Soldier nodded and clasped Will’s hand, a sign of respect. When they let go Will turned and rode quickly from the clearing, hating that he could not do more for these men who had been wronged by Locksley.

Some days Friar Tuck felt as if he didn’t have enough prayers to go around. There were so many in need. The poor were being devastated by the harsh, early winter, so soon after the pox, and having been squeezed nearly to death by King John’s tax collectors. He could no longer pray for them each individually—there were too many. That hurt him deeply. Even worse, the majority of his prayers dealt with greater issues—the defeat of John, the return of Richard, the safety of those who fought for the realm. His knees hated the cold stone floor, yet he spent more and more time on it, praying with his heart and soul.

“Friar, are you alright?” It was a quiet little voice, interrupting his latest devotions.

He opened his eyes and found a child staring at him wide-eyed. It looked to be a boy, judging from the clothes and the haircut, but it was really Lenore, a girl orphaned by the tax collectors. Her father had been a well-respected merchant, and her mother a kind soul. Friar Tuck had taken Lenore in, disguising her for her own safety. There was too much darkness in the world these days, and he couldn’t risk others taking advantage of her simply for who she was.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he assured her. “Is there something that is troubling you?” he asked, heaving himself up off the ground and staggering for just a moment as he realized that his left foot had fallen asleep. He gripped the back of one of the pews, and stomped to awaken it.

“A man is asking to see you,” she replied timidly. “He wears the fanciest clothes I’ve ever seen.”

Will Scarlet.
Tuck would wager just about anything on that.

“Fetch him in here,” he said, then he moved to the back of the chapel, where there was a small alcove. Lenore left and quickly returned with Will, who looked to be in as sour a mood as Tuck had ever seen.

“Thank you, boy,” Will said absently. Lenore nodded, and then departed. Will glanced around and moved close to Tuck, his movements furtive.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” the friar admitted.

“Is there someplace safer?”

Tuck shook his head. “I’m not certain there is one,” he said. “One of our brothers is missing, and it bodes ill. The cardinal is concerned… but, that is not what has brought you here.”

Will glanced around and then dropped his voice. “We… liberated a group of men who had been sold into slavery on Locksley’s orders. I have relocated them to the glen where we have met on many occasions prior to our… adventures. They are in need of supplies, but all they wish for are tools and weapons.” He paused a moment, then corrected, “Weapons, and tools.”

Friar Tuck frowned. “No clothes, blankets, or food?”

“No. There is one among them, Robin only ever called him Old Soldier. The man insists that we only send weapons and tools. He sees a war coming, and he wants to help, train the men to fight when the time comes.”

A chill touched Tuck’s spine. He marveled for a moment at the fact that he had been moved by what King Richard had said, so long ago, and had been ready to follow him off to war, had the cardinal not forbidden him from doing so. It turned out that he’d had no need to go off to war, since war seemed insistent on coming to him.

He took a deep breath. “I will do what I can. The tools will be easier than the weapons.”

“I told them to expect you.”

“I’ll take as much as I can gather right away. They will be in need of comfort, as well, and spiritual counsel. Regardless of what the man said, I’ll take some blankets, and our woolen robes. There’s no reason they should have to pass the first of many cold, lonely nights in the forest without someone to ease their minds, and help share their burdens.” Then he added, “A little ale might help to warm their bodies and lift their spirits as well.”

“So long as it is not all drunk before you arrive,” Will commented with a small smile.

“You mind I don’t box your ears,” Tuck said gruffly, but the smile just broadened.

“I must be off,” Will said. “John will be wanting to see me. I’ll have to tell him that there is indeed an outlaw haunting Sherwood, and that Locksley isn’t just making that up.”

“Be careful, Will,” Tuck said, placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I worry for you and Marian, every day, in that nest of vipers.”

“So do I,” Will said with a sudden, intense seriousness that was unusual for him. “Sometimes I have nightmares…” He drifted off, and then shook his head, clearly not wanting to discuss them. “Suffice it to say, the sooner King John is off the throne, the better.”

Tuck nodded, his concern deepening. He knew what it was like to have disturbing dreams. He knew how much worse it could be when they sometimes came true.

* * *

It was with a great deal of reluctance that Will rode away from the monastery.

Every time he left the castle, he returned with an even greater feeling of dread, and his stomach was already in knots even before he drew anywhere near the keep. He was playing a dangerous game with John, and every day he prayed to God it wouldn’t be the day that he lost.

The fear and anxiety caused by his role as spy, combined with the ever-increasing sense of evil that permeated the place, were taking their toll. He did his best to keep up appearances. Robin, Marian, even the good friar needed him to be strong, indeed merry. It did no good to let them see the dread in his heart, as it would only add to their own.

It used to be that Alan-a-Dale could be counted on to raise people’s spirits. Of late, though, the bard had taken it upon himself to fill the role of truth-teller, or soothsayer. That was all well and good, but sometimes what people needed was hope. Even if it was a lie. Though he kept his horse at a walk, Will arrived at the castle far sooner than he would have liked. He felt his chest tighten as it came into view. By the time he arrived in the forecourt, though, a fake smile was firmly in place. He tossed the reins to a stable boy, and then sauntered into the castle with as much arrogance as he could muster.

He encountered the steward almost immediately, and the man quickly led him into John’s presence. The prince was at his desk, poring over some documents. He looked up as Will approached, and smiled in the way that made Will’s blood run cold. It was like watching a serpent trying to smile, and knowing all the while that it intended to kill you.

“Leave us,” John told the steward.

The man bowed and then left the room—perhaps too readily. Will wondered for a brief moment if he was lurking just outside, listening to their conversation. Then he dismissed the thought as irrelevant.

“Well?” John said, leaning forward eagerly.

“There is indeed an outlaw,” Will reported, “one of impressive physical prowess. Locksley is not making that up, and he stole the entire shipment. Once I had ascertained that the Hood did exist, I didn’t waste time beating a hasty retreat. I wasn’t about to risk my neck, not without first being able to tell you what I saw.”

“You were right to leave quickly,” John agreed. “After all, you were really there to be my eyes and ears. Other… allies of mine cannot enter the forest with the same ease that you can.”

Will bowed slightly, even as his mind quickened with the information. He had suspected as much. The Sheriff couldn’t enter Sherwood proper. Some magic must be keeping him at bay, for which they all could be immensely grateful.

If only there was a way to spread that magic over the entire country
, Will thought wistfully. Still, the more they knew about their enemies, the better chance they had at defeating them.

“I am happy to be of service, my liege,” Will said.

“Now I have another task for you,” John said, nodding. “One that will be infinitely more agreeable.”

Will very much doubted that, but he smiled broadly.

“And what is that?”

“I’m calling all the nobles here, to arrive in six weeks’ time. Then we shall hold a week’s worth of festivities, culminating on the feast of the winter solstice. I would very much like your help in planning everything—there is no one better suited. You are so clever with matters of court.”

“Your Majesty flatters me,” Will said with mock delight.

“I would be honored to take on such an exciting task.” His mind was already racing.

John had made no bones about his contempt for the nobles, so he had to harbor an ulterior motive. Hosting the lot of them for an entire week, with festivities and a feast? Whatever the prince was planning, it had to be big, and something terrible. The door opened and the steward entered.

He was accompanied by the Lady Marian.

“You wanted to see me,” she said perfunctorily when she had stopped beside Will. She did not look at him.

“Yes, my dear,” John replied. “In six weeks’ time we will be entertaining the nobility. As the ranking lady of the castle, you will be responsible for the duties of the hostess. Together, you and Will Scarlet must make sure that everything is perfect for our guests.” His tone turned mocking. “I trust that working closely together won’t pose too much of a problem?”

Marian flushed, but kept her voice steady.

“I’m certain everything will work out perfectly,” she said.

“Good,” John responded. “Steward, see that messengers are sent with these letters.” He picked up the pile from his desk.

The man moved forward to take them.

“Will, Marian,” John said, turning away from them, “I will summon you again to discuss the specifics.” With that he gave a wave of his hand, effectively dismissing them. Marian turned on her heel and stalked toward the door. Will bowed, then followed at a much slower pace.

Behind him, John spoke again to the steward.

“I want you to make certain that tomorrow night’s shipment, bound for Scotland, leaves precisely on schedule,” he said. “It is vitally important that the
valuables
on board that ship arrive safely at their destination. We can’t risk sending an envoy that large through Sherwood.”

Will’s heart skipped a beat as he wondered what John could be sending to Scotland. King Richard’s cousin, Henry, currently resided there. Might John be sending him a bribe of some sort? Perhaps to back John’s claim to the throne. His stomach lurched slightly at the thought.

Ahead of him Marian paused, and almost started to turn around, then seemed to think better of it and kept going. Will exited the room a couple of feet behind her, and he closed the door carefully. He listened for a moment and then shook his head. Either John and the steward had ceased talking, or they were speaking too softly to be heard.

He moved away from the door, signaling Marian to walk with him. They made their way down one of the hallways until they found an alcove where they were unlikely to be disturbed.

When they stopped walking Will looked at her.

“We need to stop that shipment,” they said in unison.

Marian frowned. “Alan is off and away. It will take more than the four of us to deal with a group of soldiers.”

Will smiled.

The cold ride sharpened Locksley, clearing his head. One thought kept rolling through his mind, turning and turning, taking on the rhythm of the hoofbeats beneath him.

Robin Longstride is the Hood.

He’d known about his men being sold off, used as bait in a trap for the Hood. As a child Robin had long shown an affinity for the bow, winning contest after contest, even against trained soldiers.

Robin was the Hood.

The bane of his existence as chief tax collector.

Son of his sworn enemy.

Son of the only woman I ever loved.

He arrived at the doors that led to the throne room. The king’s man—the one who’d come to summon him—stood to the left, frowning. As Locksley stepped closer the man reached for the door. Locksley held up his hand.

The man stopped, and his frown turned to curiosity. Locksley kept his hand up, standing in place as he turned the revelation over in his mind.

King John would reward him generously for this information, yet what could be done with it?

Robin remained in Sherwood, unreachable, secure in the labyrinth of the mighty forest. His father was gone with King Richard, his siblings dead, and his only other relative, well… working directly for John. There was no leverage that might draw him out.

That wasn’t entirely true. There were the people in Locksley’s charge at Longstride Manor, but Robin had given his warning. If harm came to them, Robin would kill him, even if it meant his own death in the process. Victory meant nothing if he wasn’t around to savor it.

No, knowledge was power. He knew Robin’s secret. He would hold that weapon until it could best be wielded.

He dropped his hand and nodded to the king’s man, striding forward as the door was pulled open. The throne room was gloomy, the walls covered in long sections of dark cloth. The last time he’d been there the walls had been blank, expanses of bare stone marked by light areas where once had hung ancient tapestries that depicted scenes of history and religion, tapestries put in place by King Richard, by his father before him, and his father’s father before that.

King John had removed them in his first month as acting king.

The room’s only light came from a ring of guttering lamps, mounted on iron poles around the dais of the throne. The dull blue flames in them jerked and spat sparks against the insides of their globes.

People were gathered around the throne. They were far enough away to be indistinct, although he recognized John by the ridiculous scepter he always clutched while holding court, as if it conferred weight to his station. Near him was the dark spot that was the Sheriff of Nottingham. The man looked like an obsidian blade with his black armor and his streak of lightning-white hair.